Valentine's Day

There is one day in February that excites women across the country... Valentine's Day. A day she hopes to be showered with flowers, chocolates and a great dinner with the love of her life.

Believe it or not, Valentine's Day (or St. Valentine's Day as it is really known) was not created by Hallmark. There are a few schools of thought that surround St. Valentine, and who he was.

The Catholic Church recognizes three saints named Valentine or Valentinus whom were martyred.
One story claims Valentine was a priest living in Rome during the 3rd Century. During this time, marriage became outlawed because soldiers were thought to be stronger if they were without a family. Valentine did not agree with this law, and continued to marry couples against the wishes of Emperor Claudius II. Once Claudius learned of this betrayal, Valentine was jailed.

According to one legend, Valentine sent the first "Valentine" greeting. He was in prison and fell in love with a young girl who visited him while there. It is said he sent her a letter and signed it "From your Valentine" — an expression we still use today.

Chocolate molten cake is my personal weakness. I cannot go without ordering it when I see it on a restaurant menu. Fairly common on many menus, it is a dessert that is not always created euqal. I can attest to this because I've tried pretty much all of them. But the best molten chocolate cake I've ever had is the one served at Jean Georges Restaurant; it's a signature dish of the restaurant and is on the menu at practically all of Jean Georges's establishments. For me it is an unforgettable dish. And I convince all my friends to try it too; I rarely have to force them. As the saying goes, dessert is served last, but don't let it be least, especially not this one.

This dessert is probably one of the easiest to make at home. So if you're unable to have dinner at Jean Georges or are on a budget like I am, why not try making it at home. It's a simple yet highly rewarding dessert. It's perfect for a dinner party because it can be made ahead, refrigerated, and baked just minutes before it's time to eat dessert. The first spoonful of lava-like chocolate oozing out from the center of the cake is so seductive that guests won't soon forget it. I think any holiday meal would benefit greatly with this molten cake served as dessert. It's a little bit unexpected and will add that touch of gourmet to the evening.

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.

“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.”