To celebrate the fact that we have been married six months today, and because Jim proposed to me after eating a phenomenal filet mignon, Mom sent me meat.
The sending of meat actually has at least a two-generation history in my family. When my parents were first married, they were living in Chicago on what might generously be termed a shoestring as they pursued their interests in the theatre. (Which, it seems, is also genetic.)
My grandmother, back in St. Louis, was horrified at the thought that her daughter and son-in-law might not be making enough money to buy the necessities in life, and so every so often she would go to her butcher and send a care package of steaks to my parents.
I am guessing she was motivated even more to do so by the instance of the five-pound meatloaf, but that's another story.
So anyway, my mother proudly continues the tradition of sending care packages. To that end, we now have two more of those divine filets, two huge T-bones, and two strip steaks in the freezer now. Oh, and a gorgeous frenched rack of lamb.
Who's up for dinner?