Suzanne’s Taste

When my husband asks, "What’s for dinner," I'm often still stumped.

Sometimes these myths begin for practical reasons (short ovens) and other times because cooks don’t know, for example, that fresh garlic is always superior to garlic salt, that fresh herbs are infinitely tastier and more interesting than dried ones.

My question of the month is only this: Whatever happened to manners?

My husband and I decided long ago that we need no more objects in our lives, and so our gifts to one another are moments: a nice dinner at a trattoria or day in the country at our favorite hideaway.

Suddenly I lived in Italy, and the marvel of Italian food and cooking cemented all I had learned before. Italians have great respect for food, and I have respect for food because of my eccentric and talented, feisty and ferocious grandmother.

I am an adventuresome sort, but not with my perfume. I have worn what first attracted me as my mother bent over to kiss me goodnight on her way to some evening affair. Her fur stole tickled my face and a subtle scent of carnations put me softly to sleep.

The assembled company asked me if I’d please bring my special panettone, with pistachios and dried cranberries. I was touched. Suddenly the day grew brighter, our champagne bubblier, and the word lonely was left behind to keep company with the year gone by.

My husband and I were married on February 14th because we are both incurable romantics, and because that way, we would never forget our anniversary (not bloody likely!) I love the trappings of Valentine’s Day.