I’ll tell a tale today. It’s my girlfriend’s B-Day and she likes it when I write about myself, so here’s my gift to her. I want to talk about the first anniversary Mathieu and I spent together, as official boyfriend and girlfriend: we were living a passionate long distance love story, going back and forward between Gand and NYC – clearly he’d visit me in NY way more often than I visited Belgium, for some reason… 🙂 So here we were, back together after a separation of the usual 2/3 months, completely drunk with happiness, our chests exploding with romance, our heads full of one another. I had never been 1 year with any boyfriend before, this was a first for me, and with the man of my life! I was in my best shape ever: 50kg, the vague shade of a few muscles, after all the dancing in school, and the astral conjuction being confirmed by the unlikely fact that even my hair behaved those days – a miracle in itself. Mathieu had booked a trendy restaurant, one of the “places to be” in NY in 1995, Verbena’s, in the Union Square’s neighborhood. I prepared myself meticously: I chose a short, red, flowy dress – one I wore at my dad’s second wedding, but shortened vertiginously way above the knie – shoulders on show (possibly my best feature – don’t rival me, I take no prisoners, still today :-)), hair pinned up in a soft chignon, with curly strands wildly but elegantly (and studisously!) falling down my neck. Just a touch of mascara, gloss on the lips and I felt as beautiful, exciting and exctited as never before in my life. To me this was a serious milestone, the indisputable evidence that my desoperately romantic dreams had come true, that I wasn’t the ugly duckling any longer, I could even dare to believe that I had finally blossomed into a proper, handsome swan. No more chasing, no more yearning, this was the time of my life and I had every intention to celebrate it in a truly memorable way. Mathieu and I took to the streets of NY, he was gorgeous as he usually, easily, glowingly was, and I felt like I was his fair match. The Big Apple was ours to bite, while I raised what felt like the longest, slimmest, most elegant arm I ever had, to hail a cab, in such a mythical, daily, NY gesture. Upon our arrival at Verbena’s we walked in a classy winter-garden, complete with white drapes and arranged flowers on the tables. Affable, but respectful, staff accompanied us to our table and we sat down to enjoy our evening, starting with sipping a glass of Champagne, as any proper script would call for at this moment. While we were reading our menus, and regularly lifting our eyes so that our contented gazes could meet, I saw Mathieu’s mouth drop wide open. He was only able to mutter, almost hecstatic: “Wow baby, Winona Ryder and Gwynnet Paltrow just walked in!” What do you mean, I thought incredulous, Winona friggin’ Ryder?!?! No, no, no, no, NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! This can’t be true! He’s never remembered the name of a single celebrity EVER! The two most gorgeous A class mega-global-world-stars of today CANNOT walk into MY first anniversary celebration!!!!! I turned around and I looked baffled while Winona and Gwinnet got seated at the table right behind ours, right behind ME, so that from where he sat in front of me, Mathieu had complete and free visual onto them. I felt as if someone just hit me hard on the head. Wynona was my husband’s favourite actress, the one he always thought was the sexyest, his not-so-secret fantasy, after she drank blood from the Count’s chest in that abhorration of a movie that dared to call itself Braham Stoker’s Dracula (it always bugged me how the movie didn’t compare to the book and how they insisted on underlining that in their intention it should have, but I didn’t totally dislike the movie in itself… till then!) – I couldn’t believe I had to live up to her on the one evening that was supposed to be mine, just MINE! But I was to be lucky even in what could have been my downfall: she looked terrible! To this chic restaurant Winona had chosen to wear navy-blue sweatsuit pants and a white worn-out T-shirt, she had short, uncared for hair and a sulky espression on a gray face. Blonds have never been Mathieu’s cup of tea (or mine, for that matter ;-)), but Gwynnet looked absolutely lovely in person: she had class, wasn’t overdressed or underdressed, had perfect, femininly spiky hair, a tiny shade of make-up and a great smile under intelligent eyes. I was trying to regain composure, when my accompanying gentleman said: “You are the best looking of the three, hands down, no contest.” And he said so in a very matter-of-factly way, he delivered the line so perfectly that it just didn’t sound like a line, he sincerely thought as much. And with those words he saved the evening for me. We ordered our food and chatted, had one of the best meals ever (no spring-vegetables soufflé will ever compare to Verbena’s, I can still see it in front of me), and I must admit that Mathieu’s eyes never wandered too much or stared for too long towards the celebrities behind me. We walked out of the restaurant just as we came in, hand in hand, walking on a could, our whole lives ahead of us and a good story to tell our grandchildren.
Raspberry tart - one of our favourite desserts
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