We’ve had a couple of extraordinary date nights during the last couple of weeks.
Last night the Beast suggested we pick up Maker Pizza after work and finish watching Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master. We’d started the film the night before but I couldn’t stay up to finish it, maybe because I was full of an incredible minestrone-style soup the Beast had made (the secret, he says, is popping in some parmigiano rinds as it simmers, and sautéing the mirepoix in more butter than you think you need) and this Sicilian Nero d’Avola, which was worth every cent of the splurge. Or perhaps it was because we’d already finished Francois Truffault’s The 400 Blows, a movie that the Beast gets quite choked up about, especially the ending, and which I remember not warming to in the same way. This time around, however, it hit home in all the right ways. What a beautifully sad film!