Smitten kitchen.

Okay, I know that's the name of another (fabulous) food blog, but it's the perfect title for this post.

Last weekend my boyfriend and chief taste tester, Nick, visited to celebrate my birthday. Over the last few years we've been together, his culinary prowess has improved significantly from deftly flicking a frozen pizza in the oven. In the last two years of our long-distance relationship, we've started a series of (in theory) weekly "cook-alongs": we'll agree on a recipe, block off a couple hours one evening, set up our webcams and cook the same step-by-step recipe, and have a laptop-lit dinner date (fine, pause for eye roll -- after over six years of long distance, we'll take what we can get). Besides getting a good grasp on knife skills and a pretty perfect sear on a chicken breast (my webcam has some serious oil splatter from being plunged down to pan level so he can see what color to look for), Nick has cooked a respectable repertoire including hand-rolled meatballs, mini quiches, fennel-crusted pork tenderloin, and perfectly poached eggs over asparagus. We went from "Which end of the onion do I cut off first?" to garlic minced so fast your head would spin. I'm no expert chef, but I've been teaching him the basics which I've picked up over the last few years, and we're continuing to learn together.

Which is why I was checking the clock at work every five minutes after 5pm on Friday, as I was due home for a birthday dinner surprise to be served at 7pm ("It's not going to be fancy...I just hope it works out," he said). I got home around 6:30pm and dawdled a bit in my apartment lobby. I stepped out of the elevator around 6:45pm and smelled butter in the hallway -- a good sign. Entering my apartment, it was worth the wait: chicken piccata with pencil asparagus. The chicken was perfectly browned, flavorful and juicy -- bathed in a perfectly tangy and tart buttery lemon sauce dotted with briny capers that burst with flavor. The asparagus, a brilliant green and still pleasantly toothsome, was a perfect complement. I've never made a piccata, but I've had it enough in restaurants to know this one was delicious.

And then, just as I was contemplating lifting my nearly empty plate to drink the sauce, another surprise out of the kitchen: my mom and I had earlier this week been lamenting the fact that we were breaking from tradition by not having a home-baked birthday cake this year. Nick came to the rescue and made not just any home-baked cake, but my very favorite Suzy McMullen's chocolate cake. He had called my sister who had to get the frosting recipe from my mom (and some cake-baking coaching and tips), but through a spectacular team effort, he saved my sweet streak. I have to admit, he got a few tears out of me -- both for how thoughtful he was and for how proud I was of how far his cooking skills have come.

Of course, he ignored my mom's instructions that "half a recipe is plenty," and now I have an enormous block of chocolate decadence in my fridge (which is disappearing alarmingly fast). Just confirms my belief that dining at home can be more special than a three Michelin-star meal.

The process:

We were trying to get a picture of an enormous slice of the cake, but the camera kept focusing on my wriggling cat.