Fishy Valentine

They should change the name of Valentine’s Day to “The Day You Must Buy Her Flowers If You Value Your Life.” There are several inviolable rules that gentlemen must follow on February 14. Near the top of the list is: “Thou shalt not work late on the day of the Valentine. Woe to thou who art unavailable for candlelight, dinner, romance and undivided attention to be lavished upon She-Who-Is-To-Be-Wooed.”

If she has to work through the dinner hour, on the other hand, that is perfectly reasonable, and who are you to get all bent out of shape about it?

Such was the case with my valentine this year. Not to be deterred in my courtly duties, however, I arrived at my inamorata’s work site with flowers and a card that expressed my sentiment in a suitably double entendric fashion. Even though the hour was a bit late, my valentine had not eaten yet, and we began to brainstorm about places that might still be open, more for a drink than a meal. We were, it turns out, walking distance from one of our favorite hangouts, McCormick & Schmick’s Seafood Restaurant.

We’ve never eaten in the actual restaurant. We always head to the bar which is furnished with intimate little booths and from which we can order a variety of fermented beverages and anything from the extensive seafood menu. We hardly ever make it out of the appetizer section. True to form, my valentine ordered the steamed mussels. What she really wanted was the broth they are served in, and a loaf of sourdough with which to soak up the sauce. The mussels themselves are just a bonus.

When the dish arrived, it occurred to me how fitting a feast it was for Valentine’s Day. The ambrosial broth that warmed my sweetheart’s heart was a creamy bisque, tinted pink by chunks of ripe tomato that swam amongst the shellfish. The reddish color of love was offset by the mounds of shiny black bivalves, all delicately opening themselves as if they were the hands of an eager suitor. The inner flesh, also tinted slightly pink by the bisque, was perfectly fresh and steamed just enough to give a delicate resistance to each bite, right before melting like butter in the mouth. The sourdough gave a just-sharp contrast to the sweetness of the broth and the fish meat.

The dish was culinary witness to the hope of every valentine, that opposites really do attract. And the nearly identical hinged shells promised that no matter how close a match you might be to your true love — two peas in a pod, a perfect couple, a match made in heaven — there remain two identifiable halves of the whole.

I couldn’t have planned it better myself.