Adult Fun

Pete and I went out last night for a Valentine's Day dinner. It was the longest consecutive string of hours I have spent not in pajamas for a month. We had made reservations at a local restaurant called "Heartland" about which I had heard very good things. They focus on using locally-sourced ingredients, prepared in interesting ways, and I figured that a special occasion was a good time to patronize it.

We made our reservations early because I get sleepy at 8:00, and I even put on a skirt and my new boots. I felt very wide and large, but Pete said I looked nice, and that's what matters. Pete was very handsome in his blue shirt and clean-shaven face. It was nice to play grown up and indulge in about the only adult fun that is allowed for me at the moment.

And the food? The food was excellent. They had a menu prepared for the evening. You chose one of the meals, each of which consisted of five courses, and the choices were "Forest and Prairie," "Rivers and Lakes," and "Farms and Fields."

I was so naughty. I chose "Forest and Prairie," which was basically a meat feast and included very rare beef and elk, which I am not supposed to be having. Pete chose "Farms and Fields" but wanted to sample some meat as well. He really wanted a nice filet, but he thought that asking to plop down a hunk of beef on top of the Canadian wild rice-wheat berry risotto en croute might be a bit of a stretch, substitution-wise.

Pete was wary of ordering wine because I could not have any, and he did not want to be rude. I said that I did not mind if he had a glass of wine. I might mind if he had four, but it was okay. I did not want one, anyway. I wanted exactly what they had: Pepin Heights sparkling apple cider. Perfection. He had a Malbec.

About half way into the farm duck leg confit with roasted winter squash, preserved cherries, and black walnut sauce, I realized that I was feeling very uncomfortable. The food was excellent, and I did not want to waste a bit (this was my first duck, after all, and when do I ever eat things with that long a title?), but I was having my weird pregnancy indigestion, crampy gas, and a little nausea. I was hoping it would go away.

I could not eat much of the roasted rack of Wisconsin elk with celery root-potato puree, wild boar guanciale and scotch whisky sauce, and I had to have him pack it up for me. I felt so bad. It was so good. Pete was wolfing down his aforementioned risotto with preserved button mushrooms, caramelized sweet onion sauce, and a Wisconsin parmesan cheese cracker (no filet), and wanted me to try it, but I couldn't do it.

We had a good time, though, just talking and laughing together. Earlier in the day, Pete had written me about names. He was wondering about the name "Finn." The initial appeal of "Connor" was wearing off for him. It was funny because I had thought of Finn on February 3 when we were driving home from Trotter's Cafe. There's a "Finn Street" back there, and I was reminded that I really liked that name. I was also reminded that Julia Roberts had named her twins Phinneaus and Hazel, and bummed me out because she took such good names. But, as we don't really move in the same circles, I think it would be OK to have another Finn around.

I ate my cellar-aged Wisconsin washed-rind cow milk cheese and most of my vanilla rosewater creme brulee; I was feeling a bit better by then. Besides, we had to get home. There was a good "Secrets of the Dead" on public TV followed by a show on the Freemasons. Romance!

I made it though half of the Freemasons show.