all of my love

Since Valentine’s Day is traditionally a recognition of romantic love, many people rightfully have strong feelings about the day, based on whether they’re single or coupled. But I enjoy thinking back to my elementary school days, when the holiday recognized platonic affection too. Surely you remember buying little valentines for everyone in your class, and receiving about twenty-five others in return? I do. Back then, Valentine’s Day was a pure, sweet, childlike celebration of love — and it needn’t have to change as you grow older. This year, even as I celebrated with my boyfriend, I made sure to recognize all the other kinds of love present in my life.

I started by mailing a valentine to my little brother, for whom I buy inappropriate but thoughtful cards on myriad holidays. (For his 21st birthday, I sent him a card congratulating him on his 60th.) As a four-year-old, I forced him to play with My Little Pony toys for hours on end, so when I found that they actually made My Little Pony valentines…it was really a no-brainer. Still, despite some good-natured teasing, the sentiment was there.

Earlier this week, Ted’s wonderful parents sent their love in the form of a box of delicious chocolates, as is their Valentine’s tradition. (By the time the actual holiday rolled around, though, that box had mysteriously emptied itself of half the delightful confections. Hmm. Wonder where they all went…?)

Yesterday, I opened the front door to find a beautiful bouquet looking up at me expectantly — my dad had just wanted to send something nice to his kid. The little card simply wished the happiest of Valentine’s Days to me, Ted, and Koko. (The humans loved the sentiment, and the way the flowers could brighten up an entire apartment; the feline just loved joyfully nosing around in them.)

And no Valentine’s Day would be complete without love from my mom, who contributed spectacularly with her gift of Nicole Rees’s cookbook “Baking Unplugged.” (Rees’s baking philosophy: Who needs a KitchenAid mixer when you have a wooden spoon? I loved it immediately.) My mom bestowed the book upon me at Christmastime, but its recipes are gifts that keep on giving. I had finally worked up the courage to try a recipe that included yeast, an ingredient with a mind of its own; as a Valentine’s breakfast-gift to Ted, I settled on homemade cinnamon rolls, complemented by mimosas and (obviously) a hot pot of coffee to mainline while the rolls baked.

For the sugary main course, Rees’s recipe fit the bill perfectly. The rich yeast dough was smooth and easy to handle, but most importantly, Rees offered genius instructions for overnight cinnamon rolls. By reducing the amount of yeast in a standard recipe, the rolls would rise slowly during their long, cold fridge imprisonment without overfermenting. All of her advice was spot-on, and with a recipe this stress-free, I had the time (and sanity) to enjoy every step: rolling out the dough, slathering it with butter and cinnamon sugar, slicing the tiny rolls, pulling them from the oven and spreading each with vanilla-spiked cream cheese glaze.

And of course, the most enjoyable part: pulling the warm rolls apart with sticky hands, chewing contentedly, and pausing only to sip my fizzy, citrusy cocktail from a champagne flute. Happy Valentine’s Day! I wish you all the love in the world, whether from your family, friends, a significant other, or just a really damn good cookbook.