A memorable Valentine’s day surprise

Vertis and I have been married longer than I care to admit, and she has done some really neat things to celebrate my birthday and other special days in my life. As most guys will tell you, that’s the way their marriages work, and I’m in that category.

However, I did pull off a surprise a few years back on Valentine’s Day. It didn’t put me even with her, but for once I managed to do something memorable.

I decided to prepare a gourmet— at least for me—dinner. I know that sounds like a mess in the kitchen, but I was determined to give it a try. I sent her a printed invitation for Valentine’s dinner, and I noted the dress as “formal.” It piqued her interest and she said, “Sounds nice. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere you’ve never dined,” I answered. Well, that made her curious because we live in a town with a population of about 18,000, and she’s been to every restaurant here. Earlier, I had told her we wouldn’t be going out of El Dorado.

I sent the invitation a week before Valentine’s Day to let her build some anticipation. That gave me a week to worry about being able to pull it off, and since she would also have a week to imagine what was in store for her, it would be a disaster if I didn’t do it right.

Sure, it would be a big success if I managed to perform, but what if I didn’t? Obviously there were some risks. What if I flopped as a chef? Or what if she expected some fancy caterer from Dallas to roar in and serve a big spread and was disappointed?

If you wanted to spend megabucks, you could hire a classy catering service and let it do the whole deal. That would certainly be appreciated, but I thought doing it myself was a way to make it more personal.

The days quickly passed, and it was time for me to make good on the formal dinner.

I’d thought about the menu before I sent the invitation, because I’m not much of a cook. One of Vertis’ favorite dishes is soft-shell crab, so that became the entrée. I ordered crabs shipped overnight from a crab house in Maryland, and decided to add a spinach salad and steamed asparagus with Hollandaise sauce.

I thought this was doable because flash-frying the soft-shell crabs was simple, as was the salad and asparagus, and I could make the Hollandaise sauce well before dinner. The result were fairly predictable and could be very tasty. But I was still worried.

Valentine’s Day arrived, and Vertis still didn’t have a clue where we were going. She had eliminated every place in town in less than five minutes after she received the invitation. However, there is a large house in town, built in the 1920s when oil money was giving El Dorado the nickname Cadillac City. We had bought, restored, and furnished the old house and rent it for receptions and weddings. It has a full kitchen, and by the time Valentine’s Day rolled around, I had everything in its kitchen ready to go.

That night I put on my tux at the office and at 7 p.m. drove to my house to pick up Vertis. She was dressed to the nines, and could hardly contain her excitement. I drove across town to the house on Oak Street, and she looked a little puzzled at first.

Then we walked into its warmly-lit formal living room with soft music playing. The two fireplaces were glowing, and I rushed into the kitchen to the freezer, where I’d already poured two glasses of champagne in red champagne glasses.

We sipped our champagne, and I gave her a Valentine’s card with a note about the first Valentine’s Day we celebrated together. As we sat by the fireplace, we talked about our first Feb. 14 together, and what we had given each other. (Her first gift from me was a pink sweater, and she gave me a red scarf.)

“Richard, I still have that sweater.

I’ll always keep it.”

The evening was off to a great start, but being Richard the chef was still to come, and you bet

I was nervous. After we finished our champagne, I said, “Come into the dining room. Dinner will be served in a few minutes.” I could tell she was confused, because it was obvious we were the only ones in the house.

When she walked into the dining room, Vertis’ face lit up. That afternoon I’d cut about 50 bright-red camellia blossoms from a bush beside the house and spread the red blossoms across the table. If I do say so myself, it made for a breathtaking setting. Actually, the camellia blossoms had been an afterthought, but a great one.

Naturally, I’d already prepared the salads and in seconds I served them. As we finished the salads, I casually remarked, “I’m going to freshen up your champagne, and go into the kitchen and prepare dinner.” I’ll never forget that shocked looked on her face.

“Uh, wait, I’ll go in and help you,” she stammered.

“No, I’m doing everything, and you just sit there and enjoy your champagne.”

Later that evening Vertis, who is an excellent chef, told me it was the hardest thing she ever did to sit there while I prepared dinner. However, she did say the excitement and anticipation had her hands shaking.

I had everything ready, but was nervous as a cat, because I had to steam the asparagus, flash-fry the softshell crab, and heat up the Hollandaise sauce while wearing a tux. Before I picked up Vertis I had put everything together, and when I served the salads, I’d turned the stove burners up to heat the cooking oil.

I pulled it off, and in less than 20 minutes, I placed dinner in front of a shocked wife and poured her a glass of chardonnay. Dessert, already purchased and prepared, was in the freezer, and coffee followed.

It was worth it.

Vertis has never forgotten that night, and I haven’t either. We reconnected during a busy week, and that evening has been in both our memories. You might think Vertis was the one pleased and surprised, and the Valentine’s Day dinner was all for her pleasure.

But getting everything ready and preparing dinner was the most fun I’ve had in years, and watching her enjoyment and surprise was worth all the effort I’d put into it.

It was one of those unique nights in a marriage where we bonded a little tighter.