Food, A Love Affair

Of course, there have been years when I've devised an escapist's strategy to the Feb. 14 holiday, but as a rule, I'm not, like, afraid of Valentine's Day. There's always shit to love! And after this weekend, a weekend fraught with rain and traffic, the thing I really remember loving most was the food. Sustenance, both mental and physical. Warmth in the cold. Etc.

For instance, I ate a life-changing jalapeño corn muffin on a dark afternoon. Later, in the middle of a deluge, I ate pan-fried potstickers that, when poked with a chop stick, billowed volcanic clouds of steam.

At a festive gathering, I ate 2 too many chocolate peanut-butter balls and drank several stiff, rose-colored drinks—they had the unlikely monicker of "dirty Shirley Temple" and came from the unlikely source of my favorite straight-edge girl.

Under the watchful nose of Lefty, I baked highly edible dog treats from scratch with nothing more than oats, flour and some peanut butter. And after walking the circumference of Mt. Tabor with my two favorite men, I fell aseep watching Ice Age 2 and then ate a giant steak made not of something once regal and furry but, instead, of cauliflower. Don't laugh! It was rich with miso paste and slathered with a leek compote. Red hot with sriracha. Seared and then roasted. Yep, both whisking and zesting were involved in this meal. I've long maintained that if a man is willing to whisk AND zest for you, ah well then that is love ...