As Valentine’s Day approached, Mr. How Sweet faced a familiar dilemma: what to get his beautiful bride?
Normally I would buy her something shiny to distract her. “Oh, look, there are SEQUINS on that blouse! Aren’t they AMAZING? Those are the BEST sequins ever!”
Fact: most men don’t care about sequins — at least not unless their name is Elton John.
This year I decided to do something different: make her dinner and write a post for her blog. The question was, what to cook? Our tastes don’t always align. Her palate is a bit more refined than mine. Mine has been compared to that of a five-year-old: chicken nuggets and mac‑and‑cheese, please and thank you.
I needed a dish that would satisfy her refined, sometimes picky preferences (“no” to chicken or vegetables, “yes” to bacon and cheese… and bacon) and also meet my personal goal of packing in 200 grams of protein in one sitting. After much deliberation — and a few head thumps on the desk — I had a vision: filet mignon with lobster sauce. I’ve conquered dippy eggs and toasted bagels before; I was ready for a bigger challenge.
After a grocery run that included some guidance — “What the deuce is tarragon and where do you find it?” — I went home and reached for the most important ingredient. Filet? Lobster? Masses of butter? Not yet. The first thing I grabbed was Ketel One — just a nip to take the edge off.
Then I was ready.
Being a man and not a huge fan of recipes, I treated the instructions like suggestions. Cook lobster? I don’t have time for that — I had bigger priorities: Daytona 500 practice was on the Speed channel and I needed to see how Dale Jr. and Elliott Sadler were running for my office pool. Drink in hand, racing on the screen, life was good. But something was missing. Ah yes — cooking.
Back in the kitchen I started slicing shallots, chopping garlic, and squeezing lemons. I hadn’t considered boiling the lobster tails at first. When I finally read the recipe more carefully, I realized I’d skipped a key step. I quickly reversed course, but I had already separated the meat from the tails and set the shells in melted butter. The practical move? Bring a skillet of water to a boil and add the lobster meat. Why a skillet? It was already there from breakfast.
Watching the clock, I knew time was tight. I didn’t want my wife to come home to lobster meat boiling in a skillet — I knew that would prompt questions like, “What would you do without me?”
Her usual quips — “Oh, I don’t know, maybe live my life without a closet full of Carlos Santana and BCBG Max Azria shoes and not be forced to watch Dirty Dancing” — never land as funny for her as they do for me.
Three minutes on the timer and I see her pull into the driveway. No matter how badly I want that clock to hit zero before she walks in, it won’t. And I’m too rigid to remove the skillet early — the recipe said 13 minutes and I’m sticking to 13, not 12½.
She steps into the usually tidy kitchen to find a scene reserved for weekend meal prep: multiple pans, bowls, knives, spoons, cutting boards. She offers to help; I say I’m fine because I want to finish this as my gift to her.
With the lobster butter cooling, I pour another drink and prepare a vinegar and shallot reduction. Then I tackle the egg yolks and lemon juice — technically you whisk, but I beat them with gusto and a sense of humor.
Things speed up: Jess helps cut sweet potatoes for a side dish — to me, a meal isn’t complete without one. While they roast, I put the filets under the broiler. Twelve minutes later the steaks come out perfectly medium-rare and we sit down to the first truly grown-up meal I’ve ever made.
It turned out to be a wonderful Valentine’s Day. I hope yours was just as special.