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Food is foreplay

Few years ago when I was a spoilt daddy’s girl, my two famous dishes were sausage and ham fried rice and pastas in chicken and sweetcorn Campbell soup. The one person it ever fed was my younger brother, who never complained and ate every last drop of it. He never suffered from food poisoning, so I thought I was a pretty good cook. When I was flat sharing, grilled chicken and steak were my easy recipes that can fill me up after a day’s work. From then until on a flight back home, I watched Julie and Julia. Now, my signature dish is beef bourguignon, so I think I have come a long way.

People say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I reckon it’s only true if you cook sporadically. Otherwise the typical male just get used to having a nice meal on the table when they come home. They gobble it down without a word of thanks or polite conversation, then straight onto the couch with the TV for the football match while you do the cleaning up also. Unless it happens in a romantic comedy, of course, where the figure-perfect bright smile wrinkle-free actress has her apron on whilst stirring in the sauce, tasting it with her fingers. Then the handsome sweetest loveliest unselfish actor comes into the kitchen, tastes what’s on her fingers then end up stripping off her apron and anything else she had under there.

On the dating front, food is foreplay. Since you never call up a girl and ask her ‘Hey, are you free on Sat night? Do you want to have sex?’ But you would politely say ‘Hey I know a lovely place for Mexican.’ or ‘There’s this new bar opened in Soho.’ or ‘Let’s grab a bite to eat / coffee sometime.’ I’m always going to eat, regardless of whether I’m eating with you or not so what you are offering really is your company. Plus if you said let’s go watch football together I might say no, because I’m not into sports. But I can’t exactly say ‘No thanks, I don’t eat.’

***Photo by bgorsphotography

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