Just a quickie today to share some love.
For anyone within a reasonable drive of Raleigh, NC, I hope to hell you’ve visited the state farmer’s market. I’d forgotten what a treat it is, what really neat people are there, and well, let’s not forget, it’s where I learned about Climax.
I assume we have an understanding. You all know that I have what could be described as a tomato fetish. I don’t like to go more than a couple of days – and I mean only two – without ingesting something tomato-y. So, Summertime in the South means absolute breathless anticipation of those juicy, sun-warmed ripe, ugly beasts that actually taste like a tomato, instead of those strange, flavorless, uniform globes in the grocery store the other 9 months of the year.
The perfect tomato is lumpy, imperfect, warm, eaten just sliced. Sometimes I will enjoy a purist tomato-sandwich, but I prefer my Summer, vine-ripened homely beauties warm, sliced, and, if not plain on their own, coupled with some basil and aged-balsamic. That is perfection for me. I do not want my tomatoes jazzed up. Keep it simple.
So, imagine my delight and sheer giddiness when I learned of a dinner with tomatoes at every course. What other heaven is there?
Let’s talk about Chemistry.
The Periodic Table of Elements was not my favorite thing in the 10th grade. It was a necessary evil. My chemistry teacher had the requisite wire-rimmed glasses, and wore the requisite plaid, short-sleeved button downs (why, guys, why?!). And, when we would have much prefered to focus on biology rather than chemistry, we had to memorize this:
You remember that, right? I’m sure you do. So, why, then, is chemistry so elusive? Do you remember the element with the hottest boiling point? Tunsgsten? Uranium? I don’t remember. I don’t care , actually, because, these days that ‘s not the sort of chemistry I’m interested in. And, since you people pay more attention when I talk about dating or “heat”, read on.
Guys , I don’t know what it is with you and food. I think , perhaps, some of you think cooking is difficult, time consuming and therefore , not worth it. One of my standard questions in the dating-that’s-really-an-interview process is: “So, do you cook?”
There are many reasons I ask, but one of them is that it’s fucking sexy when a man I’m attracted to can cook me something, and cook it well – that’s not a euphemism, but it usually, conveniently, translates into other areas. One of my favorite guy-cooked-for-me memories was when a boyfriend of mine sauteed shrimp in butter and garlic – and that’s what we had for dinner. Simple, yummy, drippy, slippery, and good. He wasn’t a culinary wizard, but he had confidence in that dish – he knew he could do it and do it well. And he did.
But, this post isn’t about men and cooking.
By now, you know that I like things hot.
I have commented on what I prefer to see men in. I have written about my love for tomatoes, grits soufflés, German beer and complicated sex.
I have alluded to, but not quite elaborated on , that dangerous state of being a Cougar.