I’m not a huge fan of Valentine’s Day. I have nothing against love or PDA or that sort of thing. I just find it really grating how confining the holiday is. Unlike Halloween or Christmas or even Thanksgiving (and I’ll admit this one’s a bit of a stretch but my family celebrates this our own way every year), how one celebrates Valentine’s Day feels very prescribed: everything is red and pink; everything is heart shaped. Teddy bears! Diamonds! Roses! And it’s everywhere. I tend to react with irrational and undirected rage whenever I see that imagery.

So yeah…not a huge fan. This has changed somewhat in the years since I met my husband. With him, there are no chocolates, no flowers, no saccharine pre-packaged love simulacra. We’re competitive gift givers, so we jump at any occasion to give the other the more heartfelt and thoughtful present. I’m satisfied to say that I won this one (my guitar for him totally tops his bedside table lamps for me (but I love them! Thank you, honey!).

Our tradition is food. One fancy dinner out and one fancy dinner in. This started because every Valentine’s Day prior to this one has fallen on a week night. So we’d go out (because it’s fun to get all dolled up) on the closest Saturday night and cook up something elaborate on Valentine’s Day proper. This year, we flipped it: going out on Valentine’s Day and cooking a whole heckuvalot the next day.

We made a goat cheese, sun-dried tomato, and roasted garlic soufflé…

We made Mark Bittman’s glazed and braised Brussels sprouts…

And we made a chocolate mousse…

It was all spectacular. If I had been able to read properly (“no more than 60% cacao” is not the same thing as “at least 60%”), the mousse wouldn’t be a dessert that we dread finishing. Yet another successful Valentine’s Day(s), I’d say.