Here's Looking at You Kid

Valentine's Day, for all of it's good intentions, usually means dropping an obscene amount of money on flowers (I know it's the thought that counts, but they die in less than a week!) and restaurant specials that cost twice as much as they do normally. On the other hand, the whole Anti-Valentines schtick is almost just as cliche. Besides, everybody knows, just like when you tell each other that you're not exchanging gifts for Christmas/birthdays, as a husband it's still implied that you have to do something. So this year, I decided to choose cheesy sentiment over self-loathing and depression.

I took Katy to her favorite store, Anthropologie, on Saturday afternoon, and like a good wife, she bought nothing. After that we walked over to the Music Box Theatre, a classic old movie house built in 1929. We went and saw a showing of Casablanca. No, not some horrible Hollywood remake starring Jack Black and Jessica Alba (although I'm sure that's in the works), but the real deal from 1942. They didn't even have blogs back then. Oddly enough, even though I earn my livelihood through the movies, my knowledge doesn't really pre-date 1975. I am woefully under-educated when it comes to Black and White Era, so I had never seen this. (Fun fact: I've never seen Gone With the Wind either.)

The film itself was great, especially seeing on the big screen with 500 other lovebirds, even if the sound quality at times left something to be desired. I was pleasantly surprised to find the movie to be so funny. When I think of humor from that era, I think of The Three Stooges or Milton Berle; slapstick and silly puns. Casablanca on the other hand, was dripping with sarcasm and dry humor and wasn't nearly as cheesy as I thought it would be. (Fun fact: There literally wasn't one scene in the movie where someone wasn't smoking or drinking. Most of the time, both at once. I was pleasantly surprised that I didn't smell like a bar when we left the theatre. Not So Fun fact: I Wikipedia'ed Humphrey Bogart when we got home and found out he died of lung cancer, which made me sad. Let that be a lesson!)

After exercising those metropolitan demons (Seeing an old movie - non porn - at a rundown theatre strikes me as very Woody Allen), we headed back home where I prepared a Valentine's Day feast. To be clear, Katy is the cook of the house. When it's my turn to cook, you can count on the food being frozen in it's infancy and having directions for the oven printed on the back label. I actually went the extra mile this time and found a great recipe for Chicken Parmesan and homemade Garlic Bread. I also stopped off at a local bakery and picked up a couple of chocolate and strawberry tarts. I wrote up the whole recipe over at Pomp Culture. Check it out here.

Tyler Florence of the Food Network deserves some of the credit for that one, as does Katy, who helped me with much of the prep work. But much like with flowers, it's the thought that counts, no? I owned that Chicken Parmesan and soon enough, both Katy and I fell in love with it's gooey goodness. A food based menage trois if you will. Wait, that sounds gross and quite messy. I can't recommend such an affair.

Speaking of affairs and menage trois', we later watched the latest Woody Allen flick (Its all coming full circle now) Vicki Cristina Barcelona. It was a solid, beautifully shot effort by everyone's favorite bespeckled perv, but it was no Casablanca. But we had a great night, so frankly darling, I don't give a damn. (Wait, I think I just mixed up my classic movie quotes. Somebody get me some leftover Chicken Parmesan.)

Garlic Bread, Wine, Chicken Parmesan. Fun Fact: One of my nicknames for Carmella? Parmesan Carm. Did that just blow your mind?

Happy Valentines Day. Or Anti-Valentines Day. And Presidents Day while we're at it.