By Helen Zanone
The family is a haven in a heartless world.
~Attributed to Christopher Lasch
Valentine's Day is usually spent with the one you love. Not me. Mine is spent with the four people I love. It wasn't always that way, but six years ago a new tradition was started.
It started when my husband and I got a sitter for our three kids and went to our favorite Italian restaurant. The smell of warm bread and dipping oil wafted out as we approached the restaurant. I had barely eaten that day just to leave room for all the yummy food I was about to consume. Would I have chicken parmesan? No, chicken marsala. I couldn't make up my mind.
We waited for a table, along with twenty other people. I knew it was Valentine's Day, but was this everyone's favorite restaurant? To make matters worse, the people who were seated took their time. They savored every bite and then ordered more. They sipped their wine, lingered over the meal and then ordered dessert.
Two and a half hours later, we were seated. The food had lost its appeal. It was no longer dinnertime, it was bedtime. Nothing was worth that long a wait, but we knew every other place would be the same. In an attempt to save the evening, I put on a smile and worked through my lasagna. Never again would I subject myself to that kind of torture.
The following year, John asked, "Where are we were going for dinner?"
"Nowhere!" I said. His look was quizzical. "It's a surprise. Just be home by six."
While John was at work and the kids were at school, I got busy with the preparations. I warmed some cream and added a split vanilla bean, the essence floated on an invisible cloud. After whipping some egg yolks and sugar to a light yellow color, the cream was added and melted dark chocolate was folded in. Then the crème brûlée was put into the refrigerator to set.
I began setting the table. It was better than any restaurant I had been to. The red tablecloth was sprinkled with pink rose petals, then layers of white toile were added. Votives were scattered around the settings of my best china. I placed a box of chocolates and a handwritten card on each plate. All my table needed now was a good meal and my family to enjoy it.
I preheated the oven and began to stuff a large chicken. I used onion, a quartered lemon, a whole head of garlic, thyme and salt and pepper. Then, under the skin, I rubbed a butter mixture with shallot, thyme, salt, pepper and lemon zest.
As the chicken cooked and the skin turned a golden brown, I began to boil potatoes. Once they were cooked and drained, I whipped in some warm cream and lots of butter, creating a mound of fluffiness.
The meal was coming together. I roasted some asparagus, warmed some rolls and made a rich gravy out of the pan drippings from the chicken. This was the kind of meal to be talked about for years to come.
The kids came home full of questions. "Aren't you going out to dinner?" my daughter Caitlin asked.
"Do we get to drink out of those wine glasses?" my six-year-old son asked. My fourteen-year-old son didn't say much but I caught him looking over his book, gazing at the table.
"When is Dad going to be home?" Caitlin asked impatiently.
"Don't worry, Dad won't miss the fun. Now go play while I finish our dinner." She couldn't pull herself away and she remained under my feet while I placed the food on platters.
John walked in the door as the last tray of food was placed on the table. He handed me a bouquet of roses that I placed in the center of the table. Perfect, I thought, as I looked at the glowing faces around the table.
It was a meal we would never forget, especially when I torched a layer of sugar on top of the crème brûlée. No one wanted to be the first to get up. I had never seen the kids so mesmerized or well behaved. There were no elbows on the table and the napkins were placed on their laps.
In the years to come, the kids would start talking about dinner weeks before Valentine's Day arrived. I always surprised them and tried to top the year before.
Now my oldest is twenty, and he still makes sure he is here for Valentine's. Instead of having four loved ones to spend it with, I now set the table for six, seven, even eight people. The kids bring their dates, because no one wants to miss out on the festivities.
Maybe one day I will be lucky enough to share this tradition with my grandchildren. I smile as I look across the table at my husband. This is what Valentine's Day is about — showing your family how much they are loved.
The family is a haven in a heartless world.
~Attributed to Christopher Lasch
Valentine's Day is usually spent with the one you love. Not me. Mine is spent with the four people I love. It wasn't always that way, but six years ago a new tradition was started.
It started when my husband and I got a sitter for our three kids and went to our favorite Italian restaurant. The smell of warm bread and dipping oil wafted out as we approached the restaurant. I had barely eaten that day just to leave room for all the yummy food I was about to consume. Would I have chicken parmesan? No, chicken marsala. I couldn't make up my mind.
We waited for a table, along with twenty other people. I knew it was Valentine's Day, but was this everyone's favorite restaurant? To make matters worse, the people who were seated took their time. They savored every bite and then ordered more. They sipped their wine, lingered over the meal and then ordered dessert.
Two and a half hours later, we were seated. The food had lost its appeal. It was no longer dinnertime, it was bedtime. Nothing was worth that long a wait, but we knew every other place would be the same. In an attempt to save the evening, I put on a smile and worked through my lasagna. Never again would I subject myself to that kind of torture.
The following year, John asked, "Where are we were going for dinner?"
"Nowhere!" I said. His look was quizzical. "It's a surprise. Just be home by six."
While John was at work and the kids were at school, I got busy with the preparations. I warmed some cream and added a split vanilla bean, the essence floated on an invisible cloud. After whipping some egg yolks and sugar to a light yellow color, the cream was added and melted dark chocolate was folded in. Then the crème brûlée was put into the refrigerator to set.
I began setting the table. It was better than any restaurant I had been to. The red tablecloth was sprinkled with pink rose petals, then layers of white toile were added. Votives were scattered around the settings of my best china. I placed a box of chocolates and a handwritten card on each plate. All my table needed now was a good meal and my family to enjoy it.
I preheated the oven and began to stuff a large chicken. I used onion, a quartered lemon, a whole head of garlic, thyme and salt and pepper. Then, under the skin, I rubbed a butter mixture with shallot, thyme, salt, pepper and lemon zest.
As the chicken cooked and the skin turned a golden brown, I began to boil potatoes. Once they were cooked and drained, I whipped in some warm cream and lots of butter, creating a mound of fluffiness.
The meal was coming together. I roasted some asparagus, warmed some rolls and made a rich gravy out of the pan drippings from the chicken. This was the kind of meal to be talked about for years to come.
The kids came home full of questions. "Aren't you going out to dinner?" my daughter Caitlin asked.
"Do we get to drink out of those wine glasses?" my six-year-old son asked. My fourteen-year-old son didn't say much but I caught him looking over his book, gazing at the table.
"When is Dad going to be home?" Caitlin asked impatiently.
"Don't worry, Dad won't miss the fun. Now go play while I finish our dinner." She couldn't pull herself away and she remained under my feet while I placed the food on platters.
John walked in the door as the last tray of food was placed on the table. He handed me a bouquet of roses that I placed in the center of the table. Perfect, I thought, as I looked at the glowing faces around the table.
It was a meal we would never forget, especially when I torched a layer of sugar on top of the crème brûlée. No one wanted to be the first to get up. I had never seen the kids so mesmerized or well behaved. There were no elbows on the table and the napkins were placed on their laps.
In the years to come, the kids would start talking about dinner weeks before Valentine's Day arrived. I always surprised them and tried to top the year before.
Now my oldest is twenty, and he still makes sure he is here for Valentine's. Instead of having four loved ones to spend it with, I now set the table for six, seven, even eight people. The kids bring their dates, because no one wants to miss out on the festivities.
Maybe one day I will be lucky enough to share this tradition with my grandchildren. I smile as I look across the table at my husband. This is what Valentine's Day is about — showing your family how much they are loved.
http://www.chickensoup.com
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