This morning, when giving me his goodbye kiss, Keith murmured "Happy day after our anniversary." We had such a good one we wanted to extend it indefinitely.
It was our second one, but really, it was our first one ever. We missed the first one because he was in still in the swamps of southern Iraq. When he came back, we celebrated belatedly by going to Eat At Joe's, where we, naturally, had a crab boil. It so good. I got buttery spice all over my fingers; we used up reams of napkins, they piled up around us like the slightly soiled walls of a snow fort.
I wore my pale turquoise cotton sheath dress with the wide band of embroidery around the hem and felt gorgeous and ended up chasing Keith through the parking lot; I think because he pretended to have forgotten his wallet at home, nearly giving me a heart attack. I was in the middle of initiating tense emergency procedures: "You stay here. I'll drive back to the house and get my purse. Order dessert," when he couldn't keep a straight face any longer. (Don't worry, I got him back.)
It was such a good experience that we decided to celebrate every anniversary by Eating At Joe's. However, on Saturday Keith informed me that he'd made reservations for brunch at a Mystery Destination.
This turned out to be the Galt Hotel and Suites, which sits right on the waterfront in the heart of down town Louisville. The parking lot was at the same level as the Interstate which runs right alongside the river, so getting out of the HD I could look across a few yards to the roadway, behind it a broad expanse of water.
We went up twenty five floors to the restaurant, which I won't lie, made us a little queasy. The view at the top was breath taking. We could see the entire city, the broad bend of the river and the green hills of Kentucky and Indiana all around the horizon.
After a brunch that included pesto salmon and a chocolate tower, we headed off to the mall to buy each other gifts. Keith found his right away, one of those small but powerful remote controlled helicopters and then a new Guitar Hero game that we can rock out to, since we have mastered the one we already have. (I was completely sold as soon as I that the songs included "Hotel California." Unfortunately while there Keith also saw the new Call of Duty game coming out, which means we'll have to take out a small loan in order to purchase it in November...)
It me a little longer to find my gift. I saw White House/Black Market and set myself to walk right past, but Keith noticed and pulled me in. Not only that, but he encouraged me to actually purchase a little frilly black and white polka dot dress that went for a mere hundred and twenty eight dollars.
"If you really want it, hun, you should get it," he said.
I didn't buy it because I have too many cute little dresses already, but if I needed any further proof of how much he loves me, that one sentence would be it.
We went into J.Jill together, where I found an adorable little sweater.
"It's not very warm," Keith said.
"It's a summer sweater."
"A summer sweater? Why would you need a sweater in the summer?"
"It's for walking on the beach in the evening, when there might be a cool breeze," I replied dreamily, picturing exactly that.
"We're in Kentucky. We don't go to the beach and it's never cool in the summer," replied my husband, slightly confused.
"It's about a life style," I began and then gave up and put the sweater back. "Oh what the heck, let's go find a kitchen store."
At Williams-Sonoma I found a little French pastry rolling pin. ( I've been using a floured blue water glass until now. No kidding. An actual glass. It worked. Sort of.) For a while I was torn between that and a regular rolling pin, but I liked the elegant curve of the French one; besides it was less expensive.
Then I went to look at Dutch ovens. Can I just say, "HA!" very loudly? Do you all know how expensive La Crueset ovenware are? They were on sale from two hundred twenty five dollars to one hundred and ninety dollars. There was nothing, under any name, that was less than a hundred dollars.
Yeah. I don't need cast iron that badly, even if it is coated in a very pretty, candy colored enamel, or how well it may or may not improve my roasts. Now, I know I was in Williams-Sonoma, the home of the wildly overpriced kitchen gadget, but still.
Once I lost my cast iron innocence, I looked around and my dejected eye fell upon...cookbooks. The clouds parted and a ray of sunshine came flooding down. Keith stood beside me, flipping through the selection. He was on the lookout for a pizza cookbook but ended up being very interested in one on French cooking, which is a hopeful sign.
I ended up buying the Williams-Sonoma "Cooking at Home" book. This is because it had everything I was looking for. It has recipes for French, Italian and Asian sauces, for making jams, for making stock, for roasts, for vegetables. It even has lists for stocking the pantry, freezer and fridge; all in a very upscale way, of course.
We left the mall delighted with our purchases. When we got home, I started making the chocolate banana loaf while Keith flew his helicopter around in the kitchen, causing Lynn to cower in sheer terror under and around my feet. Fortunately the battery has a short life span so we were ensured short, frequent breaks from its aerial pursuit.
I have already had at least twenty questions that used to hover in the back of my mind answered by my cookbook. I have about ten pages marked by turning down the corners and can't wait to start making some of those recipes. But what I really look forward to is ten or twenty years from now still using that same cookbook, tattered, sauce stained, and remembering the first anniversary we celebrated together.
