Valentine's day means many things to many people.

For most, it's a time to let your loved one know how you feel. To affirm your love with flowers, candy, or even jewelry, and hope it somehow translates into rough sex.

For me, it's always been a time of reflection, since the only rough sex I'm going to have is if throw myself on Rachelle while she's filing her nails.

Which she usually is when I throw myself on her.

Yes, for me it's a chance to look back at the way things might have been... ....had I not hooked up with someone dedicated to making my life a living hell.

She came highly recommended – like a great book, a fine restaurant, or a good plastic surgeon. Her name was Delilah, and our mutual friend, Nina, wanted to hook us up.

She described Delilah as a great beauty, with intellect and insight.

“She’s your muse,” said Nina.

I wasn’t falling for the hype. I didn’t want to go on a blind date. But Nina wouldn’t let up. She was sure that Delilah and I were perfect for each other.

I sighed and told her I’d think about it.

“Don’t think about it. Call her,” she insisted. “Fate doesn’t wait.”

I met my husband Mike in Paris, and, no, it was not like that.  He was visiting his sister and I was a friend of hers traveling through Europe.

Well, one day we convinced him to go shopping with us. I needed something to layer in because it was a cold summer and there was this nearby shop that made elaborate and exquisite batik sarongs that can double as wraps, scarves, whatever the need (this is pre Pashmina).

From the Joyofbaking.com 

February 14th is named after the patron saint, St. Valentine, and we celebrate this day with the exchange of candy, flowers, cards, and gifts as a token of affection to our loved ones. The history of this day is very sketchy but it does appear to derive from Christian and Roman traditions. The story I like dates from the third century when Rome was ruled by the Emperor Claudius II. The Emperor outlawed marriages for young men as he felt single men made better soldiers than men who were married. 

A priest, named St. Valentine, didn't agree with the Emperor and married young lovers in secret.  When the Emperor discovered what St. Valentine was doing, he sentenced him to death. While St. Valentine was in prison, waiting to be put to death, he met and fell in love with the jailor's daughter. Before he died he sent her a love letter and signed it "From your Valentine". 

October, 1962.  Johnny Carson became the new host of “The Tonight Show”.  The Cuban Missile Crisis brought us to the brink of nuclear war with the Soviet Union.  And I was an eleven-year-old Hebrew School student at Temple Beth Shalom on the south shore of Long Island.

Three afternoons a week I was car pooled to this house of worship ostensibly to learn about the history of my people.  My teacher was an elderly Old World gentleman named Rabbi Nathan Levitats who spoke English pretty much the same way that I spoke Chinese…not well.  Still, he taught us bible stories and because the Hebrew name for Alan is Avraham, which is also the Hebrew name for Abraham, I immediately felt a special kinship with that Old Testament figure known as the “First Jew” because of his belief that there was only one God. 

Valentine’s Day marks the anniversary of the day I turned left at a crossroads. I’d like to say I never looked back, but I look back all the time. On February 14th, 1995, I left New York for good, although of course I didn’t know at the time that I wouldn’t be back.

I was a mere 21 years old and had recently graduated from college. I had graduated, too, from my college boyfriend, who was, in short, a complex individual. Someday, I thought, maybe I will go out with someone who enjoys the company of other people and will go to parties with me.

In New York, I found a terrible job with a joke of a salary and a refreshingly normal boyfriend who liked to go to parties. One night we went to a charity ball and there was a silent auction. Up for sale was dinner for two at Provence in the West Village. 

Lee's biggest complaint regarding my cooking is that I "never repeat", meaning I never make the same thing twice. Which isn't true of course, but I know what he means. I'm always looking to improve upon recipes and try something new. So for Valentine's Day I let him choose the menu, something new or a repeat of an old favorite.

For celebratory meals it seems eating in is at least as romantic as eating out, maybe more. And with a few possible exceptions, no matter what ingredients you buy, you'll be hard pressed to spend more than you would dining out. One year I even made platters of seafood--oysters on the half shell, poached shrimp, mussels, smoked salmon, etc. But the biggest hit was the time I made cheese fondue followed by chocolate fondue. So after deciding we'd rather do Valentine's Day dinner at home this year, Lee expressed his desire for "Fondue x 2", which is our menu du jour.

The best part of choosing cupcakes as a wedding dessert was the taste testing. After a little online research, I strategically mapped a route to ensure efficient procurement of both a chocolate and a vanilla cupcake from eight bakeries throughout Manhattan. We started on the Upper West Side at Crumbs Bakery and continued down the west side, eventually finishing on the Lower East Side. Then we brought the cupcakes home and tasted them at room temperature, just as they would be at the wedding. 

Around fifteen years ago, my wife and I decided that eventually we wanted to leave Los Angeles and move to the country.  Although neither of us had ever lived on a farm, we both had grandparents who did and had fond memories of visits where we “helped” with chores such as milking and gathering eggs.  However, I soon learned to avert my eyes whenever I saw my grandmother pick up a chicken, as I knew this was Step 1 of the recipe for the pot pie which would appear on the supper table. 

Once we had decided to move, we spent our vacations looking for the perfect place.  We checked out Northern California, Oregon, Washington and the Canadian Maritimes before eventually deciding on Vermont because it actually looked like “the country” of our imaginations.    

Sharing things is always dicey, and dicing while cooking together is definitely no exception.   The kitchen can morph into a metallic boxing ring.  One of you is the wild, inventive cook and the other is the chop-a-holic, compulsive one.  But one thing I’ve realized after decades of co-cooking is that both co-chef-partners are actually doing the same things, just at different moments. 

Take me, for example.  I am not a compulsive dicer and slicer, but I do like my implements put back in their proper places.  My co-cooker partner likes to splatter garlic when throwing it with wild abandon into a pan, but follows recipes as if his children’s lives depended on it. 

“Ouch,” my husband groaned miserably as something metal jabbed him in the side.  “It’s like sleeping on a motorcycle.” It is 1:30 in the morning and we are still wide awake.   

The intention was admirable:  Joan, my father’s girlfriend, had insisted they buy this pull-out couch specifically for visits like this one.

The week before, my father had been diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s.  When I got the call, a chill snaked through my bones, so powerful that for a moment I couldn’t breathe. “It could go slow,” I was told, “ It could go fast, or it could stay the same for the rest of his life.  No one knows.”

I have started internet dating the last few months so occasionally I ask someone over for dinner. Should I query them about their food likes and dislikes? What I really want to ask is how do they feel about eating herring, do they like Champagne and is eating lamb in your comfort zone? Usually asking this at first is a real dealbreaker, never mind mentioning that Classical music will probable be playing in the background. Should I keep it “safe” and make a simple braised chicken dish or should I go out on a culinary limb and make braised lamb shanks that perfume the house with the ethic smell of a casbar in some far away place. Should I ask or just take a gamble?