Old Fashioned

Call me old-fashioned, but I really like it when my husband opens the door for me. Or lets me sit down first. Or tells the sommelier that I will nose the wine.

O.K. So the last one isn’t really old-fashioned, but it’s super secure on my husband’s part.

Because he has asked me to keep him out of my blogs, I have tried very hard not to mention him.

However, he doesn’t really read me anymore (because he’s so busy in the kitchen). And because I know my readers will completely keep this one on the down-low, I thought I would talk about how blessed I am to be married to Stephen Frank Ribustello, father of Cynthia & Baby Stephen.

He truly is a keeper.

Not just because his Gnocchi make me hum “Amazing Grace.” And not just because his Wild Mushroom Ravioli made me commit to one person for a lifetime.

He is a keeper because he totally allows me to be myself.

If I order the wine for our dinner, you can be for darn sure when the server tries to give him the first sip, he passes the glass to me for approval.

You can also bet on the fact when someone calls to make a reservation, he is more than happy to pass over the phone so I can be the bearer of bad news.

Sidenote: If seating is available, he is ecstatic to take the reservation and be the hero.

My sweet, engaging husband is completely secure in our roles of work, life and parenting.

He stands by me when I tell Baby Stephen he cannot eat cake at 8:30 in the morning, and he rubs my back when I get a lecture from a guest about mediocre service.

My husband is old-fashioned in a not-so-old-fashioned way.

He lets me be assertive and in charge, but he also makes me feel all right about it at the end of the night.

Lately, I’ve been a little whiny.

Whiny in the literal sense.

Not wine-y, like my usual self.

Stephen has been patient and supportive, but I’m 100% positive it hasn’t been easy.

Fortunately, for me, Stephen’s tolerance for whine is high.

Remember a time when husbands understood that being married isn’t easy, but it’s worth it?

Or a time when wives said “I am so proud of you” at the end of a day?

Call me old-fashioned, but I like that kind of thing. I like it so much I want to try to live it.

A couple of nights ago, our good friend and excellent bartender, Mike, suggested adding an OTS Old Fashioned to our suggested cocktail list.

He took 3 orange wedges, 2 maraschino cherries, Makers Mark, Dolin Sweet Vermouth and a dash of bitters and muddled the heck out of it in a tall tupperware container. After mashing it so much, the beverage had a reddish hue, he poured it into a rocks glass filled with ice.

My first sip reminded me of senior year at Chapel Hill (when Makers Mark was only a pipe dream). At this time, I was slumming it with Evan Williams.

Then my body warmed up to the excellent vermouth that hit at just the right moment.

The drink was smashing, and it got me thinking about old-fashioned.

Old-fashioned, in the sense of relationships.

You take some citrus wedges, in our case, good manners. Mix them with sweet compliments and spike with a little bourbon, or what you can guess is happy pleasure. Add some arguments (minor and major–minor is the vermouth, major is the bitters) and you muddle the hell out of them.

The finished product: a great drink that reminds you of many good times.

OR

An awesome marriage that has all the makings of a lifetime commitment.

Cheers & love for many, many old-fashioned relationships shared over an old-fashioned beverage.