Lamb’s Heart

The boy and I will be abstaining from the somewhat insipid table-for-two dining experience this Sunday.

It’s not that I’m overly cynical about forced romance. I’m perfectly aware that we shouldn’t succumb to the blatant commercial pressure bestowed upon us by the capitalist gods to spend futile amounts of cash on flowers, cards, cute fluffy things and chocolates on the one particular day of the year earmarked for love. But I kinda don’t mind it. I quite like seeing all the lovely M&S displays of pink fizz and heart-shaped cupcakes. And I love florist windows at this time of year. They’re just so vibrant and pretty, and really help brighten the winter mood when everything else is so lacking in colour.

So anyway, that’s not why a romantic meal will be off our Valentine’s menu. It’s because the last and only time we ever went out to eat on February 14 was really rather traumatic.

It goes without saying that the central London bistro was uniquely occupied by couples. It was also one of those places where the tables were just that bit too close for comfort. Intimate, some might say. Cramped is probably a little more accurate. It was because of this design fault that we were party to the most horrifically sad argument between the couple sitting next to us. The kind that involved a lot of very loud, irrate whispers from his side and copious amounts of crying from hers. It was really quite upsetting, not to mention wholly distracting. Thankfully, they speedily left the restaurant – no doubt to break up – shortly after we arrived, so I could turn my attention back to my beloved, my wine and the lovely idea of romance.

It was only when our starters arrived that I realised the boy – ever the adventurous foody, I was to learn – had gone and ordered lamb’s heart! On Valentine’s day. Too cute or too crass? I’m no veggie, but I had to admit that on this occasion, it was really rather distressing. I took a long sip of rioja and got over it. I wasn’t going to spoil a lovely evening by throwing a culinary-induced hissy fit. Plus, they whip away starters faster than rickshaws on speed in these kinds of places, so my anguish was short-lived.

But not for long. Just as the evening was moulding itself into a genuine romantic form, the boy got a text from a school friend. ‘I’ve just asked C to marry me and she said yes!!’ was the message glaring back at us. In other words: ‘I’ve just trumped all of your Valentine’s days and stolen all your thunders, so you might as well just call it a night right now’. He couldn’t wait until the morning? Luckily, the boy completely agreed with me, and we embarked on a delightful hour of bitching about how clichéd the whole thing was – it was the best hour of the night!

I don’t know any girl who doesn’t love a little romantic gesture now and again – and so what if it is on Valentine’s Day? I just have one tip. Boys, make it personal…and maybe think about not going to a restaurant, proposing, fighting in public or eating inappropriate food. Okay that’s five. You get the idea.

Image by Pink Sherbet Photography courtesy of Flickr