Oh, the weather outside was frightful. It could have been any typical February evening...except that we had a houseful. My brother and his wife were in town. And my son was home. The plan had been to go out for dinner, but the snowy streets left us house bound. I'd left work early, was in my sweats and happy to be settled in for the night. We broke out the wine and cheese, chattered and laughed, and didn't notice the time pass until my husband called to say he was leaving the office. It's our nightly ritual. A phone call to say that he's on his way and to share our day. I didn't linger on the line, but before he hung up he asked if I needed anything. I said no, and told him I'd head into the kitchen to get dinner going.
After few more minutes of conversation, I got up to put the water for the pasta on to boil, and started to chop some vegetables. At some point, mid-chopping, my husband appeared. I remember feeling relieved that he'd made it home easily in spite of the snow. He said his hellos, set down his brief case and went to trade the suit and tie for his sweats and slippers.
With the chopping done, I started to gather the ingredients for the sauce. Milk, butter, seasonings, cheese and flour. Uh-oh....no flour in the canister. Or the cupboard over the stove. In fact, it didn't matter how many cupboards I opened, or how many times I peeked into the canister.
There was no flour in the house. I have no idea how many years it's been since that was the case. But here I was. Mid way through the meal prep, and not one teaspoon of flour.
As he was mixing a drink, my husband noticed my flurry of activity. And my sighs. And probably a "grrrrrrr" or two. Being the perceptive individual that he is, he asked what was wrong. I told him, and without hesitation he found some shoes, put his coat back on, and headed back out into the snow to buy me some flour.
It didn't matter that he had asked if I needed anything earlier, and I had said no.
It didn't concern him that he had warmed up. Or put on those slippers.
It didn't even bother him that all the roads were snowy.
Simple. He just went out, to get me what I needed. When I saw that flour he got a big hug. I thanked him and told him I didn't need him to bring me home any roses the next day. Really. No need.
Here we were, in our little kitchen together. Thirty one years after our first shared winter. And on this snowy valentine's eve, I learned that {cooking-crisis-rescue}
flour trumps {cheesy-holiday} flowers.
Everytime.
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