If you're a lady, I bet you're hoping for some chocolate or diamonds or some such nonsense. If you're a dude, you're probably going to present said nonsense to a lady, right? Right.
I'm going to let you in on a little secret. My husband and I have an arrangement. Ew, not that kind of arrangement! Gross. No, it's a Valentine's Day arrangement. Ew, still no! Whatever you're thinking, no. Let me explain.
Years ago, my husband made an offhand remark about how Valentine's Day is supposedly about love and romance, but it's really just about spoiling chicks, and that's not very fair. He was right. I've never been interested in "romantic" crap like nice restaurants and chick flicks, anyway, so I told him we'd trade years. On the odd years, he still spoils me (with socks and wine and stuff I like). On the even years, I spoil him.
And how do I spoil him? The answer is steak. Always steak. Sometimes I take him to a fancy steakhouse with aged beef (puke). Usually I make it. That's actually how we discovered that I was secretly a good cook. The first time, I made a filet mignon with a red wine reduction sauce, asparagus with Hollandaise sauce, a baked potato, and a Boston cream pie. It was pretty much the first time I ever cooked, and it came out awesome.
The next time, I made another filet and all that jazz, and added a lobster tail. Did you know you can't just buy a Maine lobster tail? I guess if they let people do that, they'd be throwing away an assload of lobsters. So I had to call three or four different supermarkets before I found one that sold rock lobster tails. And of course, I couldn't get that song out of my head for a month.
The following year, I couldn't figure out how to top myself. I worked with a guy who had been to culinary school, and together, we put together the ultimate Valentine's Day entree: a filet mignon, stuffed with lobster, wrapped in bacon.
Did I mention yet in this particular post that I only eat chicken? So yeah, it's a pretty big sacrifice for me to even touch any of these carcasses for him, never mind searing their flesh and stinking up my house. Like I said, I am a nice wife.
Now, in the spirit of Karen from Baking in a Tornado (who I hope sees this post as an homage and not a ripoff), I will leave you with the recipe for that disgusting abomination of a zoo cemetery that my husband so enjoyed:
Bacon-Wrapped Filet Mignon, Stuffed with Lobster
(Or, Dead Noah's Ark, Shaped Like a Heart)
- Get a big filet mignon at the supermarket. Usually, they sell two petite ones, or one big one. So, yeah, get the big one.
- Get a frozen lobster tail. I used rock, because apparently Maine is illegal to sell in pieces, but if you "know a guy" or something, I hear Maine's better. Thaw it.
- Get some bacon. Not turkey or smoked or maple or anything, just normal. I think I used Hormel Black Label? I don't know; bacon's nasty.
- You will want a lot of butter. Maybe half a stick, or a whole stick. My husband generally prefers margarine to butter, because he's insane, but it's lobster, for Christ's sake. Have some decency.
- Soak a few toothpicks in water for half an hour. You'll see why later.
- Chop up and fry the lobster in the butter. It will make your house smell like the aquarium; I'm sorry. Nag Champa incense helps.
- Use a filet knife (so that's why it's called that!) to cut a pocket in the steak (which is still raw at this point). Stuff the cooked lobster in it, including all the melted butter. Suture the pocket closed with some wet toothpicks (so they don't burn when you put them in the oven, duh).
- Wrap the whole mess up with 3-5 strips of bacon. Secure the bacon with the rest of the toothpicks.
- Throw that shit in the broiler. I had to look that up, so I'll tell you now, that just means "your regular, normal oven, only turned to like 500 instead of 350." Yeah, suddenly it's called a broiler. Whatever. My husband likes his steak medium well, so I did around 10 or 11 minutes on each side. Oh yeah, you have to flip it. For the love of Ron Swanson, be careful when you flip it.
- Remove the toothpicks. Serve with whatever, because he doesn't give a shit about the other things on the plate. They're just there to soak up the extra blood and liquefied fat. (If you really want to know how I got the mashed potatoes to look like that- I sprayed the shit out of two ramekins with Pam, packed them with the potatoes, and then plopped them out upside-down onto the plate).
- Order yourself a pizza and open a bottle of wine. Warning: do not get the heart-shaped pizza that Papa John's offers on Valentine's Day; it's weird and it doesn't taste like their regular pizza.