Two romantic garlic heads in a stinker of an anniversary "It's a surprise," smiles my husband, when I ask whether we'll be going to Eva Longoria's restaurant, Beso, Robert De Niro's Ago, Ryan Gosling's Tagine or any other pretentious-sounding, two-syllabled, celebrity-owned establishment. I feel a tightening in my lower abs, and I'm pretty sure it's not due to the 90-minute karaoke yoga session I put myself through that morning (belting out Lady Gaga's Bad Romance from a downward dog position is not only challenging, but ridiculous on a profound level). "I got so lucky three years ago that it doesn't matter if I don't tonight," he quipped. I would have appreciated the line more if a waiter hadn't just handed us two large pneumatic cloves of garlic to be worn as headgear. Next came the plastic bibs. People had warned me this moment would come when I married an older man, I recalled, tying my husband's bib in a bow behind his neck. I just didn't think it would happen so soon. "Let me start you guys off with these little fellas," grins our waiter, Brett, placing an iron skillet - in which a dozen cloves of garlic are bobbing contentedly in a butter and anchovy Jacuzzi - on our table. Two hours, one garlic-steamed clam, one garlic-marinated asparagus, one 40-clove garlic chicken and one garlic filet mignon later, and we're both living, breathing, sweating garlic. I can no longer tell where I end and the garlic begins, or whether it's Piers who smells so atrociously bad, or me. Both, I suspect. We are united by our own stench. "You must get a lot of couples celebrating wedding anniversaries here," I murmur, as the waiter clears our table. A lot of romantic couples, right? Brett looks over at me blankly. "Not so much," he says, before heading off to call his agent to find out whether he got a call-back for that legal drama he auditioned for the week before. Just when I think we've reached the seventh circle of our garlic-infused inferno, two Mexican waiters bearing a garlic trifle with three candles appear and a Mariachi band starts up in the distance. Happy anniversary to you... happy anniversary to you... Happy anniversary little garlic-heads... As we blow out the candles, our eyes meet across the table in one of those moments of synergy that prove you married the right person. As far as anniversaries go, we're both thinking, this one didn't half stink.