You didn’t have a beard when we first met. The only hair on your head I remember was on the top, dusty brown with frosted tips you said you did yourself. You claimed you couldn’t grow facial hair. I said I was glad. I was. Your face was soft like your hands. I liked to be close to both.

Over time, the beard has made an occasional appearance. While you stayed home with a newborn baby in your arms. With new job promotions that gave you confidence to try something new. When we became Minnesotans and a beard felt like required dress code. Maybe I’m looking too much into this (you know how I like to do that) but it seems the beard comes along when you are ready to welcome a new part of who to become. I don’t know anything about hair growth so you’ll just have to take me at my word.

Today, your beard is thicker than it has ever been. I can barely see your smile behind that curly red hair, but I know it’s there. Your eyes give it away. It still surprises me when you come in close and the rough hair scratches my cheek. No, it’s not as soft as it used to be. Neither are the hands, or the places our hearts have been. 

I loved you then, every version of you. But this one is my new favorite. Not because I think you look sexier at 38 than you did at 19, (although I could make a significant case for that) but because you are growing. You are changing. And I get to be here for all of it. 

Happy 38th Birthday, Mike Nevergall, my handsome bearded forever favorite. 

//

To celebrate this guy I put one of his favorite meals on the blog today, steak and potatoes. It’s the same one mentioned in my recent Coffee + Crumbs essay, and one we still make anytime we want to escape together. I’m partial to preparing it with a bearded partner, but any partner will do. 

First, before starting any date night in, you must mix up a cocktail. I feature many of our favorites on my cocktail account where I feature a new cocktail recipe every Friday. This particular one, the Brooklyn, hit the account today so head on over to catch the recipe!

Once you beverage of choice is well poured, children are tucked safely in bed, you set the mood with good music, you may begin date night dinner prep. I suggest deciding who is in charge of what. It keeps the arguments to a minimum. In our house he did the steak and sauce and I did the frites and spinach.

Steak Au Poivre (as adapted from David Tanis for New York Times Cooking)

Serves 2

2 beef tenderloin steaks, 6 ounces each, cut 1 inch thick or equivalent of your favorite cut of meat

Salt

2 tablespoon coarsely crushed black pepper or mixed peppercorns

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 large shallots, finely diced

1 ½ cups rich beef or chicken broth

2 tablespoons cognac, brandy, or bourbon

¼ cup crème fraîche

Put steaks in a shallow dish and season well on both sides with salt. Sprinkle black pepper evenly over steaks. Press pepper into both sides with hands and leave for 10 minutes.

Put a large cast iron skillet over high heat. When surface is nearly smoking, swirl 1 tablespoon butter in the pan and add steaks. Adjust heat as necessary to keep steaks sizzling briskly.

Cook for 2 minutes on first side; seared side should be nicely browned. Flip and cook for 2 minutes more. Transfer steaks to a warm platter.

Make the sauce: Add 1 tablespoon butter to the pan. Add shallots and sauté for a minute or so, stirring, until they begin to brown. Add broth and bring to a brisk simmer. Add Cognac and continue to simmer until reduced by half, 3 to 4 minutes. Stir in crème fraîche and cook until sauce is lightly thickened.

Return steaks to pan to warm, spooning sauce over them and turning once. Arrange steaks on platter or individual plates and top with more sauce.

Oven Baked Frites (as adapted from Deb Perelman of Smitten Kitchen. We love these so much and make ALL the time. Don’t let the oven part turn you away. They taste as indulgently perfect as the finest frites.) 

Serves 2, easily multiplied

2 smallish Russet potatoes                              

2 tablespoons olive oil

Fine sea salt

Heat oven to 450 degrees F. Scrub potatoes well or peel (I like the peeling on.) Cut potatoes into just-shy-of 1/2-inch batons. Place in a large pot and cover with an inch or two of water. Set heat to high and set timer for 10 minutes. If potatoes come to a boil in this time (mine usually do not), reduce the heat to medium. Otherwise, when timer rings, whether or not the potatoes have boiled, test one. You’re looking for a very “al dente” potato — one that is too firm to eat enjoyable, but has no crunch left.

Meanwhile, coat a large baking sheet with 1 tablespoons of olive oil and place it in the oven for a few minutes, so the oil gets very hot and rolls easily around the pan.

Drain your potatoes and immediately spread them on oiled baking sheet in one layer. Drizzle with last tablespoon of olive oil, sprinkle with salt and roast for 20 minutes, until golden underneath. Toss potatoes around to encourage them to color evenly and return them to the oven for another 5 minutes. Repeat this 1 or 2 more times (for me, 30 minutes total roasting time is the sweet spot), until your “fries” are deeply golden, brown at the edges and impossible not to eat.

Season with more salt while they’re hot, pile them on a platter and dig in.

Creamed Spinach (adapted from Alison Roman’s book Nothing Fancy)

Serves 2

3 T fresh coarse breadcrumbs or panko

2 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil, divided

Kosher salt, freshly ground pepper

1/4 cup heavy cream

1 garlic clove, smashed

Pinch freshly grated nutmeg

4 cups coarsely chopped spinach (or other greens)

3 T crème fraîche

Toss breadcrumbs with 3 Tbsp. oil in a large skillet; season with salt and pepper. Set over medium-high heat and toast, tossing often, until golden brown and crisp, about 4 minutes. Set aside.

Bring cream to a simmer in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add garlic and nutmeg; season with salt and pepper. Simmer until reduced by half, 15–20 minutes. Once the cream gets added to the wilted greens, it will dilute and loosen up a bit.

Meanwhile, heat remaining 3 Tbsp. oil in a large Dutch oven or other heavy pot (5.5 qt. or larger) over medium. Add a large handful of greens and season with salt and pepper. Cook until slightly wilted and there’s room to add more greens to pot. Add another large handful of greens, season, and repeat process until all of the greens have been added. Continue to cook, stirring often, until greens are bright green and very tender and most of the liquid released from greens has evaporated, 10–22 minutes, depending on the greens you’re using; spinach will release more liquid than kale.

Add cream mixture and crème fraîche to greens and mix to coat evenly. Taste and season with more salt and pepper as needed. Cook just until heated through, about 2 minutes.

Transfer greens to a bowl and scatter reserved breadcrumbs over.

“Paris was every bit the cliché I thought it would be. My husband, Mike, and I had never visited, and the romance swept us away. The sex was beautiful, as you might expect from young lovers, tinted with a glow of possibility. In a cafe overlooking the City of Love, we decided to start trying for a baby. 

But more than sex and romance and possibility, I remember the food.

Upon our arrival, we toured Paris by bike—gazing in wonder at Notre Dame, winding along the cobblestone paths of the Seine, entranced with the majestic Eiffel Tower. I was already in love with Paris. And then it started raining, and that sealed the deal. We ran for cover to a bustling corner cafe and plopped our dripping bodies into the nearest wicker seats. French onion soup seemed like the perfect order for my first meal in this city. 

A trail of steam followed the waiter as he delivered the soup. Gruyere on top of the buttery slice of baguette bubbled from its tanning under the broiler. I tapped the crust of the bread as the aroma of the soup underneath wafted out. The sweet fragrance of onions and butter permeated the air. Mike, his mouth already full of steak, grinned knowingly. We both recognized that smell. Back home in our newlywed apartment in Chicago, it was routine for him to walk in the door after work and say, "Mmmm, what smells so good?" I didn’t have to respond anymore, only smile. "Ahh. Butter and onions," he would say, and then lean in for a kiss. That smell was the aphrodisiac to our flirtatious dance. 

The rain outside pummeled the windows while we cocooned around each other and our meals. I broke up the crusty top and the bread slowly soaked up the broth as it bobbed in the soup. I want to soak up Paris this way, I thought as I let the soup warm me from within. I want this city to seep into the cracks of my body so I will always taste how I feel in this place—nourished and in love.”

//

Read the rest of the essay over on Coffee + Crumbs.

1. Send children outside to play in the snow so you can be alone.

2. Think about cleaning the kitchen.

3. Warm up coffee for the fifth time that day.

4. Watch children playing out the window.

5. Feel old because now you have to be the one who cleans kitchens instead of playing outside.

6. Call Grandpa. 

7. Feel young because a Grandpa’s voice saying your name makes you feel like a kid again.

8. Linger on the call for as long as you can because you don’t want to clean the kitchen and because you don’t want to stop feeling young and because you don’t know when you will see your Grandpa again so saying goodbye feels scary.

9. Do the scary thing (saying goodbye, not cleaning the kitchen.)

10. Call the kids inside because scones are almost ready and you don’t want to be alone anymore. (And also maybe you can get them to clean the kitchen.) (They won’t.)

Brown Butter Scones

adapted from Good to the Grain

INGREDIENTS

• 4 oz (115g) unsalted Butter

• 1/2 cup (85g) Spelt (or any whole wheat) Flour

• 1 cup (150g) All-Purpose Flour

• 1 cup (100g) whole Rolled Oats

• 1/4 cup (50g) Brown Sugar

• 1/4 cup (60g) Sugar

• 2 teaspoons (10g) Baking Powder

• 1 1/4 teaspoons (6 g) Sea Salt or Kosher Salt

• 1/2 cup (60ml) Heavy Cream

• 1 Egg

• 1 teaspoon (5ml) vanilla bean paste (if you are fancy like me), or vanilla extract

• heavy cream for brushing

• sugar , granulated or superfine sugar

INSTRUCTIONS 

Make Brown Butter (technically it should be at least a couple hours before making dough, but I spread finished brown butter in a large pan and froze while I got everything else ready and it still set up a bit and tasted amazing.)

• Melt butter in a tall saucepan over medium heat. Swirl butter occasionally to promote even melting and browning.

• Cook until butter is a light caramel color and bottom of pan is covered in dark brown flecks. Butter will have a toasty smell. (Butter will first bubble up and sizzle, then settle down with the solids floating on the surface. Keep cooking until nice and toasty, without burning the solids.)

• Pour butter into a wide, shallow dish, scraping the flecks on the bottom of the pan into the butter, and freeze until solid. This can be done a day or more ahead of time.

• Preheat oven to 350° F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or rub with butter

Make Scones

• Combine flours, oats, sugars, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl in a food processor. Pulse until mixed, about 20 seconds.

• In a small bowl, whisk together heavy cream, egg, and vanilla extract until well combined. Add wet mix into dry mix and stir until just incorporated.

• Put dough ball on a well floured surface and pat into a 7" wide by 1" thick disk. Cut into 8 wedges.

• Place wedges on baking sheet, spacing a few inches apart. Brush with a couple light coats of heavy cream, then sprinkle sugar over wedges. Bake for until the edges of the scones have browned nicely, about 28-34 minutes. The scones are better slightly over-baked than under-baked.

These taste the way you feel when your grandpa says your name. And if you don’t know what I mean then let this be a reminder to call your grandparents, while the scones are baking, of course.