For Bee

Sugar Cookies for the Cookie Co-Op

As the years go on, I find myself falling into that common old-married-couple rut of not putting forth the effort to celebrate significant events with my significant other. I realized yesterday that February 14^th is upon us and that I was shaping up to be a totally suck-y Valentine.

I think I screwed myself over because I’d forwarded an e-mail to Bee from a friend of mine who owns a flower farm and is offering a Valentine’s Day special. I didn’t really need roses, but I wanted to, you know, provide Bee with an option. Then I forgot about it, figuring we wouldn’t do anything special for the occasion. Then I noticed Bee reading the e-mail the other day, so I decided I’d better get him something, just in case.

SO I spent four hours today baking Pettifuiate, which is a very dry ‘cake’ made from nuts and raisins rolled in tiny strips o’ dough, cinnamon-roll style. My ex-mother-in-law-by-marriage makes it every Christmas, and Bee just adores it. I, for my own part, think it tastes like crap . . . but that’s probably just because it doesn’t have two cubes of butter and six cups of sugar in it.

At any rate, the recipe the matriarch of The Four Families provided is three pages long and includes six diagrams. It requires one to make three different fillings which are then sprinkled over dough that’s been rolled into 4 pieces, split, separated into 6 more, set into two groupings, made into 12 balls, flattened out and cut into 24 strips. Once each strip has been sprinkled with the three different fillings, they are rolled back up and then set in a dish, covered again with two of the fillings, and baked for an hour and a half. THEN the ‘cake’ is inverted, righted again, and set back in the oven to dry out overnight. Then the arid piece o’crap is loosely wrapped and can be stored in the fridge for up to 8 months.

If I’d ever really enjoyed the baked product before, actually having to make it would have cured me of that delusion.

However, I was making this for Bee, so I dutifully spent the afternoon attempting the recipe. Once it came, freshly-baked, out of the oven, Bee sampled it and claimed to be delighted with it, as-is, so we decided not to further dry it out in the oven overnight. Which, darn it, just might keep it moist-enough for me to like it. And I really, really don’t want to like it.

In the end, I think the effort counts as a good present for Valentine’s. Especially since Bee, contentedly licking Pettifuiate crumbs from his chin, turned to me a few hours ago and said, “Gosh, I guess now I ought to get you something for Valentine’s Day.”

Perhaps I’ve one-upped him for this particular holiday. Come to think of it, I did a pretty good job of doing the same thing last year with my truffles wrapped in sweet-sayings. Which, by the way, someone gave me crap for, thinking I was being cloyingly over-romantic. But if you look closely at the photo, you’ll note many of the sweet-sayings were things like: “I love you because you didn’t eat garlic when I asked you not to.”

Because heaven forbid I be called sentimental.

The Change

(autumn 2005)

I let you come inside because

My friend said you were great.

She said she thought we’d get along

And should go on a date.

Your nose poked up, your fly fell down,

You were so goofy, too.

So why the hell did I agree

That I’d go out with you?

You took me down through cornfields and

You took me up to sled.

You took me out to breakfast and

You shared what you were fed.

Your weirdo thoughts, your boyish laugh,

Your insane outlook, too.

Oh, what the hell was wrong with me,

Thinking so much of you?

I freaked a little as the weeks

Flew by with nothing wrong.

Guess that’s what happens once you get

What you’ve dreamed of for so long.

My fragile heart, your calming smile,

I never really knew

Just when the hell it finally was

I fell in love with you.

Now everything about you’s cute:

I’m hooked, I must confess.

And what I’d do without you I

Don’t even want to guess.

Your boyish laugh, your button nose,

My love for you is true.

Oh how the hell dared I to live

Before I lived with you?