The First Night

              Yesterday was my first night with Nick.

Let me explain: it was the first night we met at my place.

Let me clarify: no, it wasn’t a romantic or sexual meeting. It was just dinner. We ate and talked and laughed a lot.

Since we work at the same company, we’d see each other around—quick hellos and good mornings—and over time, we started chatting. Eventually, a mutual fondness developed. "Idem velle, idem nolle"—same likes, same dislikes. For last, I invited him for a dinner in my place what was last Friday.

So, a few days before yesterday, I was excited, planning the dinner. I went from exotic dishes to simpler ones, discarding them all either because I was afraid of seeming snobbish or of appearing disinterested.

My only certainty was that I had to do my best for my new friend. After all, when two people love and hate the same things, that’s what they are: friends.

And that also made me nervous—inviting someone into my home. Friendships are like love relationships in some ways. From work, we’d met for cocktails at bars, but the intimacy of home—my home—is different.

I’m not one to easily connect with people. I prefer solitude. I prefer books. I know this isn’t exactly Nick’s thing.

He enjoys parties, being around people, going dancing on Saturday nights. Though, he has few close friends. He knows a lot of people, but there are only a handful of true friends.

His smile is one of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen on a man, and without a doubt, he’s much better looking than I am.

We agreed that he’s the life of the party, while I’m the one often mistaken for the fern in the corner of the room.

Anyway, back to the dinner dilemma. Moving from one option to another, unsure of this and that, I decided to go with the obvious: when in doubt, choose the classics. And in Brazilian cuisine, what’s more classic than stroganoff?

Simple and sophisticated, having survived the test of time and geography, with nothing traveling worse than food, stroganoff is perfect.

Decision made, I started by chopping a nice piece of beef, about a kilo. I didn’t think it had to be filet mignon; I went with sirloin, cut into fairly small strips.

I sautéed the meat with finely chopped onions and garlic, and a few bay leafs. Once browned, I added a bit of water and let it cook on low heat until the meat was tender, almost falling apart.

Once that was done, I flamed the meat with a good whiskey I’ve been saving for occasions like this. I removed the bay leaf and added some button mushrooms. Then, I stirred in heavy cream until it formed a slightly thickened sauce, followed by ketchup until it turned a nice rosy cream.

I did think about using hearts of palm instead of mushrooms, but I rejected the idea, even knowing it would taste good, since it would stray even further from the original (as if there weren't enough deviations already!).

I made a simple but perfect white rice, and a classic salad of lettuce, tomato and onions slices to accompany the main dish. Red wine to drink.

Needless to say, everything was perfect. Our evening was full of conversation and laughter. He had seconds (he’s as good with a fork as I am) and left around midnight.

I stayed behind, satisfied and almost proud of myself, savoring one last glass before bed, smiling as I thought: idem velle, idem nolle.