If a man really wants to win my heart, he should let me choose the restaurant…and his food. I know that is a bit presumptuous for a first date, or the twentieth date for that matter. A first date is always a little awkward and nerve-racking; I can only imagine what it would be like for a man to date a foodie. In addition to the constant stream of silent questions (Does she think I am funny? What should we talk about next? Did I already say that? Am I talking too much), he must also ask what does this food say about me? Do I know how to pronounce that? Do these things go well together?
While I may judge, I will not write you off simply for pronouncing filet with a hard “t” or for cutting your salad; I do that too and, apparently, it isn’t proper etiquette. Of course, there are some deal breakers, like the man who mused, “I wish there was a pill I could take every day and avoid eating altogether.” GONE! But, there are many more occasions in which food won me over. For example, a gift of home-infused bacon bourbon showed more thought, care, and love than anything else I have ever received.
One of the best dates I have been one was at my favorite mussels and frites joint. We got the basic moules provencal with frites, which is mussels doused in butter, herbs, shallots, garlic, and chardonnay and a large cone of fries with roasted garlic aioli, blue cheese, and horseradish. The food was clearly the focus; neither of us felt any fear to ruin minty breath. This guy was a keeper. Between stuffing our faces with French fries and slurping up sauce with the mussel shells we shared some wonderful laughs. Speaking of sharing, that is the most important aspect of a meal for me. We moved in harmony. He loaded up on fries while I scooped up more mussels. Wordlessly, he spooned sauce on my roll. It was love.
Food has so much great potential! Walking and talking with ice cream cones, a picnic by the water, eating at any new or specialty restaurant all could be the perfect date. He would never have to struggle with a gift again. There are literally an infinite supply of new cheeses, pastas, vinegars, salts, and ice creams to be given as small tokens of affection. My mouth is watering and my heart yearning just imagining the possibilities. I want tall, dark, handsome, and breath reeking of garlic.
Inspired by The Devil’s Larder by Jim Crace.
Pleasures of the Table 