"Surprise" Dinner

Cross my heart, hope to die. I was not being sneaky when I found this text message on Brandon’s phone:

“You’re on Friday 6:15 sunset for two.” Excuse me, what? Really?

I didn’t mean to see it. I was just being a good little wife, bringing him his phone. Wouldn’t you glance at it to see who it was from? How was I supposed to know I shouldn’t look at it? Especially since he told me the day before that we weren’t even going to bother exchanging love notes this year. But dinner? Sunset? For two? Somebody was being sneaky and it wasn’t me. Not this time.

That perfect husband of mine planned a fancy dinner—the first since our anniversary of year one. And by fancy, I mean we weren’t allowed to color on the table with crayons. And as long as we’re talking about that, I think I should come clean and say I don’t know how to be fancy. Our idea of a big night out is usually Outback Steakhouse and a movie. We aren’t big spenders, so we aren’t used to places where we have to where high heels and ties. Halfway into dinner, I noticed we weren’t as talkative as normal. We weren’t making jokes. We were almost uncomfortable. Like we had to be formal with each other since we were in a formal place. It was really bugging me. Why did we have to feel fake?

Do you want to know what loosened us up a bit? It wasn’t the wine. Although I drank a whole glass of wine for the first time in my life. (Never developed a taste for it, which always made me feel like a kid.) It was because I made Brandon laugh. And it came out weird because he was trying to keep it calm and sophisticated. It was kind of a breathy, grunty “huuh.” And then I laughed really loudly because it sounded so weird. But you know what? Nobody looked at me funny. It was fine. And then I realized I was paying for the meal with my first child and I should be allowed to laugh loudly and even fart if I wanted because they aren’t the boss of me even if they are fancy.

Moving on.

The restaurant was Italian. Just like my handsome man here. Isn’t he dashing in his clean shaven face and button up shirt and tie? He done good. He done real good.

Our friend Lance (who sent the text message I saw by accident), is friends with the manager, so he hooked us up. We got the sunset table, right over the water. Here is the panoramic:

Excuse me, but they gave us free salad. Free. Like we were important or something.

Brandon had the Filet Mignon with whipped Yukon potatoes under a red wine reduction sauce. I would have taken a bite, until Brandon cut it open and it started mooing at me.

I almost tried Mahi Mahi. Especially since 94% of the menu is seafood. Also, this has been a season of trying new things. But the problem is that I am also practical to a fault. I wasn’t about to buy a $35 plate of fish, take one bite and then throw up. What a waste.

I ordered the Rigatoni ala Vodka. It had pancetta in the sauce. Delish. The pasta was just a smidge al dente. I love a little crunch to my pasta.

Guess what? The restaurant comped us a dessert. A dessert that wasn’t on the menu. It was strawberries drizzled in chocolate sauce. But get this, our dessert was on fire! It’s true. The waiter came out with a wine glass full of Bacardi 151 and Blue Curacao, set it on fire and dazzled us with his fiery skills. To eat it, we had to pick up the fruit, while it was still on fire, and dip it in brown sugar or devonshire cream to put it out.

It was the most fun I’ve had eating dessert in a while. And I eat a lot of dessert. I am Swedish after all.

And did I mention? Fireworks. At the end of our meal. There may or may not have been more fireworks later.

It was a really good surprise. Really good. Probably our best date in a long time. Probably our last date like that for a long time. He done good. He done real good.