A Slow Simmer

Food, dating, and sex are three very distinct pleasures each unto themselves.  But , I state the obvious.

Food can bring me pleasure , really, unlike anything else. 

Toast dripping in butter, sauteed mushrooms, rare beef tenderloin…grits souffle (I know, it sounds outrageous.  Magnolia Grill’s is pure bliss)… All of these have driven me to a point of such distraction that I did not want to return.  Really.  If I could eat only that grits souffle and nothing else (and still fit into my car, much less my clothes), I would.

I do not love to date.  I date in the search for pleasure (the kind I *can’t* get from food), and in the hopes of finding a connection.  There has to be a connection. If there’s no chemistry, we’re done.  Sorry.

My last dating adventure was an interesting food experience.  After the first few minutes I realized that the very nice young man (emphasis on young) was not going to be going any further with me than the walk to my car.   So, we dove into the appetizer list. First, a trio of hummus (hummi??):  black bean, traditional chick pea, and the third was so forgettable that I have forgotten it. After that we moved to deep fried pickles. 

Yes.  Or, I should say, “Yeeessssssssssssssssssss! Yess!  Yeessss!!!”

 At this point in my life, I do not care if my date judges me on what I eat. I am not the girl who goes to dinner and has a salad (unless I’m wearing a dress so tight I cannot breathe.  Even then, I’d rather save room for the wine, screw eating.).  So, I was fully immersed in eating these fried pickles, resting each one on my tongue, licking my lips, inserting a fingertip between them to lick off the grease…I may have even closed my eyes at one point.

Poor guy.  The fried pickles were hotter than our chemistry.  Without heat, it’s just a cold limp pickle. Right?

I have very strong opinions on almost everything, but especially on food, drink and men.  I don’t often turn down a stiff, um, drink.  When I’m happy, I laugh and cook. When I’m angry, I bitch, sometimes I cook.  When I’m sad, I eat.   Okay, I drink, too. When I’m on a date that  needs some heat, I focus on the food or the drink (gotta have a crutch , right?).   

Welcome to my world – where dating and food have become fodder for entertainment.  Today is a slow food and dating day, but trust me, there will be days when I have a lot more interesting things to say. Stay tuned, and if you have any sexy men I should know about, tell me.  If not, I’ll take a good recipe. 

Either way, the heat is important.

Random recipe because it’s in my oven and on my mind:

in a covered baking dish:
chicken breasts (boned, skinned, preferably organic)
white wine (your choice, you’re cooking it , so what’s it matter)
butter (unsalted, today I like Kerrygold)
salt and pepper
dried tarragon OR fresh thyme

place the breasts in a baking dish, preheat your oven to 350 degrees.
salt and pepper the breasts.
pour in a healthy amount of wine, make sure the chicken is covered.
cut some butter and dot your chicken, leaving some butter in the wine.
sprinkle some fresh tarragon (as much as  you can stand), or place in the dish a bunch of fresh thyme.

Cook until done. Voila.  You’re welcome.

Follow me on Twitter (link coming soon):  @Just_Add_Heat

1 thought on “A Slow Simmer

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