Do you remember the first thing you ever cooked? I do. It was a fried egg. I was hungry and there were eggs in the fridge and I had seen people do them. This is when I lived in England, I was just five or six. I burned it.

For incurable romantics, Valentine’s Day is like any other. We wonder what all the fuss is about. Why everyone else is getting all starry-eyed, talking in hearts and flowers and, ultimately, acting the way we do every day of the year. We shake our heads smugly. And then we jump into February 14 with full abandon, indulging, too. Why miss out on any fun?