If someone were to tell me that my 45th birthday, which was set to be the bleakest (Covid: all activities, including restaurants and meetings with friends, are cancelled; L. is preoccupied with his College admissions, the most important thing in December) would suddenly turn into one of the best and the most memorable, I would laugh in utter disbelief. Yet exactly that happened today: thanks to all the congratulations I got from my precious friends, all the calls and messages I received, my 45th celebration became a miracle. Even my great aunt from Arkhangelsk reached me by phone! Fantastic.
But the main part is on L. There wasn’t just the cake: right after lunch, the doorbell rang, I opened the door, and there was a guy from Côte Brasserie (a chain of French restaurants), who carried a large box full of ice. I was a bit puzzled but took it (L. was dealing with his admissions, and I couldn’t interrupt him to find out what exactly was in the box).
I was curious and opened it: there were several large containers with various instructions how to cook everything inside, which appeared to be Lobster and Frites served with celeriac remoulade, and Fougasse, garlic bread with parsley and sea salt and a knob of butter with Provence herbs.
Meanwhile, L. finished his evening slot and joined me in the kitchen: “Good,” he said. “I guess, the problem with our festive dinner is solved.” And it surely was: I had one of the most enjoyable meals in my life, although still at home (and with a cat who tried desperately to help himself to bits and pieces left by silly humans).
The cake was lovely. Actually, the cake was the embodiment of love to coffee and all coffee-like things, so L. took my infatuation with espressos to a whole new level.
And, of course, my supreme present was his careful and subtle attention to each and every detail: he is the main reason of why my birthday felt so real and was so fabulous. Thank you again and again, my dear.
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