12 Feb O Solo Mio
by Karen Resta
The thing that eats the heart is mostly heart.
Stanley Kunitz
The day of romance and love is almost here! Little pink and red hearts will pop up in every store window that you pass. Florist shops have put up their “Help Wanted” signs and apparently will hire anyone from an eager eleven-year-old nerd who owns a bike to a stumbling, alcohol-perfumed escapee from the latest installment of “Life on the Road” to deliver massive tons of paper-wrapped roses from lovers to happy receivers (who today are individually referred to by the world as “My Valentine”).
Surprisingly enough, the great American machine of marketing and consumerism – one that provides such solid answers to each problem that presents itself in our lives – has not yet found an answer to one seemingly important question that many people ask themselves as this day approaches: “Where’s MY Valentine?”
The answer is that unfortunately, as with some other things in life, a “Valentine” in the form of a real person cannot be bought at the mall; you cannot just order one up for the day and have it delivered (unless your tastes run to neoprene). The Day of Love leaves many people feeling more bereft than joyous because of this terrible glitch that our consumer culture has forced upon us, and many people’s hearts are left heavy on this day.
Let’s take a closer look, though, at the reality of those who are dining at the finely-draped tables of love in regal splendor as “Valentines” while the other poor freezing creatures huddle around a box of cold-take out fried chicken, shivering and in rags as they survive the day without the title. Said closer look may provide some food for thought.
First of all, let us not all assume that just because someone is married, they arise each morning singing “Alleluia.” Marriage is terribly hard work, and as a result, often the people that live within it detest each other – I’ve had some of my worst Valentine’s Days while married. The box of chocolates was there. . .the card was sent that said the right things. . .and there might have even been flowers on the table; but these things do not a true Valentine make. A true Valentine is dependent on many things, some of which depend on human behavior, and some of which depend on the more ethereal things that are held in our hearts and minds. On the other hand, looking from a different angle, the most dreadful Valentines’ Day I ever experienced was while single. To challenge the Gods I decided to go out by myself (my friends were all working or – ha! – going out with their own “Valentines”) to a hundred-dollar-a-person dance and dinner party at a hip, popular Brazilian restaurant.
What could go wrong? Great food, great music, people! The food was okay, and so was the music. There was only one thing that made that night a nightmare: Among all these people, all these couples, there was only one other person there that was in the singular – he had been dragged along by his best friend, half of one of the many merry-making couples; and he was the antithesis of anything I could imagine as being my Valentine in any form or part whatsoever. Yet due to some masculine sense that reminds me intensely of all the hunting dogs I’ve ever laid eyes on in my life, he hunted me throughout the crowds that night. He sat next to me at the table for dinner. He asked me to dance (now this is not a bad thing to do – it was just that he seemed to have a magnetic honing device that made him swoosh up to me every time I turned around, and I am quite sure that HE was not taken with me every bit as much as I was not taken with him). So what was the point? Well, of course, the point was that he wanted a Valentine, in whatever form, and he made sure that as the clock ticked down to the midnight hour where champagne would be poured and lovers would be encouraged to kiss and go home, he was next to me. At the hour, the announcement was made that all Valentines should kiss. His face approached mine, and a wet strong disgusting tongue slobbered its way through my clenched teeth. Umm hmm. Happy Valentine’s Day!
So the Table of Love is not always a pretty feast; but there is actually hope for good cheer for all, whether or not the “other half” in the form of a Valentine exists or not. The pleasures of the table can be had by one as well as by two, and are perhaps even better in some ways. For when dining alone, you can have it exactly as you like it (and how often in life does that happen?!). Dining solo gives one the chance to treat yourself as you would like to be treated, with the assurance that the communication of what you do like will not go awry or be ignored. What luxuries could you conjure for a table of one? Which indulgences would you most adore to savor in their flavors and colors, textures and scents? As beauty is in the eye of the beholder, there may be something different on the table of each singular Valentine, but if looked at with a loving eye, each bite could indeed be filled with romance, love, and sentiment that would warm the heart and maybe even create images of little red and pink hearts floating through the sky. Just like in the store windows.
If I were to design a Valentine’s dinner for myself, the focus would be on simplicity. . .on luxury. . .it would be planned with an intent to thoughtfully seduce through the senses indulged by the offerings. A huge baked potato split open and steaming, dolloped with rich sour cream then topped by as much caviar as I wished. . .a dish of shrimp sautéed with basil, pernod, tomatoes – pink and pretty and spicy. . .Welsh Rabbit on good thick bread cuddled up to earthy wild mushrooms in a deglazed port wine sauce. . .fresh figs, lots of them, with Greek yogurt and walnuts all dressed up with lashings of dark honey. . .a huge raspberry soufflé. . . .a chocolate fondue for one? Or maybe Steak Diane ladled with extra sauce sided by a warm baguette all my own to catch the last drops on the plate.
Happy Valentine’s Day to all.
P.S. And never be embarrassed to buy as much foie gras as you can carry, just for you and yourself to enjoy!
Karen Resta has had an…interesting…career history, one part as Executive Chef for Partners Dining at Goldman Sachs in NYC, and another as VP for Goldman Sachs NYC. Her final career choice: Avoid the word career like the plague and refuse to talk about the juicy parts for money or fame.