I love a movie night. A girls night, slumber party, game night… I love any excuse to host, really. But I especially love a cozy movie night-in. They are without a doubt, some of my absolute favorites. The kind of nights that make you think ‘I really needed that!’ Chock-full of moments that feed one's soul and ignite a sense of nourishment that no meal alone could ever supply. Nights such as these are rich and divine simply because they are built upon the foundation of beautiful friendships, a lifetime of memories and movies that tug on your heart strings. Unique and exquisite elements that cannot be easily fabricated or manufactured as they are made up of life’s moments lived. They come from nostalgia and warm fuzzy feelings and a sense of childhood that is only a little forgotten. And they are the type of forever memories that I am forever craving and curating. 

I have an undeniable love affair with Parisian bistros. The charm, the classic menu, the pomp, the apero culture, le café au lait, the waiters who either love me or roll their eyes at me… j'adore tout! I cannot help but be pulled into this city and the vibrant energy it emits – the rich culture and the way that they just know how to live is envyable. And most of all, I adore how they eat! 

Craving an evening in Paris, I had to bring a taste of the experience to my little boîte à bijoux. A moment in a classic bistro with a few french staples that I cannot live too long without. Moules Frites, an uncomplicated green salad and bien sûr, mousse au chocolat.

I often think about the love letters that Victorian women used to write to their friends. The passions and adoration expressed for a love that is so very different from that of a romantic partner but oh so vital. Having been single for what feels like a lifetime, I have found endless affection and companionship within my female friendships. The love of which has gotten me through wildly contrasting times, chapters of utter elation and blackened pools of sorrow. I have women in my life who have seen me through countless versions of myself (some of which we should all like to forget.) Women who I have laughed with until tears stream down our faces, cheeks sore from unbridled smiles. Women who have watched me grieve and who have picked me up when I could not do so for myself. It is the power and love of these women who I owe a depth of gratitude to, the reason I have grown into this version of myself. The version I am most proud of. And to celebrate them is such an effortless venture. So it seems only right that for Valentine’s day, I turn to the true loves of my life for an evening of much needed platonic romance and absolute effervescence. 

A night fit for Mamie Fish and the legendary 400 of New York’s Gilded Age. This feast with its perfectly roasted prime rib, towers of brussels sprouts and a sparkling croquembouche, rivals the lore of Thanksgiving at the distinguished Delmonico's.

A slumber party, but you are an adult, there is champagne and no one is telling you it’s time for bed — Indulge in the simple joy of too much ice cream and breakfast for dinner.

A night of made (wo)men, an amazing Italian inspired feast and too much wine. - I have never laughed so hard.

A Marie Antoinette dream for Valentine’s Day.