February 15, 2007 by Amy

E-coli is so not romantic

Valentine’s Day was good, despite my Valentine having only one useable arm. My boy planned in advance, and had the card and my gift all ready to go. What did he get me, you ask? Well, he got me the best thing in the world: a Starbucks gift card. Does my boy know me or what? He’s a good doobie.

I was the epitome of romance and got him a pepper mill and a meat thermometer. I know, I know…it doesn’t sound very romantic. But nothin’ says love like properly seasoned and cooked beef.

He’s hard to shop for, you see. He doesn’t ever ask for anything except Christmas lights (which I don’t dare order for him, as he’s hyper-picky about them and does months of research before purchasing any components for the display) and a Corvette, which a.) we can’t afford and b.) I wouldn’t dream of getting without him as picking out options for a new car is half the fun.

So, seeing as how I can’t get him the only two things he ever asks for, I have to get him things like pepper mills and meat thermometers.

He’s the cook in our family, and he likes gadgets, so it’s usually a safe bet that he’ll enjoy kitchen utensils. He got a silicone-covered wisk for Christmas and you’d have thought he died and went to heaven. Well, maybe not, but I was quite pleased with myself for remembering that he had wanted one for months and then ordering it from Pampered Chef in plenty of time for Christmas delivery.

He’s wanted a pepper mill for years. Pretty much since our honeymoon when the dinner steward on our cruise ship had an awesome mill and we got fresh-cracked pepper every night. I found a smallish one that’s stainless steel, which he loves, that is pretty cool because if you turn it one direction you get a fine grind, and if you go the other way you get a course grind. It even came with a little matching salt shaker that has a switch to turn off the holes, thereby avoiding those unlucky salt spills.

The meat thermometer is an attempt to make his life easier so he doesn’t have to keep cutting into the beef/chicken/fish to squint at it and try to determine, by sight, if all the bacteria has been cooked to death. I have given him more than just a simple meat thermometer. I have given him peace of mind. You can’t put a pricetag on that, baby.

At least I didn’t do what my colleague at work did. She got her husband a fancy-schmancy baster for Valentine’s Day, making him…wait for it…a master baster.