I don’t want to be a braggedy-ann but my husband Nick is an excellent cook. He plans our meals (with creative lefties in mind) and does all the grocery shopping. Even if he will be away for a meal, he suggests things I can have on my own.
We recently had a session with a Nutritionist together and now he has incorporated healthy choices into his cooking.
In fact, right now I am just back at my computer after having a lunch of lobster and ricotta lasagne, with fresh tomato sauce, and homemade noodles. It was his first try at making pasta from scratch and it turned out really well. But while it was absolutely delicious, the lasagne is the result of what he would call, a fail. His goal was to make lobster raviolis, but the first batch didn’t turn out right because he put too much filling in and they were bound to burst open when he tried simmering them in water. So he turned those ones into lasagne, and continued working to perfect his technique. We now have some gorgeous looking raviolis in the freezer awaiting another meal.
Suffice it to say, he handles the food in our home, and I really appreciate his efforts.
Even though he really enjoys creating in the kitchen, (when asked on a recent vacation what he missed most about home, aside from our cat Eddie, his response was cooking) I like to repay him by taking him out to a nice restaurant every once in a while. So a couple of Saturdays ago, we went out to one of our favourites for a fancy meal, a place called Politica.
They have an excellent chef there and everything we’ve ever eaten has been really good. A minor qualm we had during this recent visit was that, although I had made a reservation well in advance, upon arriving we were offered a less than optimal table. It was a tiny one, smack dab in the middle of an almost empty restaurant. (Things were quiet because it was the week-end before Christmas, but they are usually quite busy on a Saturday night.) The choice of seating was nowhere near conducive to the romantic dinner we hoped to have, but that was remedied quickly after we asked for our favourite back-corner table.
From there we proceeded to enjoy an outstanding meal.
It was dimly lit with mood lighting and candles in there, so my pictures turned out to be dark, so I lightened them with Photoshop.
I wore a black dress that requires little adornment because it is designed with a crystal decoration at the neckline. So all I added was a delicate crystal bracelet and a vintage silver evening bag. I also wore tights and some ankle boots with silver hardware.
Sheesh, I have so much trouble getting my bangs to lay straight. I changed by hair last March, going from an even length all around to having bangs, and while I have loved them, I find them to be such a challenge. The problem is I have a cowlick.(Isn’t that a funny word to describe that situation where your hair naturally stands up at the front? I just looked it up to see if there is another name for it, but there doesn’t seem to be. Apparently having a cowlick is passed on in your genes, and the specific gene is called Frizzled6. Another good word to blame a hair problem on!)
Details: Dress – Evan Picone (from The Bay), Bag – Vintage, Boots – Kaytee, Tights – Trimfit, Eye Shadow and Lip Pencil – Rimmel of London, Nail Polish – Sally Hansen, Big Apple Red.
Thank you for taking a look.