He had her at charcoal grilled ribeye. She cut into the still sizzling steak, a perfect bite of mesquite-flavored Iowa meat, perfectly outfitted with nearly melted marbly-fat. It was a simple dish and a simple preparation but it revealed her future. The man knew his meat. He cooked. He walked two stories from his rented apartment to a cheap grill pilled up with hot mesquite coals thinking this was the only way to cook a well-selected cut. She thought that was the only way too.
Only six days earlier, the Prince picked up the foreign Princess in a bar. She still remembers what he wore, and what she wore. On that August night, in a place named Citrus that has since closed, the Prince walked confidently to the foreign Princess and asked her what language she was speaking. Young and anti-American, she tested both his patience and his knowledge replying “Romanian, and I bet you have no idea where Romania is.” A couple of drinks in, uninhibited, he showed her he knew.They met the next evening, and every night until the ribeye. The morning arrived and off she jetted to the Motherland with a heavy heart and a burning desire for more ribeye. As he lost sight of her at the airport, he planned his journey. Days seemed like years, but less then three weeks later he landed in Bucharest. He was not going to leave empty-handed. After the ceremonious time with the family and visiting of the countyside, the duo decided to take a chance on each other.
Three months after the ribeye, and ten years today, the Prince and the foreign Princess drove to City Hall wearing jeans. With no pomp or fuss, they got married and told no one. A wedding, a baby princess, several graduations, some wars, many travels and countless meals together, they are still working on the life-long project called ‘happily ever after.’
Happy 10th to the ribeye Prince. As for the rest of you, I dare you to top that story!
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