A Tuesday. No occasion. I’d found a nice small filet on sale and bought it without any plan, which in our house usually means I’ll find an occasion later. The occasion ended up being the fact that it was Tuesday. Mashed potatoes because they’re the thing he loves, asparagus wrapped in prosciutto because I like them, a slow pour of something into a glass. There’s a version of my life, the early-thirties version, where I’d have saved this for Saturday. I don’t save dinners for Saturdays anymore.
A quiet filet Tuesday
