Valentine's Day

To me, a great date is one where you can do nothing with someone and be perfectly content. It's an easy formula: Good Company + Snacks in a Safe Environment = A+. Call me boring or slothful but it works for me. Lately though, my boyfriend really likes getting outside of the box and trying new things.

We crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and went to the flea market. We saw two Broadway shows in two consecutive weeks. We even took the train and went to his parents' house for a Japanese New Years party. All very out of the ordinary, all slightly uncomfortable. Good Company + Stress and Mobility = C-.

Two weeks ago, however, we had a bonafide A+ date. I got off of a long day at work, took a cab, and met Alex at his apartment. He opened the door, and we both had that pale, slightly purple tint that comes with working and winter. Four words came out of his mouth that reaffirmed why he is the greatest boyfriend and my greatest date: "Grand Sichuan and Lost."

When you stumble upon a private chef who bakes intricately designed chocolate boxes in the finest quality ingredients- you know it’s an excellent day.  Chef Connie Mullins knew she was destined be a chef at a very young age.  She started to bake when she was just 5 years old and decorated her first cake at the age of 10. At 12 years old, she began to play around with food and since then, she’s worked in an array of roles within the culinary industry.  “I had an aunt that sewed for Victor Costa,” said Connie, “She really inspired me.  She was a cake artist and baked beautiful wedding cakes- any type of dessert really.”  Her aunt passed down a book to her from the School of Wilton and that’s how Connie learned to decorate cakes.  She decorated them all through high school and sold them on the side.

And, how did Chef Connie Bakes come to be?  After cooking on her own for so long, Connie enrolled in professional classes at El Centro college in the food and hospitality program.  “At that time, there wasn’t a bakery pastry program,” she said, “But, while I was there, one was approved and I went back through the baking and pastry program as well.”  In fact, it was through this program, that Connie was able to choose her favorite dish she’s ever made. “It was vanilla puddin’ and I started making it in 1973 for my brother,” she said, “When I did enter culinary school and was admitted into the pastry program, it was one of the recipes the chef went over that all pastry chef’s must learn how to master: pastry cream (because it’s used throughout the bake shop).  And, it’s funny because what I had always called my vanilla pudding had been pastry cream all along- and I’d been making it since I was 12 years old just by feel and sight!”

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Classics become classic because they don’t succumb to time or trend but grow true to themselves. Such is the case with the makers of the beloved blue box with the white ribbon. As Valentine’s Day rolls around, naturally my mind, as well as my hopes, go straight to that classic blue box.

Growing up, my mother and her sisters were my style mentors. It was my younger aunts in particular with their gold bracelets and brooches, that cued me into the finer things in life. Their heavy gold link bracelets, laden with charms that made music as they walked, and the jeweled pins that adorned their dresses and sweaters were all, as I learned early, from Tiffany’s. That blue box tied neatly with the white ribbon became a familiar site under our Christmas tree, on my mother’s birthday and my parents’ wedding anniversary. It became for me, a style-precocious child, something to aspire to.

My first blue box came at 18 from my first serious boyfriend. He would later become my first fiancé, gifting me yet again with a coveted blue box containing The ring. But the first box which was indeed ring-size and had my fingers trembling as I opened it, held two enamel and gold bands. Pre-engagement rings was how I viewed my Valentine’s Day gift of the blue and gold, and green and gold Schlumberger bands that stacked beautifully on my finger.

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.