Best Served With A Glass of Merlot

After throwing away my roommate’s empty Chipotle bag, I switched the pillows from the left side of the couch to the right side, then the middle, and then back again. I didn’t typically invite guys over, but Kelsi was working a double shift at the nursing home and I thought having a homefield advantage would calm my nerves. I was so wrong.

Everything about Matthew makes me nervous. For five months I have casually talked to him in the parking lot after work, commented on his lunch choices in the break room, and even attended a local farmer’s market where his sister sells some of her handmade home décor. I’ve been playing the long game, and this past Monday, that finally paid off. With tense shoulders and sweaty arm pits, I finally asked Matthew out. Thankfully, he didn’t seem too shocked, and once I explained that a recent discovery of my Nana’s cookbooks had led to a recipe for lamb chops, he was hooked. Based on several lunch time conversations, I know that he has never had lamb chops, or any dishes with lamb for that matter.

He’s more of a turkey sausage kind of guy, with an occasional hankering for hamburgers. A few weeks ago, I brought some leftovers for lunch that I had saved from my father’s 60th birthday party. Draped over a pile of mashed potatoes were several lamb shanks that my mother had doused in her special sauce. This, of course, is how Matthew and I got to talking about how to prepare and cook lamb, and my family’s weird love affair with the gamey meat. That was the day that I told him about Nana, and her odd collection of recipes. Unlike me, my grandmother loved to travel. Later in her life, she was out of the country every other week, sending us postcards with recipes on the back that she had discovered from “her friend in the next door flat” or “the young lady who sold eggs at the side of a dirt road”. That was her thing- some kids got snow globes or t-shirts when their grandparents came back from long trips, but I would routinely receive biscuit recipes from different parts of Europe.

All of these recipes were compiled into books. My mother had been Nana’s bookkeeper for years, and each postcard we received went straight into a small green binder so that the front and back could be seen. Once a binder filled up, we stopped in at a convenience store and picked up another. And then another. And another. At her funeral in 2017, we discovered Nana’s collection had grown to 24 binders, each containing close to 50 recipes. My older sister was given the oldest of Nana’s cookbooks (with some recipes dating back to 1952). To me, my mother gave the book filled with recipes that Nana sent back when my mother had just graduated college. She very casually remarked that some of the recipes were how she snagged my father, and my father loudly agreed from the other room. I have a feeling that Matthew is looking for more in a woman than her ability to make delicious and occasionally exotic food… but it certainly wouldn’t hurt my cause.

Tonight, I had really outdone myself. The whole apartment smelled amazing, and the sliver of meat that I tasted before setting our plates passed the test with flying colors. A fresh pitcher of ice water was laid out, and to the side of each plate was a wine glass. Kelsi made fun of me, but I had even run out and bought a new set of plates on the off chance that Matthew saw our faded dinnerware and changed his mind about the whole thing. This thought was entirely baseless, as I have seen him use the same soap marked plastic Tupperware every lunch for the past few months. But I truly want this first date to go well.

The light knock on the door sent my blood barreling from my limbs into my core. If I don’t move soon, I may never regain the courage. With a breath as deep as my spanx will allow, I unlock the door and fumble around for the knob.

When I open the door, I see that Matthew has gone above and beyond for a first date. I’m realizing now that I’ve only ever seen him in business casual, and not a full blazer and bowtie. He is adorably overdressed.

“I figured a world class meal required a bowtie. And look- I have lambs on my bowtie!”

Sure enough, there are little lambs bouncing all over the light blue backdrop. Is a first date too soon to say I’m in love with him?

“You are a 10 out of 10 Matthew! Come on in, I have the table all set.”

I quickly show him around our two-bedroom apartment, carefully avoiding the laundry closet where I remember with horror that my bras are hanging to dry. He is so polite and conversational, that I start to feel like myself again and not the nervous wreck that first opened the door. As we make our way to the table, I grab my Nana’s collection of recipes of the counter and open to the recipe before us.

“Before we get started, I want to show you the book.”

“Ah yes,” he smiles. “the book of postcard recipes.”

“You can see where she made different notes on the recipes that you won’t find in any other cookbook. I especially like her instructions on the Pollo Guisado…”

Matthew searched for the postcard from Puerto Rico and read aloud, “The pollo guisado simmers at its best if a Ricky Martin song plays softly in the background.”

We both laugh, and I try to explain that my Nana’s whole reason for visiting Puerto Rico was so she could feel closer to the second love of her life, Ricky Martin. Although this recipe was not originally in the set that my mother gave me, I had made a copy to keep for myself back in high school when I walked in on my grandmother, hands in the air, singing ‘She Bangs’ while a pot simmered on the stove.

“Wait a minute… you said this is the recipe from tonight?” Matthew pinches the side of the page and slowly underlines Nana’s instructions for Lamb Chops with his free hand. Written in slanted font was the instruction ‘Best served with a glass of merlot’.

I walk over to the drink cart and grabbed the open bottle of merlot. I infuse my voice with pretension and mock confidence as I say, “Dear sir, you may have noticed the empty wine glass by your plate…” As I turn around, I see his face has broken into a huge smile. I decide to pour us both a sizeable amount of wine, as Nana might have done in her younger years. I’m about to give a toast when Matthew starts to speak.

“I’m really glad to be here. Not only does the food look and smell great, but I really like spending time with you away from the office. Well,” he quickly amends “in the office too! But this is different. I’d like to spend more time like this together, because I like you a lot.” Finishing his sentence, he smiles sheepishly.

I let the moment pass between us, and think of all the things I wish I could say to him without sounding like a complete goober. The smile on my face feels like it may never fade away, and I finally settle on the words, “I like you too Matthew. You remind me how to have fun.”

We both laugh, and gaze down at our food. Grabbing his glass, he lifts his arm high in a sweeping motion and declares, “To Nana!”

I can’t help but look at his bowtie again. It reminds me of the first time I saw him in the office. He was wearing a t-shirt with fish sticks that said ‘Gone Fishing’ under his white button down. He had no idea that you could clearly see the undershirt, and it made me laugh. Is his whimsical nature why I asked him here tonight? Had my grandmother’s strange antics influenced more than just the dinner I prepared? After months of crushing on him, I hadn’t really paused to see all the ways he reminded me of the joy my beautifully comic grandmother brought into my life.

Suddenly, I have an overwhelming feeling that Matthew is going to stick around and make me laugh the way she did for a very long time.

Lifting my glass to his, I echo “To Nana!”