But hey, I'm no birthday Scrooge. I love celebrating other people's birthdays, and my own too. I'm not saying I don't eagerly gobble up all the attention and cake, but I am sometimes painfully aware of how little I've done to deserve the kindness I receive on my birthday. "I managed to not die for 365 consecutive days. Somebody bake me a cake!"
So, this year for my 22nd birthday, I decided I would earn my celebration a little bit by putting on a dinner party and doing all of the cooking myself. (I'm lying - this was no act of self-flagellation, I was just excited to use the Cuisinart food processor that Ryan got me.) So I set to work.
|Maple leaves on the invitations.|
My plan to do everything by myself was foiled by my helpful husband and friends who, arriving on time and finding a lot left to be done, eagerly helped with last-minute preparations.
We dined on roasted lamb, rotmos, creamed spinach, hot cider, smoked salmon on Irish soda bread, bacon-wrapped dates, cheese and fruit, chamomile iced tea, butternut squash soup, and probably a few other things I can't remember. It put me in a food coma.
|Marble pound cake which went beautifully with pistachio ice cream.|
|A lemon/cardamom/saffron chiffon cake with not-too-sweet whipped cream icing, toasted pistachios and candied rose petals. It was the bomb.|
Everything from my co-workers decorating my desk, to my boss interrupting his own vacation to give me a call and wish me a happy birthday, to the many gifts, notes and phone calls from friends and family made me especially, undeservedly happy.
So, I'd just like to give a big double deuce to the many wonderful people out there who are too kind to me and made my double deuce birthday one to remember: