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E, my husband, likes to give big gifts. Extravagant gifts. Thoughtful gifts. Like a patootie-kicking mountain bike. A week in Paris. A Macbook Air laptop and vintage leather messenger bag so I, his writer wife, could call the city–and its endless park benches and sunny stoops–my office.

I veer toward less pricey gifts. Practical gifts. Gifts inspired by a farmer’s daughter’s frugality. Like a virtual surprise birthday party with friends scattered across several continents. A private bourbon tasting of rare bottlings for him and a buddy so he knows exactly which brands are worth the splurge. And, this past Christmas, utensils.

Last December, the loss of a loved one left us thinking presents weren’t exactly a priority. Still, I thought coming home to a little something under the tree–left bare in our rush out of town—would create a moment of loveliness, something to help soothe some raw edges. So I did what I—and every rational and rationalizing woman I know–instinctively do when circumstances scream for some measure of happiness. I splurged at Anthropologie.

It was a modest extravagance, as extravagances go. A set of six steak knives. Steak knives that sort of flaunted stately blades of sturdy stainless steel and curvaceous handles fashioned from, of all things, lollipop-colored PVC. It was swoon at first sight.

The knives were crafted by forge de Laguiole, the legendary French house whose artisanal craftsmanship can be traced back two centuries and whose unparalleled elegance I’d coveted the past two decades. Though the company tends toward more masculine designs drawing on wood handles, a nod to their beginnings as makers of pocket-knives for sheepherders, these were unlike any other Laguiole creations I’d seen. Yet I’d recognized that luxurious curve immediately. Utensils, yes. Utilitarian, not so much.

E’s reaction as he unwrapped the box was one of…surprise. Bemused, eyebrow-raising surprise. Holding a slender knife—the magenta one, the one most dear to me–daintily in his rugged hand, his expression said everything. Flimsy. Silly. Girlie. “They’re not terrible,” he finally said halfheartedly.

I kept them anyways. Call it woman’s intuition. I found them to be unabashedly bohemian as well as eminently practical. A single steak—ribeye, grass-fed, washed down with bubbly—was all it took for E to appreciate how Laguiole’s stylish blade slid through the steak as if it were silk. We’ve since come to appreciate that they work just as deftly on takeout chargrilled chicken from across the street. Any excuse to use them. I even let our Lauguioles out on the counter, their psychedelic handles jutting out of an antique canning jar, mostly because I like to watch E as he muses over which color he selects on a given night. Although as befits the thoughtful guy that he is, E always lets me select first. It’s what I consider to be a gift.

Laguiole steak knives are not currently available at Anthropologie, although the set of six knives in psychedelic colors is available elsewhere, including the very reasonably priced Whisk and, not surprisingly, at Amazon, albeit priced at a slightly more indulgent splurge. The knives can also be found in more muted colors at Wine Enthusiast. The full array of Laguiole steak knives, in traditional wood grain or crazy colors, can be found at the source, Laguiole.

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Adapted from At the Farmer’s Market With Kids | Chronicle, 2012 | Makes as many as you'd like

Paas is so…predictable. What’s far more intriguing in terms of egg-dyeing escapades (not to mention far more natural and, we think, safe for staining little hands) is eschewing the expected tablets of fizzy colors and instead embracing kitchen scraps. The half pot of coffee left from this morning. That tin of musty turmeric. A bag of frostbitten blueberries. Even that half glass of wine that went undrunk last night (for shame!). Each takes on new meaning in tandem with vinegar, water, and eggs, creating a muted, pastel-ish, natural hue.

We snooped around our kitchens after borrowing inspiration–and a nifty red beet-dying trick–from Leslie Jonath, author of At the Farmer’s Market With Kids. Then we tinkered with all manner of ingredients languishing in our kitchens to come up with some really swell dyes–and we’ve got the stained fingertips to prove it. We’ve listed almost enough swell ideas below to fill an egg carton, although don’t let our faves squash your curiosity–or your creativity.–Renee Schettler Rossi

LC What the Kids Can Do Note: Lest you get caught up in your second childhood and start monopolizing the culling of ingredients, author Leslie Jonath notes that kids, too, ought to be a part of the entire process, not just the dipping and dyeing, by helping to assemble and prepare the ingredients. Just like they do when it comes time to make dinner. Can’t argue with that logic.

Special Equipment: Patience. Lots and lots of patience.

Active time: 15 minutes | Total time: 45 minutes, not including cooling

Dyed Easter Eggs Recipe

Directions

Want it? Click it.

Variations

• Red Beets for Magenta to Red Eggs
• Use 6 medium red beets, grated, or 4 cups chopped canned beets. (For true red, use brown eggs. This dye works best when hot, so reheat it as needed.)
• Red Cabbage for Blue Eggs
• Use 4 cups chopped red cabbage, 4 additional cups water, and 3 additional tablespoons white vinegar.
• Garam Masala for Caramel Eggs
• Use 3 to 4 tablespoons garam masala (an Indian staple that’s a blend of up to 12 spices).
• Blueberries for Lavender Eggs
• Use 4 cups fresh or frozen blueberries.
• Coffee for Mocha Eggs
• Substitute strongly brewed coffee for the full amount of water.
• Red Wine for Burgundy to Purple Eggs
• Substitute red wine for the full amount of water. (Not your best Cabernet Sauvignon, mind you. Any plonk will do. And bear in mind, the egg will turn a darker shade as it dries…sort of like that splotch of Carmenere on your rug.)
• Curry Powder for Pale Yellow Eggs
• Use 3 to 4 tablespoons curry powder.
• Turmeric for Vibrant Yellow Eggs
• Use 3 to 4 tablespoons ground turmeric. (Wipe the excess ground spice from the eggs with a damp cloth after extricating them from the dye.)

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Serves 1

In the interest of tradition and in deference to a proper cocktail, allow us to explain something. Listen carefully, we’re only going to state this once. A classic martini consists, quite simply, of gin and vermouth. A five to one ratio. Stirred, not shaken. Maybe an olive or two; if you’re me, a twist instead. Nothing else.

This is the martini known and imbibed by icons including Ernest Hemingway, Marlene Dietrich, and Humphrey Bogart. The martini that inspired the three-martini lunch. The martini that was rendered almost extinct by the trend toward froufrou cocktails. The martini that’s convinced some of us we were born several decades too late.–Renee Schettler Rossi

LC I’ll Have a Dry Martini, Please… Note: For those unfamiliar with liquor lexicon, the relative dryness of a martini refers to the amount of vermouth. The drier the martini, the less vermouth. This can be achieved in any of many ways, whether you use a scant splash, give the glass but a quick rinse of vermouth prior to sloshing in the gin, or only so much as wave the bottle over the glass. (Conversely, ordering the rarity known as a “wet martini” tells the barkeep you want a hefty splash of you-know-what.) More on making a martini of proper proportions can be found in the writings of M.F.K. Fisher.

And should you be looking to put the rest of that bottle of vermouth to good use, grab your roasting pan, a hen, and this recipe from James Beard for Chicken with 40 Cloves of Garlic. You’re welcome.

Special Equipment: Martini glass, chilled

Active time: 5 minutes | Total time: 5 minutes

Classic Martini Recipe

Directions

Martini Variations

• Dry: Go easy on the vermouth. (Traditionally, it was the converse, relying on a generous pour of vermouth.)
  Dirty: Add a splash of olive brine.
  Vodka: Duh. Swap gin for vodka.
  Perfect or 50-50: Rely on equal amounts sweet and dry vermouth.
  Gibson: Lose the olive and the twist. Toss in a cocktail onion instead.