Eat Me: Love, Sex and the Art of Eating

Eat Me: Love, Sex and the Art of Eating Alexandra Antonioni Sex and the City meets Nigella Lawson and Jamie Oliver in this delicious combination of love, sex and the art of eating. This is the ultimate book for the those with an appreciation for the mouth-wateringly scrumptious and sensual.Sex and the City meets the culinary goddess within, in this delicious offering on love, sex and the art of eating.Alexandra Antonioni argues that food plays a significant role in the seduction and binding of individuals, and offers a collection of musings, anecdotes, quotes and recipes to enhance the smooth path of love.Alexandra takes us on a journey through the highs and lows of modern-day relationships in terms of food, from first date encounters to the inevitable tv dinners. She extols the virtues of love, sex and food whilst providing menus, relationship advice and personal anecdotes on various love-related subjects.We now live in a world of serial but temporary monogamy, where a smorgasbord of endless possibility exists, where a broken heart is no longer terminal but easily and endlessly restorable, rejuvenated and reinvented with the helping hand of a culinary masterpiece or two.Today we seek not so much Mr. Right as Mr. Right Now, thus each relationship can be argued to exist somewhere in:"The Beginning" "The Middle" " The End"Each stage is described by Alexandra in humorous and toe-curlingly familiar detail, coupling the well-know art of love with the less well-known art of culinary bliss, offering advice, experiences and menus not just for the seduction dinner (Beginning) or the comfort food zone (End), but a delicious selection of post-coital snacks, lazy Sunday breakfasts and morning after brunches for all those stages in between. DEDICATION (#ulink_f29e253f-ae78-5c88-8b6b-f24272d969c9) For my family, who have supported me through every Beginning, Middle and End and without whom my life would be a very empty place indeed. And for the next generation: James, Max, Cristian and Sacha. CONTENTS COVER (#u42b27e11-ce39-5e17-8a80-a0c55dc3f74c) TITLE PAGE (#u195067ce-7164-5578-82da-ff8a705b3991) DEDICATION (#ulink_1802e601-584e-5b2f-86fa-6e889d1c6ecf) FOREWORD (#ulink_55489481-fac9-5765-a931-87a3c3c9237b) INTRODUCTION (#ulink_77f521e4-8b0b-5294-b4f2-e0766de01160) THE BEGINNING, THE MIDDLE, THE END (#ulink_c826723f-2dd7-5f14-9b9c-45a95af54aca) THE BEGINNING (#ulink_013f1fb5-b251-5187-a642-0fed6316b7d1) Attraction (#ulink_d29125c6-fd5f-5b7d-9053-70b083d8195d) First Dates (#ulink_0c9b59e1-b9cf-5fca-bca7-569dff4fc566) One-Night Stands (#ulink_2ea11362-2aff-5f6c-9232-092b24dfeb89) Infatuation (#ulink_1d75da40-03eb-52d3-a452-6dcddf54733c) The Seduction Dinners (#ulink_206f6e19-7c1e-5c6a-ade0-978981fc720c) Aphrodisiacs (#ulink_1b8b7298-e96a-5d09-a56a-7eabedece7f6) Pink Cloud (#ulink_e664bac6-a377-5cb9-b40d-d93a0057ce08) Easy Like Sunday Morning (#ulink_d43de3dd-02a1-533e-8743-63242c616362) Room Service (#litres_trial_promo) The Mini-Break (#litres_trial_promo) Indoor Picnics (#litres_trial_promo) Meet Me After Work and Bring a Toothbrush (#litres_trial_promo) Rude Food (#litres_trial_promo) Those Three Little Words (#litres_trial_promo) Your First Quarrel (#litres_trial_promo) The End of the Beginning (#litres_trial_promo) THE MIDDLE (#litres_trial_promo) 7 Heaven (#litres_trial_promo) You Are Cordially Invited To … (#litres_trial_promo) Pet Names (#litres_trial_promo) Forever Friends (#litres_trial_promo) Domestic Bliss? (#litres_trial_promo) Soul Mates (#litres_trial_promo) Eating al Fresco (#litres_trial_promo) I Don’t Like Mondays (#litres_trial_promo) Welcome to Lola’s (#litres_trial_promo) La Famiglia (#litres_trial_promo) Home Alone (#litres_trial_promo) In Sickness and in Health (#litres_trial_promo) Reality Check (#litres_trial_promo) THE END (#litres_trial_promo) Thunder & Lightning (#litres_trial_promo) The End is Nigh (#litres_trial_promo) Once More With Feeling … (#litres_trial_promo) The Last Dance … (#litres_trial_promo) Food Glorious Food (#litres_trial_promo) The Six Stages of the End (#litres_trial_promo) Ouch … It Hurts … (#litres_trial_promo) All You Need is Love … (#litres_trial_promo) POSTSCRIPT (#litres_trial_promo) ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS (#litres_trial_promo) ABOUT THE AUTHOR (#litres_trial_promo) COPYRIGHT (#litres_trial_promo) ABOUT THE PUBLISHER (#litres_trial_promo) FOREWORD (#ulink_55d30995-4bae-58cc-a55c-60e37a90cb29) By Marco Pierre White Quite simply the joy of Eat Me is that it extols the virtues of Love, Sex and Food, three things everyone has experience of, and that people just love talking about. Food has, throughout the ages, been synonymous with hedonistic pleasure, with finding love, falling in love and sometimes losing love. Eat Me demonstrates with an informed, seductive and cheeky approach how to marry food with the various stages of romantic relationships. Nothing is left to chance, from first date dinners, postcoital snacks, meeting the future in-laws and making up after your first big row, right through to fabulous recipes for comfort food should it all go horribly wrong. I’ve been there and I’m quite sure you have too. Nothing inspires romance quite like food. The cunningly pre-meditated but seemingly effortless way that Alex recommends the seduction and subsequent nurturing of a lover through cooking just can’t fail. She uses her kitchen in much the same way a spider uses her web. Her reminiscences of first-date disasters during supposedly romantic dinners as well as her mischievous take on the nuances of relationships had me roaring with laughter as I recalled some equally excruciating but, with hindsight, bittersweet encounters from my own past. Along with great menus and some truly honest relationship advice there are moments of d?j? vu for us all as we smirk knowingly at some of the insights into the ongoing battle of sexes. To quote a line from Eat Me: ‘Men are from Earth, Women are from Earth. Deal with it’. Have fun with Eat Me. Open a bottle of wine, put some music on, get into the kitchen and start connecting with the culinary siren you have within. Be spiritually and emotionally nourished, and most of all enjoy. Marco Pierre White May 2005 INTRODUCTION (#ulink_35fd81c5-49dd-5367-a126-70feb33ddd7a) Prior to starting our journey through the mesmerising alchemy that stems from the marriage of food and love, I should like to give you a little background information about myself. So here are a few pertinent details about where I’ve been and what I’ve done, which should afford you a better understanding of the author, my credentials and the experiences that have led me to write this book. I was born in London to Italian parents sometime in the early- to mid-sixties. (I don’t like to be too precise about my age, female prerogative and all that, let’s just say that I’ve been around long enough to have learnt about the harsh realities of life, but not so long that I am no longer able to be excited, amazed and enraptured by it.) Given that my parents owned a restaurant, the Bongusto (which as kids we re-christened the Gone Busto, naturally out of earshot of my father), I was steeped in a foodie culture from a very young age. I have warm and vivid memories of ‘going down the shop’, as we used to call it, to help out in the school holidays. It was not unusual for there to be three generations of Antonionis in attendance at any one time: my parents, occasionally my grandfather (although he came to eat and generally observe proudly from the sidelines) and we three kids – my older sister and baby brother and me. We were all working towards the same goal: a successful family restaurant serving first-rate, home-cooked Italian food in a cosy, friendly atmosphere, affording the kind of welcome and familiarity that comes from seeing the same faces over and over again. Many of these people became an integral part of our extended family and even today, long after my father has retired, they still have a place in our hearts. Having spent the better part of the school holidays and weekends working in the Bongusto it was only natural that I should grow up with a leaning towards hospitality as a career. Having learnt the basics I spread my wings, and in the early Eighties, newly married at the tender age of 20, I moved to Hong Kong with my husband. There I lived and worked for many years managing some truly fabulous restaurants, amongst which was Grissini at the Grand Hyatt Hotel, the brand new and utterly gorgeous diamond in the Grand Hyatt crown. Grissini was a world away from the Bongusto and, unbeknownst to the hierarchy of Swiss hoteliers that employed me, I was totally inexperienced in the running of a fine dining restaurant. To say that I talked up the family business and my hospitality experience is an understatement – it was a far cry from the family-run, all-day-breakfast caf?/restaurant of my youth and an extremely steep learning curve. But learn I did; the young, gifted Italian chef at Grissini was a genius and through this book I hope to do him justice in passing on his knowledge of food and its ability to seduce. Grissini was a highly romantic restaurant in a wonderful setting overlooking Hong Kong harbour; floor-to-ceiling windows afforded fabulous views of the South China Sea. It was a heady time indeed for little Alex Antonioni from North London, to suddenly be presiding over such an exalted dining room full to the rafters with the beautiful people: witnessing their romantic assignations; first dates, reunions, proposals, celebrations, secret trysts and, of course, the occasional tearful parting. I watched and learned. It is a fact that every night in a restaurant, any restaurant anywhere in the world, a theatre production takes place: the guests are the star characters and the staff and food their producers and props. Every night there was drama, every night a new lesson in love and life. Unfortunately, my marriage was not to last and after my divorce I left Hong Kong and returned to London. After a period of settling in, the advent of a fabulous new career in restaurant PR and being very much a single girl about town, I ‘serially monogomised’ for the first time in my life, enjoying a succession of very agreeable one- to two-year relationships. Despite the fact that the guys I became involved with turned out to be Mr Right Now rather than Mr Right and the liaisons came to their own natural conclusion, I wouldn’t have changed a single thing. I loved, laughed and learned a lot; there is a lot to be said for being an independent, single, successful, commitment-shy woman. The world was now my oyster. I left for Singapore in the late Nineties where I worked for a couple of years writing restaurant reviews for a local newspaper. After a while the gypsy in my soul needed a change of pace (can you see a pattern forming here?), so, in a bid to reflect on my life and ‘find myself’, I headed for Australia with no job and no idea of what I was going to do once I got there. It was there, having been totally captivated by the inspirational Australian food culture, that I first had the idea to write a book incorporating the two things that were so pivotal in my life: Love and Food. I wanted to convey to women how easy it was to seduce a man with food in much the same way that a spider uses her web to entrap her prey. I spent a year researching the shift in attitudes and other people’s perspectives of the sometimes cold, hard world of modern-day dating. It would seem that things have changed a lot and, armed with this information and drawing on my, it has to be said extensive, personal experience and a strong belief about the nurturing effect of food on romantic love, Eat Me was born. This book is best described as a tongue-in-cheek, sometimes searingly honest and occasionally painful journey through the highs and lows of a modern-day relationship for serial romantics who adore food. But, if used correctly, Eat Me can also help transform even the most inexperienced and reluctant cook into a culinary siren; one who appreciates the importance of enhancing and nurturing relationships through food and the cooking of it. I would love to hear about your romantic foodie moments and any ideas or suggestions you may have. Please contact me at [email protected] (mailto:[email protected]) THE BEGINNING, THE MIDDLE, THE END (#ulink_918cea98-b0d5-59e7-af98-4fe55e52ac73) (Manners of a Modern Romance) I’m not shooting for a successful relationship.At this point I’m just looking for something that will prevent me from throwing myself in front of a bus.I’m keeping my expectations very, very low.I am just looking for a mammal. That’s my bottom line.And I’m really very flexible on that too. LUCILLE BALL So, my fellow modern-day romantic gourmand, if you have bought this book you are one of the many amongst us who appreciate the unbridled joy that is love combined with the pleasure of all things oral. Love and Food – the ultimate pairing of the senses. What more could a mere mortal ask for … ok, maybe a pair of vintage Manolos, but, hey, can you eat them? Welcome, then, to Eat Me, where culinary possibility flirts with romantic probability. Exciting, sensual and utterly blissful, a stimulating and deeply fulfilling manner in which to woo and be wooed, Eat Me is neither cookbook nor love story but a journey through modern romantic love (on a full stomach) from start to finish. Yes, yes already, I know, I said finish. Before we start on this journey, it is my duty to explain to you the three stages of Love in the game that is modern-day dating. Think Bridget Jones, Sex and the City, 9? Weeks (the fridge scene!). Time to wake up and smell the testosterone. Baby, times they are a-changing. Our generation is dealing with a completely different set of rules, which we are playing by ear and making up as we go along. The days of ‘Forsaking All Others Forever and Ever, Amen’ are but a cloud of well-trodden, soggy confetti in the fairytale nuptials of our wildest imaginations. Divorce is on the up; true love is proving to be more elusive than ever. It is a bona fide serial-dating, bed-hopping jungle out there. Deal with it. We live in a world of serial, but temporary, monogamy; a smorgasbord of endless possibility, where a broken heart is no longer terminal but instead easily and endlessly restorable. It happens the moment yet another cutie with the right combination of looks, style and, if we are lucky, cash, appears. He/she will have that certain something, that je ne sais quoi that enables him/her to turn our heads and make our bruised and battered little hearts beat, to the sound of their drum, that little bit faster. Hey presto! We are no longer heartbroken, actually we are the opposite: heartsick, horny and in lust. In fact, off, once again, with the fairies. Today we seek not so much Mr Right as Mr Right Now, thus a staggering percentage of relationships exist in the sphere that is: ‘The Beginning’ ‘The Middle’ ‘The End’ Hey, back off! I didn’t write the rules, so don’t shoot the messenger. Come on, don’t get too disheartened, of course True Love exists. Look around you, surely you know loads of people in successful relationships, happily married with a couple of kids, white picket fence, roses over the door, etc? Whaddaya mean they’re all divorced? There is no place in our world for such blatant (though, some would say, justified) cynicism. I as the author reserve the right to keep an open mind. One day my prince will come, as will yours. Honest. Meanwhile, in the parallel universe that is Serial Monogamy, I will embark on every new relationship with relish and have myself an absolute ball. Life is too short to mope around and beat one’s, hopefully ample, breast over yet another lost love. Not all men are bastards, just as all women are not gold-digging ball-breakers: this is but an urban myth. I hope. So there you have it, in most cases life is not the fairytale we were told it was going to be but, hey, neither is it so bad. We may have to kiss a lot of toads before we find our prince but … kissing the right toads, in the right places, whilst feasting on the perfect morsel, can actually be a lot of fun. Please enjoy your Serial Monogamy in the knowledge that one day, when you are old and grey, rocking in your chair surrounded by your gloriously doting grandchildren (or you’re the oldest swinger in town, suckin’ down a Margarita with your latest toy boy/girl), you won’t regret the things you did. Only the things you didn’t. Your words are my food, your breath my wine, you are everything to me. SARAH BERNHARDT Right, I’m glad that’s over with. Now let’s have some fun. Let’s talk food, my next favourite subject. It is my belief that food plays a significant role in the seduction, the pleasuring and the binding together of two newly-dating individuals. This first became apparent when, at the tender age of 16 and a total innocent, I was taken out to dinner on a proper date for the first time ever. Mitch was 24 years old and a friend of a friend, he used to come over to my house and we’d spend hours listening to music and just hanging out. When he asked me to go to dinner I was over the moon, but my parents less so and only allowed me to go out with this ostensibly much older man on the condition that I was home by 11pm, sharp. He picked me up at 7.30pm in his rather flash and very red sports car and took me, at somewhat high speed, to a very ‘in’ bistro in Mayfair. Walking into that jewelled, cavelike restaurant was the most amazing moment of my thus far rather sheltered 16-year-old life. Everywhere I looked there was glamour, I felt like I’d arrived. As a family we’d always gone to lovely restaurants but this was different, this was very grown up, utterly sophisticated and terribly sexy. We were seated at a corner table with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, aka The Widow, which to this day remains my absolute favourite champagne. He ordered for both of us. (So manly.) We started with huge pink prawns dripping with butter and oozing garlic, which we ate with our fingers, catching the butter with our tongues as it dripped. That was the precise moment that little Alex Antonioni realised that food was sexy. Really, really sexy. My mother had made this same dish a thousand times and it had never had quite this effect on me. This was indeed a revelation. The prawns were followed by a perfect roast chicken whose ancestry lay in Bresse, France. It was presented to us on a silver salver; a whole roast chicken, crispy and golden and surrounded by perfectly turned baby carrots, tiny little roast potatoes and bunches of watercress to mop up the juices. An impossibly well-dressed waiter carved it in front of us at the table whilst all the other diners looked on enviously. Apparently you had to order this particular dish 48 hours in advance, Mitch had done just that. I felt like a princess. Pudding was Cr?pes Suzette, which involved more tableside theatricals. Although by this point I think the waiter was just showing off, it was glorious. Piping-hot sticky cr?pes were served whilst on fire and to a 16 year-old on a first date it was the absolute height of elegance. I felt like Audrey Hepburn somewhere between Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Pygmalion. The memory of that meal has remained with me always. Over the course of that evening Mitch, who in reality was just ok-looking, became a prince amongst men. In the flickering candlelight of that restaurant, bewitched by the combination of ice-cold champagne, delicious food and flirtatious, giggly banter, I would have agreed to pretty much anything Mitch had in mind. I was utterly seduced. My parents knew exactly what they were doing by not letting their daughters out of their sight for too long and when, after another round of coffees and a large Amaretto, I realised to my horror, Cinderella-like, what the time was I somewhat unsteadily left my idyll and Mitch escorted me home. I was over an hour late. My father’s fury, conveyed via a colourful selection of choice words and the slamming of the front door, ensured Mitch never called me again. Coward! I never looked at food in quite the same way ever again, hence the concept of Eat Me; a collection of anecdotes, suggestions, aphrodisiacs, nibbles, rude food, drinks, dinners, lunches, bed picnics, quotes, feasts, snacks and comfort foods alongside a selection of menus to entertain friends and family that will ensure your lover’s full attentions and, well, who knows … THE BEGINNING (#ulink_ff6059d6-f2dd-5e25-b399-8bd2795542a1) There is no sincerer love than the love of food. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW Your eyes meet across a crowded room at a party, on the tube, in a pub, at a wedding, down a coalmine, or even at Grandma’s funeral. It matters not a jot wheresoever the first glimpse occurs when Cupid’s arrow strikes and we meet a stranger who literally, inexplicably, takes our breath away. That spectacular, bestillmybeatingheart moment when everyone else in a 5km radius disappears and kapow! You are in lust. Asinine, garbled conversations tend to follow, both stumbling over words, finding everything the other says fascinating, achingly familiar and hysterically funny in equal measure. Then, with slightly glazed eyes and manic grins, numbers are exchanged along with meaningful, longing glances … here we go again. The stage is set … The Players are eager to play … Enter stage left, boy meets girl … ATTRACTION (#ulink_175484dd-47d9-5840-b60a-db786c75d9e8) Like a Moth to the Flame So, Debbie McGee, what first attracted you to the millionaire, Paul Daniels? MRS MERTON In order to transform ourselves into the gastronomic goddess we yearn to be it is crucial that we have a subject, namely a man, around whom we can weave our culinary magic – and not just any old guy, he must be someone that we like enough to want to impress and don our pinny for. If you already have someone in mind, good for you; for those of us who are still looking, this chapter is especially for you. (Although, even if you have your prey in sight don’t skip this chapter ’cos, honey, you never know.) I love to cook and enjoy nothing more than inviting good friends round, cooking up a storm, sharing a few bottles of wine and putting the world to rights. I’m a little more reticent to cook for a man, a new potential Mr Right – I don’t flash my copper-bottom pans for just anybody. The problem is, as I’m getting a little older I’m getting a lot fussier. These days it takes a little more than a cute arse and a moody stare for me to want to grind my spices, rattle those pans and shake my booty. Much has been written about Attraction. Why is it that some people attract us like a moth to a flame whilst others, for no apparent reason, leave us as cold as yesterday’s custard? How is it that one girl’s Titanic is another girl’s Love Boat? I wish I knew. It would certainly facilitate the soul-destroying, life-sapping and ego-wrecking process of trying to meet ‘someone new’. Sex appeal is 50 per cent what you’ve got and 50 per cent what people think you’ve got. SOPHIA LOREN From my experience we girls generally go for the same ‘type’ over and over again, no matter that we really should have learnt our lesson by now. With me, it’s bad boys. No matter how often it ends in tears I just can’t help myself; if they look a little naughty and act a little wild you can be sure I’ll be fluttering my eyelashes and simpering in their general direction. In an attempt at attracting a member of the opposite sex with a view to ‘dating’, all we can do is make an effort to get out there, put our best foot forward, chest out, tummy in and hope for the best. Or is it? What if we had some pointers? Some inside information? I asked all the men I knew what they found attractive in women, what it was that caught their eye and captured their hearts. Below, please find the, sometimes unexpected, results of that exhaustive study. It will come as no surprise to any of us to hear that men fall in love with their eyes and women fall in love with their ears. Guys just cannot help themselves. They are suckers for a pretty face, big boobs, a peach of a bottom and a knowing smile – not necessarily in that order. (Unless they are drunk, in which case they don’t care what you look like as long as you agree to go home with them. Tragic, but true. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.) However, conversely, are we ladies not in turn attracted to a six-pack? George Clooney? Brad Pitt? And of course, a healthy bank balance always does amazing things to a guy’s phwoar-factor. They have their fantasy woman and we have our fantasy guy, but in the real world we don’t date the ‘fantasy’, we date each other. Are you with me thus far? Whilst all men (yes, all men, unless of course they’re watching football) will do a double take at the sight of a well-stacked babe with a pert bottom, full lips and pelmet skirt, deep down they’re not that shallow when it comes to choosing a mate for life. They just couldn’t be. Could they? The guys I spoke to inferred that when seeking a Long Term Relationship, the majority of them (did you get that? I said the majority, some are indeed hopeless cases) are not attracted solely to the tits and arse package when it does not include some or all of the following attributes. Prepare to suspend your deeply cynical beliefs and be amazed. Beauty came top of the list, although surprisingly men are not as attracted to glamour girls as we think they are. Beauty, it would seem, is indeed in the eye of the beholder. True, the kind of women they want to date take good care of themselves and of how they look but, apparently, it is not about having the perfect body or looking like the models in the fashion mags (airbrushed within an inch of their skinny, cellulite-free, digitally-enhanced, irritating selves), it is about confidence. If you look good you will feel good, ergo you will be upbeat, friendly and approachable. If you make no effort with yourself, why should anyone make an effort with you? To keep a man you need to be: a lady in the parlour, a cook in the kitchen and a whore in the bedroom. JERRY HALL So it’s not about being a perfect ‘10’, it’s about being the best you that you can possibly be, no matter what you may weigh, how old you are or how much money you have. Take heart, ladies, here’s what men really want, in no particular order: An infectious giggle, sparkly eyes, manicured hands, a toned body (but definitely not skinny, all the men I spoke to preferred a curvier girl), also important is intelligence and a wicked sense of humour that includes being able to laugh at ourselves. Men are attracted to women who are independent, have a certain joie de vivre and are in control of their own lives. They also like women who are unpredictable, exciting and adventurous, both in and out of the bedroom. They want a woman with whom they can have fun, who preferably likes football (a tough one I know), who doesn’t want to change them (admit it, we’ve all tried) and who understands when he’s had a bad day and he needs a cuddle. They are dead keen on women who can cook (funny that), and girls who are not carrying around loads of baggage from past relationships. Having similar interests, ideals and goals is also considered important. Men adore women who go to dinner and actually eat. They want someone who will support them, love their mum and not expect them to give up their mates or spend every Saturday afternoon shopping. In addition? Men want sex; lots and lots of sex. They never want to hear the words ‘Not tonight darling, I have a headache’. Ever. A woman waits motionless until she is wooed. Much how a spider waits for a fly. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW Ok, now for the gentlemen. What attracts us ladies to men? Good looks are clearly a consideration, but we are not expecting you to look like a movie star. That said, grooming is paramount, we want you to look and smell good. Aftershave should definitely be in evidence, but not so much that we are asphyxiated. Women have a bit of a thing about men’s shoes, my advice is buy the best you can afford and keep ’em polished. Lots of women say a good sense of humour is imperative, make us laugh and it would seem you are home free. Bottoms came up, a lot. We girls apparently have a bit of a thing for your pert buns, almost as much as we like kind eyes but not as much as we value that old chestnut Good Manners. We like it when men open doors for us, pay for dinner on a first date and talk to our faces rather than our cleavage. We like it when you have orderly, tidy homes and when you listen, really listen, to what we are saying. If we do tell you our problems we don’t expect you to fix them, just listen. Gentlemen, it’s better for all concerned that you don’t go on and on about football, your bitch/angel/goddess (whichever fits) ex or drone on and on about work. We know you work hard. We do too. Oh, I nearly forgot, we love that you can cook but please don’t do it as well as us. Men don’t live well by themselves. They don’t even live like people. They live like bears with furniture. RUTH RUDNER Men are having a hard time these days but, conversely, women have never had it so good. (I think.) Apparently we live in an age where Women Can Have It All. But as much as we do want it all, we don’t want to lose our femininity and we still want our man to be a real man, even if we are earning more than you and are perfectly capable of changing a fan belt whilst knocking up dinner for ten. But, and there’s always a but, in behaving like the strong, silent, dependable men we yearn for, you must be strong but not too strong. God forbid we should feel patronised or controlled, but there again God help you should you display any sign of weakness. (Understand why I’m feeling a bit sorry for them?) Gentlemen, we don’t want to wear the trousers but we don’t want you to wear them either, couldn’t we just take a leg each? Yup, women really can have it all. The job, the kids, the holidays, the money, the perfect relationship, the perfect body, new boobs and smooth botoxed skin that will never age and the most significant validation of all, a trouser leg. It’s just that sometimes it’s exhausting and we just want a cuddle. And a chocolate biscuit. Intuition is the strange instinct that tells a woman she’s right, whether she is or not. OSCAR WILDE FIRST DATES (#ulink_9f57e908-c6e5-559a-93e2-2cc009987fb1) First Impressions Don’t think of him as a Date, Think of him as a Dinner. LUCILLE BALL Hopefully our improved talents in the art of attraction will have been put to good use and will have resulted in securing the attentions of an eligible and gorgeous man, one whose sole purpose in life is to ask us out to dinner. So you’ve finally got a date, but please don’t be tempted to cook, you’ll have plenty of time later to wow him with your culinary expertise if the evening goes well. Go out to a lovely restaurant, relax and find out a little more about each other and see if this is worth pursuing. A propos of not cooking, do take my advice as I’m talking from bitter experience. Every time I have cooked on a first date it has ended in tears, generally mine. Even if the food was perfect and everything looked fabulous, by the time my date arrived I was frizzy-haired and frazzled from the hours spent in the kitchen and from the cleaning regime required to turn my apartment into something out of Vogue Interiors. On one occasion when I was asked out, memorable because I really liked this guy and had been trying to get his attention for months, I decided to dazzle him with both my cooking skills and my fabulous 44th-floor apartment overlooking Hong Kong harbour. So I stupidly (with hindsight) invited him to dinner. I cleaned, shopped and cooked all day, preparing a menu planned with military precision. Parma ham with Chanterelle melon was followed by an inordinately expensive grilled lobster and a mango souffl? finished off the dinner. The whole meal was washed down with several bottles of Veuve Clicquot. I wore my killer little black dress and lit enough candles to illuminate the Vatican. Everything was perfect. Except … he was Jewish. (Who’s to know?) He didn’t eat Parma ham (pork) and he didn’t eat lobster (shellfish) and hated the perfumed aroma of mangos. I became increasingly flustered and more than a little resentful that all my hard work had resulted in him nibbling on a breadstick and not much else. Especially not the hostess. Whilst I’m sure my ill-advised dinner was not solely to blame (I think it was a lot more to do with my evidently increasing displeasure), having eaten the square root of exactly nothing he made his excuses and left. That was the last I heard from him. Like I said, don’t be tempted to cook. (In a fit of pique I ate everything on the table plus all the after-dinner mints so not only did I feel rejected, I also felt fat. Not a good combination.) Back to happier things. It doesn’t matter how many first dates I’ve had or how many restaurants I’ve eaten in, I always get excited about the first time I have dinner with someone new. You never quite know what will happen, there’s always the chance that this could be the one. The problem is, of course, that first dates don’t always live up to our expectations. I’m sure we all have a Dating Disasters Dossier, filed away in our memory under Not To Be Repeated Under Any Circumstances. Those dates that forced us to question our apparent inability to spot a really bad idea! How in the name of all that is sacred could we possibly have accepted, or worse yet requested, this interminable torture? I have spent far too many first date dinners surreptitiously glancing at my watch, willing the minutes to tick past whilst seated opposite someone with whom I had absolutely nothing in common and, worse, whom I was starting to actively dislike. It happens. Far too bloody often, actually. You know who you are, guys, those of you from my bleak and beleaguered past that caused me to coin the idiom ‘First Date Disorder’. If I looked bored it’s because I was. There, now you know. The tragic thing was that on these ghastly, coma-inducing, sub-standard debacles I invariably ended up paying the bill, purely to prevent any possibility of having to kiss him through some kind of misplaced guilt. Subsequently, I ended up bored to tears, questioning my judgement and, to add insult to injury, considerably poorer. Oh, the diabolical ignominy! So, given that all of us must have truly terrible tales of first date disasters why do we repeatedly put ourselves through the lottery-style risk they entail? That’s easy, we just keep going back for more (akin to a boxer who won’t stay down), because every now and then we stumble unsuspectingly into first date nirvana, a rare and magical encounter whereby the simple act of having dinner with somebody affords us such exquisite pleasure it erases all memories of the bad dates that have gone before. (I have on occasion experienced this phenomenon and when it’s that good, it’s the best.) The problem with these fairytale dates is that I am unable to eat a single bite during dinner. However, to conceal this angst I have perfected the art of pushing my food round the plate in such as way as to appear to have eaten quite a lot. Later on at home, after an enchanting evening which has me fantasising about our next date – the sexy way he holds his glass and how much I love his voice – I suddenly find that I am starving and heading for the kitchen to make a bacon sandwich! I’ve had a wonderful evening, but this wasn’t it. GROUCHO MARX What people order on a first date can be a bit of a revelation in terms of their personality and their expectations of the evening ahead. Here are some examples from real dates – this stuff really happened to me. I share it with you so that you can spot the bad bets immediately and not bother with a second date! The female examples, however, I gleaned from my male buddies. Traits to watch out for when on a first date with a man: As you sit down he requests a glass of tap water, skips the starter and orders the cheapest main course on the menu, plus a glass of house wine that he nurses all night. He then proceeds to divvy up the bill, ensuring that you pay for the extra coffee you ordered and refusing to pay the service charge. He’s cheap and, worst of all, the man has no style. This is date hell. Dump him. The first thing he does is order champagne followed by two dozen oysters, he then suggests you skip the main course and have another bottle of fizz instead. He orders a vast dessert meant for two which he spoon-feeds you in a rather suggestive fashion. This guy wants to get dinner over with as quickly as possible and ply you with enough aphrodisiacs and champagne to guarantee that you’ll be a bit pissed, ergo, horny. The idea is to get you into his bed in record time. On the plus side he has a modicum of style and, I’d wager, lots of charm, but beware of sleeping with anyone on a first date, no matter how many oysters they try to force down you. This man does not drink alcohol, ever. He is macro-biotic in the extreme and polishes his cutlery on his napkin, just in case it’s contaminated. He talks endlessly about the environment and wears plastic shoes. He cycles everywhere, refusing to drive or take any form of public transport, thus doing his bit for ‘the cause’. He’s 35 years old and still lives with his mother. Yawn. I live by the adage: everything in moderation, including moderation. Next! He decides to skip the food part of dinner entirely and opts for getting roaring drunk. He veers between morose and euphoric, but is appealing in a ‘save me, I think I’m drowning’ kind of way. What you mistook for bonhomie when you first met is actually desperation. Generous to a fault, he has the Dudley Moore character Arthur down to a tee. ‘Would you like another fish?’ He’s an alcoholic. No, you can’t save him, don’t even try. He orders a beer, some wine, an adventurous starter, an indulgent main course and some pudding to share with you. Then perhaps he’ll order some more wine, coffee and a couple of brandies. He’s funny, charming and seems to really listen to what you have to say. Just as the coffee arrives he reaches across the table for your hand and tells you how beautiful you look tonight. He’s lovely, interested and interesting. He’s in no hurry to bolt down dinner in a bid to seduce you tonight, he’s here to have a good time. You actually want this one to make a pass at you! (Yes, this really can happen, great dates do exist, you just gotta keep looking.) I asked my date what she wanted to drink. She said, ‘Oh, I guess I’ll have champagne.’ I said ‘Guess again.’ ANON Traits to watch out for in a woman on a first date. (Ladies, do you recognise yourselves?) After several glasses of champagne, this little madam orders the most expensive dish on the menu before necking as much wine as she can drink and then finishing off with a pudding meant for two. She scoffs the lot, as well as all the after-dinner chocolates. Her only topic of conversation is herself and her pathological desire to acquire, by fair means or foul, anything from Gucci. A greedy guts with definite gold-digging tendencies. Suggest you go Dutch and then run away. She requests still, ambient, spring water and a starter of vegetable consomm? followed by a main course of mixed salad – hold the croutons and absolutely no dressing. This fresh air feast will be followed by a protracted absence while she goes to the loo. She is very quiet all evening, in fact, she hardly says a word and doesn’t seem to be listening to you either. Don’t take it personally, it’s not you, she’s just exhausted! She’s anorexic. Conversely, if when she comes back from the loo she orders two desserts, scoffs the lot and then disappears off to the loo again, she’s bulimic. This little minx acts all girly and helpless and insists you order for her, you big strong man, you. She spends the whole of dinner gazing adoringly into your eyes and agrees with everything you say. Her pi?ce de r?sistance? Asking how many kids you’d like and how you feel about living in the country. She’s desperate for a husband and 2.2 children and assuming that this is not forthcoming within the first two weeks of knowing you, has the potential to turn into a bunny boiler. I bet you anything she’s already trying on your surname for size … run! Before she even reaches the table she’s downed a couple of Margaritas (no salt) amid lots of nervous chatter. She then has a couple of glasses of wine with a light but daring starter, followed by a main course that she seemed to really want but it now appears she’s not so keen; she’s pushing it around her plate rather than actually eating it. She’s nervous and what’s more she really likes you, hence the rather un-cool initial chattering. As the evening progresses and she chills out you will be captivated by her intelligence, amusing conversation and feminine charms. Shame about losing her appetite, especially as once she’s home the first thing she will do is make a bacon sandwich. There’s one more rule of thumb: if he covertly flirts with the waitress it’s a sure sign he’ll be unfaithful. Harsh, but fair. If she flirts with a waiter, she’s bored. But hey, don’t worry, in my experience that means she’ll be picking up the tab. Assuming the date has gone well and we want to see him again, bringing the evening to a close can be a tricky business. How far should one go on a first date, especially if we really like the guy? At the end of any date there is always that awkward ‘will he kiss me, won’t he kiss me?’ moment. Suddenly he does and when it’s a magical, waves crashing on the shore, full blown Hollywood-style smooch we really don’t want to bring the evening to an end as our hearts pound and we get more than a little hot under the collar. The question is, should we hold back or should we abandon ourselves to the moment and follow our more primal instincts and go with the flow? There is, of course, no right or wrong answer, we just have to do what we feel is right for us. All this talk of should we, shouldn’t we, leads me to thinking about one-night stands: why we have them and if they really are all that enjoyable? ONE-NIGHT STANDS (#ulink_125952fc-388e-5238-bb71-2f508de320d9) The Fast Food of the Relationship Banquet I’m always looking for meaningful one-night stands. DUDLEY MOORE Ah, yes, the one-night stand. I’m sure we all have cherished memories of the dawn walk of shame: teetering along on our 5in spike-heel Manolo’s, double-shot latte in hand, wearing last night’s crumpled barfly outfit (comprising of teeny top and even teenier skirt), and with mascara streaked halfway down our faces. All in all the image of an unmade bed on stilts desperately trying to be invisible whilst actually sticking out like a sore thumb, attracting knowing looks from those more sensible souls heading for the gym or the office, as one really should be at this time of morning, making us feel rather akin to an alley cat coming home with the milk. I have never understood what compels us to engage in the somewhat empty activity that is the one-night stand. It must be, by definition, fairly average or surely we would want to repeat it? (There are, of course, exceptions to this rule: those times when it was wonderful but circumstances prevailed, although these instances are few and far between.) Don’t get me wrong, I as much as the next girl recognise the pull of that ‘eyes across a crowded room’ moment where two people are inexplicably drawn to each other and suddenly your knickers are on fire. Raw passion, bring it on. I know lots of people whose entire sexual raison d’?tre is built around casual encounters with strangers. They regularly pick up random cute, fun strangers for a one-nighter, fully aware it’s not the start of anything; indeed, in most cases, the act of copulation signifies the end. Somewhat embarrassingly, should these two bon viveurs accidentally bump into each other sometime further down the line they either ignore each other totally, or mumble a quick hello and head for the nearest exit, despite having been as close as two people can be and having shared bodily fluids. A one-night stand is rather like eating too much junk food: good at the time, but you feel like crap afterwards. Leaping into bed with someone too soon can kill off a potential relationship quicker than anything I know. It tends to happen at the dead of night after two people who hardly know each other share one too many cocktails. Having done the deed, one of them has to take the walk of shame as they’ve ended up on the opposite side of town from where they live and they have to be up for work/an early meeting/their kids, etc. Next morning both parties are a little fuzzy about who they were with and what happened. To quote one particular friend, ‘if you can’t remember it, it doesn’t count.’ Whilst a part of me can see the argument for uncomplicated, no-strings sex I also think if you have a great first date, or even if you’ve just met someone in a bar and you like them enough to play hide the sausage, why not get to know them a little better first? I have a couple of girlfriends (names withheld to protect the not-so-innocent) who, frankly, would love to be in a proper relationship. They are attractive, sexy, intelligent women with great jobs and are much sought after by the opposite sex. They are actively looking for something longer term, yet they scupper every possibility of a man asking them out by dragging him home the first time they meet (in some cases quite literally dragging), having a quick bonk and then getting upset when he doesn’t call or send flowers the next day. Whaddaya expect? Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? It’s my theory that all men are hunters; they enjoy the chase, it satisfies some primeval macho need within them. Equally, just as Mother Nature intended, women love being pursued. So why should we mess up this vitally important component of the courtship ritual? Men enjoy the thrill of the chase. Conversely, women love being pursued and, come on ladies admit it, we all enjoy playing a little hard to get. So what is the point of this ‘sniff, sniff, you’re nice’ instant gratification? One-night stands may well have their attraction, but when we are actively seeking ‘the one’ perhaps we should consider taking a little time to woo and be wooed? I have been on more laps than a napkin. MAE WEST For those mornings when we crash through the front door at 6am feeling a little worse for wear due to lack of sleep, far too many cocktails and the ensuing walk of shame, here’s a little schedule that I promise will have you on your feet, at the office on time and back to your sparkling old self in the wink of an eye. 1 The very first thing that must be done once you’ve staggered through the door is to put the kettle on. Secondly, pour yourself a small glass of water, preferably at room temperature, and mix in 4 drops of milk thistle tincture and a good squeeze of lemon. Down it in one. (Funnily enough in much the same way you were downing tequila shots a few hours ago.) 2 Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil remove all clothing, including jewellery, and take a hot shower. Just before you finish, turn off the hot tap completely and blast your senses awake with 20 seconds of icy cold water. It may sound barbaric, but it works. 3 Before drying off, moisturise your entire body with baby oil (nothing makes your skin feel softer and it must be applied whilst you’re still wet), and then wrap yourself up in the biggest, fluffiest towel you possess. 4 The kettle will have boiled by now, so brew an exceptionally strong pot of coffee and rustle up two slices of toast topped with honey and mashed banana. Curl up in front of breakfast television until feelings of wellbeing return. (Caffeine, carbohydrates and potassium, found in bananas, are the holy trinity of hangover cures. Watching telly simply diverts your attention away from how crap you feel.) 5 When you feel human enough to get dressed, choose your outfit for the day carefully; make sure it’s something you feel good in, preferably tailored and razor-sharp. If at all possible avoid your usual route to work if it involves crowded buses or, worse, the tube; either walk or take a cab, stopping off on the way for a large fresh carrot and green apple juice. A little pampering and indulgence intensifies feelings of wellbeing which will in turn lessen both the hangover and any residual negative feelings resulting from the walk of shame. Yes, I know, never again. INFATUATION (#ulink_1d9a6568-45d1-5bf0-87b7-1122c28856f6) Down the slippery slidey slope we goWhat will we find there?God only knows! Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered. LORENZ HART So, how are the two of you doing? You’ve been on two or three dates and, frankly, it’s been a long time since you liked anyone this much and every time you think of him you get butterflies and, well, he’s just so wonderful. Congratulations! You’re infatuated. Doesn’t it feel amazing? You are seeing glimpses of the possibility, of the chance of something really special and it’s hard to stop smiling. Welcome then to the start of the really good bit of The Beginning. You can forget all about holding back now, it’s time to take a leap of faith and go for it in every way. The brakes are off. The sight of her face … together with the maddening fragrance of food evoked an emotion of wild tenderness and hunger in him that was unutterable. THOMAS WOLFE At this stage food is a major player in the game that is Lust and Seduction, despite the nausea that comes with infatuation and ensures that eating is the last thing on our minds. Our appetites wane, we have the attention span of dyslexic ducks and all we can think about is ‘Them’. Within the hormonally-charged delirium of this as yet unfulfilled lust, food is a very powerful weapon to wield in order to communicate our desire. Can you think of anything more sensual than preparing and sharing a meal with a person you’ve got the hots for? Especially food that must be eaten ? deux, preferably with fingers – all that licking and sucking is surely the culinary equivalent of pornography. At The Beginning food is something to be nibbled on, picked at, grazed upon and fed to each other. It is provocative and sensual (thus fuelling the already highly-charged sexual tension between fledgling lovers), an instrument of nourishment not only for our bodies, but also subconsciously for feeding our ardour. The morsels upon which we feast are a suggestion of our passion. You look puzzled. Let me explain. There is a theory – admittedly it’s my theory – that suggests how and what we choose to eat are personal barometers for how we make love. A neat, picky, fastidious eater, strictly meat-and-two-overcooked-veg-with-no-herbs-or-seasoning type is unlikely to make love in quite the same way as a finger-licking gourmand with a weakness for exotic spices, caviar and anything with butter and garlic. Alongside food, candlelight, little black dresses, giggling, flowers, double-cuffed shirts, high heels, taxis, lashings of mascara, cocktails, cigars, champagne, soft music, perfume, fine wines, holding hands, aftershave and post-dinner liqueurs are all part of new lovers’ repast. THE SEDUCTION DINNERS (#ulink_63450f0d-688e-54ab-a16c-caccdfe2b98c) Food to Entice, Excite and Enrapture To a man, offering him food is like offering him a breast. ANON The first time we invite that someone special to dinner it’s not really about dinner, more a preamble to something we are far more excited about, but The Dinner is our casting couch, our siren call, so we need to make sure it’s right. The menu should be simple and sensuous, light, but luxurious enough to be a little naughty and seductive. Make sure the table looks good, nothing too formal; romantic, flirty and sexy is what we are looking for. Use flowers and candles in abundance. Lots of tea lights scattered around the room can be extremely effective. (Honey, everyone looks good by candlelight.) The use of pretty crockery, yards of cutlery, champagne, wine and water glasses, rose petals scattered on the tablecloth, finger bowls for sticky fingers, unusual breads with a dish of balsamic and olive oil for dipping and crisp white napkins all combine to create a feeling of luxury and pampering. Get dressed up; wear your sexiest dress and skyscraper heels. Perfect takes a tad longer, but it is worth the effort. Serve the best champagne you can afford. Nothing, and I mean nothing, sets the tone for a romantic evening like a glass of fizz. Don’t be tempted to tamper with it, champagne cocktails are wonderful but lethal and you will both get too drunk, too fast. Hey, we have an agenda here! The purpose of the Seduction Dinner is to create the basis of an evening that will impress the hell out of your chosen one whilst being relatively easy to shop for and that can be prepared in advance. This is crucial as it allows you all the time in the world to get yourself sexy … take a long bath with a glass of champagne and pamper yourself. You’re worth it. I will not eat oysters; I want my food dead, Not sick, not wounded … dead. WOODY ALLEN Whilst I adore the indomitable Woody Allen, he is really missing the point here. Oysters are the ultimate aphrodisiac, the science bit of which revolves around the high levels of zinc they are said to contain. To be frank, the science bit bores me, all I know is that these little beauties are capable of conjuring up a feeling of luxury and seduction like no other food in the world. Plump, moist and tasting exactly like the sea, they sit nestled in their pretty little iridescent, mother-of-pearl shells, just waiting to be sucked and slurped – the very act of which is so highly erotically charged it is akin to foreplay. They are simply a must at any Seduction Dinner, and I know of nothing else that marries so well with ice-cold champagne. Get yourself down to a good fishmonger and buy a dozen of the freshest and finest oysters they have. Buy them already shucked and on the half shell (any good fish-monger will be happy to do this for you) and run straight home, popping them in the fridge as soon as you get there. Serve these wondrous morsels on crushed ice, with a splash of Tabasco, as a preamble to dinner … Oysters and champagne scream seduction! In fact, as I write this I can’t help but feel a little envious, can I come to dinner too? For the squeamish amongst you, and for those of you who, alas, agree with Mr Allen and simply cannot eat oysters, substitute with smoked salmon served on triangles of buttered brown bread, a squeeze of lemon and a sprinkling of paprika. For those non-fishy people, buy a small amount of good foie gras p?t? and spread on thinly-sliced, lightly-toasted baguette and top with thin slivers of cornichons (baby gherkins to you and me). Whatever you choose to serve as an amuse-bouche it should be a small, luxurious, taste explosion to complement the champagne and kick the evening off with a rather illustrious bang! Seduction Menu 1 A Salad of Parma Ham with Frigs, Mascarpone and RocketLinguini with Lobster and ChampagneIced Raspberries with Hot White Chocolate Sauce The Salad: 2 ripe figs; 4 slices Parma ham; 2 tbsp mascarpone cheese; a grating of fresh nutmeg; 2 large handfuls of rocket; sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Balsamic vinegar and olive oil to dress. An effortless and unbelievably gorgeous starter. Take 2 figs and cut a cross into them about three-quarters of the way down. Squeeze their bottoms gently to open them up and expose the inside. Wrap a slice of Parma ham around each fig, fill the inside with a spoon of mascarpone and top with a grating of nutmeg. Bake in a medium oven, 180°C (350°F) until the mascarpone is bubbling, about 5 minutes; serve on a bed of rocket which has been drizzled with balsamic vinegar and olive oil. Give the whole thing a good grind of black pepper and sea salt then tear up the remaining slices of ham into ribbons and scatter onto each plate. Serve with warm crusty bread. The Linguini: To serve someone lobster is to spoil them utterly. If they were in any doubt of your intentions, this dish should spell it out for them. A 1 kg (2?lb) lobster; 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped; a small fresh red chilli, deseeded and finely sliced; 3 knobs unsalted butter; 2 tbsp olive oil; 400g (14oz) tin of plum tomatoes; a large glass of champagne; a small glass of water; 250g (9oz) linguini, cooked al dente; 1 handful flat leaf parsley, finely chopped; sea salt and freshly ground pepper. If you have bought your lobster live, plunge it into boiling water for 15 minutes then remove. (If you have bought a cooked, ready-to-go lobster, you’re a wuss!) When cooled, crack and remove all the meat from the shell, making sure there are no splinters. To make the sauce, fry the shells and legs in the olive oil and 2 knobs of butter over a medium heat with the garlic and chilli. Add the tomatoes, a large glass of champagne and a small glass of water, gently boil on a high heat to reduce the alcohol (for about 3 minutes), then simmer gently for 1 hour. Allow to cool. Pass the sauce through a fine sieve twice, checking for splinters. Place in a clean pan, add a final knob of butter and season to taste. Add the cooked pasta to the sauce and toss it until well covered. Add the lobster at the moment of serving, toss lightly keeping the lobster meat visible on top of the pasta and serve in warmed bowls with a sprinkling of parsley. The Berries: This really could not be easier, but it tastes like it took a great deal of effort. Prepare the sauce in advance so that all you have to do before serving is place the raspberries in individual glasses and reheat the sauce. Serve the Framboise frozen in shot glasses, it finishes off the dish to perfection and gives it quite a kick! A pack of frozen raspberries (or fresh ones, frozen), about 150g (5oz) per person; 600g (1?lb) of good-quality white chocolate; 600ml (1 pint) double cream; 2 shots of Framboise (raspberry liqueur, optional). Break up the chocolate and place with the cream in a bowl placed over a pan of simmering water for 20–30 minutes, stirring every so often until the chocolate has melted and the sauce is hot. (If prepared in advance, reheat the sauce in the same way). Five minutes before serving, place the berries in your prettiest dessert glasses or on dessert plates and leave at room temperature for 5 minutes. Cover the berries generously with the sauce and serve immediately with the shots of Framboise on the side. Seduction Menu 2 Prawns with Garlic, Butter and Lemon Roasted Swordfish on a Tomato, Pepper and Red Onion Salsa Dark Chocolate Desire The Prawns: 8–10 raw tiger prawns per person, depending on the size of the prawns (and your wallet); 2 tbsp butter; 1 tbsp olive oil; 2 cloves of finely chopped garlic; the juice of a lemon; a further large knob of butter; a handful of finely chopped parsley; sea salt and freshly ground pepper. When cooking the prawns do so with the heads on or, if you wish, remove the heads and butterfly them by cutting through the back of the shell to remove the black vein and opening them flat. Do not remove all of the shell as it adds to the flavour of the sauce and anyway, what could be sexier than peeling a prawn for your lover? Gently warm the butter, oil and the garlic in a frying pan large enough to hold all the prawns and nice enough to be put on the table. When the butter is foaming, toss the prawns in, turning them as they go pink and cook for about 3 minutes (slightly less if butterflied), then add the lemon juice and the rest of the butter. Allow the sauce to come back to a sizzle, adjust the seasoning and sprinkle with chopped parsley. The prawns in all their hot, sticky gorgeousness should be whisked off the hob to the table whilst still spitting and sizzling and should be served in the very pan in which they were cooked. Eat them with your fingers and serve with some crusty bread to mop up those garlicky buttery juices. The Swordfish: A light and healthy dish with big flavours to excite the most jaded of palates. 2 swordfish steaks about 200g (7oz) each, about 1cm thick; olive oil. The Salsa: 6 really ripe plum tomatoes, deseeded and finely chopped; 1 red pepper, deseeded and finely chopped; 2 medium red chillies, finely sliced; 1 tbsp of capers, chopped; a small red onion, finely chopped; a clove of garlic, finely chopped; a handful of parsley, finely chopped; a handful of fresh basil leaves, finely chopped; 2 anchovy fillets, chopped; 6 tbsp of good olive oil; 3 tbsp of lemon juice combined with 2 tbsp of runny honey; sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Combine all the salsa ingredients in a bowl, season with salt and pepper, cover with a cloth and leave for at least 2 hours at room temperature for the flavours to infuse. Preheat a grill pan or heavy-bottomed frying pan until very hot, rub each of the swordfish steaks with olive oil, season with salt and pepper on both sides and place in the pan. Cook on a very high heat for two to three minutes on each side so the fish is a little charred, take care not to burn it. To serve, place a couple of large spoonfuls of salsa on a plate and top with the swordfish. Serve with a mixed green salad dressed with the juices of the pan, a little olive oil and a squeeze of lemon juice and some good crusty bread. Dark Chocolate Desire: Time for something sweet. A bitter chocolate dessert – rich, silky and positively illicit. A little of this goes a long way, so serve in tiny espresso cups. 285ml (10oz) single cream; 200g (7oz) bitter dark chocolate (70 per cent cocoa solids); 2 egg yolks, beaten; 3 tbsp brandy; 20g (1oz) butter, 2 Amaretto biscotti. Heat the cream in a saucepan until nearly boiling. Set aside for a minute or two. Break up the chocolate into small pieces and combine with the cream, stir until melted. Beat in the egg yolks and brandy and stir until mixture is creamy. Allow to cool a little then add the butter and mix until smooth. Pour into the espresso cups and place in the fridge to set. (Should the mixture separate when you add the butter, allow the mixture to cool a little more then whisk in a little cold milk until you have a smooth consistency.) Just before serving, grind the Amaretti biscuits into a dust and sprinkle over the top of the cups, allowing the residue to fall on the saucers. Seduction Menu 3 Fris?e with a Warm Pancetta, Balsamic and Honey Dressing Chargrilled Rump Steak with B?arnaise Sauce and Pommes Frites Caff? Affogato I have known grown men to swoon over this particular menu. It sounds easy, but done well nothing can touch it. As a woman cooking for man I can highly recommend the results you will achieve by putting on your pinny and serving him some good, old-fashioned red meat. To keep the menu balanced the starter and dessert are very light: after all, we need him to stay awake. A good South Australian Shiraz goes really well with this. The Salad: 2 large handfuls crisp fris?e lettuce; 8 slices pancetta or 6 slices dry-cured, smoked streaky bacon; 6 small shallots, peeled and quartered; 3 tbsp pine nuts; 6 tbsp olive oil; 3 tbsp balsamic vinegar mixed with 2 tbsp runny honey; sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. Fry the pancetta or bacon in a hot frying pan until crisp, remove and set aside. Add the olive oil, shallots and pine nuts to the pan and cook until the onions are soft and sweet (about 10 minutes over a lowish flame), keep the contents of the pan moving. Return the bacon or pancetta to the pan and toss everything around, turn off the heat. Place the frisee in a big salad bowl and add the contents of the pan and the balsamic-honey mixture. Season with salt and pepper and toss the salad until all the components are distributed evenly and serve immediately with some warm crusty bread or garlic bread to mop up the dressing. The B?arnaise Sauce: 1 small shallot, peeled and finely chopped; 3 tbsp white wine or tarragon vinegar; 6 black whole peppercorns; 3 sprigs of tarragon, roughly chopped including stalks; 2 egg yolks whisked with 1 tsp Dijon mustard; 150g (5oz) softened butter cut into ?in cubes. Put the chopped shallot into a small saucepan with the vinegar, peppercorns and tarragon. Bring to the boil and reduce it to a tablespoon or so of liquor (don’t move from the stove as this does not take very long), pass this liquor through a sieve or tea strainer to get rid of the bits and bobs and put to one side. Put the egg yolks and the mustard into a glass bowl and place over a saucepan of gently simmering water, the bowl should fit snugly on the top of the pan. Whisk the vinegar reduction into the egg yolks, keeping the water under them simmering, then slowly start to add the cubes of butter one at a time, whisking constantly until the sauce is thick and velvety. Turn off the heat halfway through adding the butter, as the sauce must not get too hot. (Should disaster strike and the sauce separates, remove the bowl from the heat, add a spoonful of boiling water from the pan and whisk it like a mad thing. It should right itself.) Once the heat is off, add a little salt if necessary. To keep warm, leave it in the bowl over the pan of water (no flame) covered with a cloth and whisk occasionally. The Pommes Frites: Ok, here’s the bit where you cheat. I buy my pomme frites very thin and frozen because I hate, detest and abhor the smell of deep-fat frying, I think it’s the least romantic smell in the whole wide world ever. So, I oven-cook them on an oiled baking tray with a severe grinding of sea salt in a fairly hot oven. He will never ever know, especially if you undo a button on your oh-so-sexy top whilst serving them. What can I tell you? The female of the species is by far deadlier and more cunning than the male. The Steak: 2 rump steaks about an inch thick and 300g (11oz) in weight; olive oil; a garlic clove; sea salt and freshly ground pepper. (Please get your steaks from a reputable old-fashioned butcher’s shop where the meat is cut from the rump in front of you, not pre-cut and packed in Styrofoam and cling film from a supermarket. Butcher’s meat is far superior, it really is worth the effort and the more we support our local shopkeepers, the better chance they have of survival and of not being squeezed out by the superstores. Lecture over, enough said.) Preheat your ridged, cast-iron grill pan or, failing that, a heavy-bottomed frying pan until very hot, having first rubbed it with the garlic clove. Coat either side of your steaks with olive oil and a grinding of black pepper (some people prefer to salt their steak at the end of the cooking process believing it preserves the juices of the meat, I’m not sure it makes that much difference, but it’s up to you). Place the steaks on the grill pan and press down hard. Let them cook for 2 minutes without moving them, this will ensure you achieve that lovely chargrilled, slightly crunchy exterior. Turn over after the 2 minutes are up, preferably using tongs (if you stab your meat with a fork you will sacrifice your juices), once again press down and cook for a further 2 minutes. This will give you a medium-rare steak, though it’s impossible to pinpoint the exact timing due to thickness of the cut and the hanging time of the meat, etc, the only real way to know is to cut into it a little towards the middle of steak. If you like your steak a little more well done, keep it in the pan, turning it every minute or so. Once cooked, turn off the heat and allow the steaks to rest for a couple of minutes. Serve with the pommes frites and B?arnaise sauce and some watercress dressed with the pan juices. Sit back, enjoy and watch him drool. Caff? Affogato Translated literally, this means ‘drowned coffee’ and really could not be easier to make. Make some strong filter or espresso coffee, if you’re lucky enough to own an espresso-making machine pour enough for 2 small cups into a jug and add 2 tsps of sugar. Place a generous dollop of ice-cream into each of 2 dessert glasses, pour over some of your favourite liqueur or, failing that, whatever you have handy – brandy, Amaretto, Cointreau all make fine additions. Top with the coffee and serve with some fancy little biscuits bought especially for the occasion. Quite apart from being delicious, this clever little pudding gets the whole dessert, coffee and brandy thing out of the way in one hit. APHRODISIACS (#ulink_b53ea225-a8c9-58e9-88e8-fadeb522be02) The Food of Love He eats nothing but doves, love, and that breeds hot blood, and hot blood begets hot thoughts, and hot thoughts beget hot deeds, and hot deeds is love. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE An aphrodisiac is anything at all that piques our sexual interest. Everyone has their own personal catalogue of food that inexplicably turns them on. It really is a case of one horny man’s meat being another man’s total turnoff. It’s all about personal experience and memory. For example, if you had your first sexual encounter having just had baked beans on toast for dinner then that humble repast will be forever imprinted in your memory as a sexual trigger, which is exactly what an aphrodisiac is all about. The mind boggles! There are also those generic aphrodisiacs that seem to work for everyone, goodness knows why. For example, we have already ascertained that in the case of oysters they are loaded with zinc, which is known to increase energy and assist fertility, but is it really that scientific or could it be purely psychological, caused by our wicked imaginations playing tricks on us? I have put together a collection of some pretty powerful aphrodisiacs for your delight and delectation. Experiment, and see what works for you. N.B. The best aphrodisiac of all is love. Passion, where love is also present, knows no bounds and has no limits. Divine Aphrodite, much celebrated lover of laughter, companion of Bacchus, whose bliss is abundant, patroness of feasts which last for nights. HOMER, THE ILIAD Now, here is an interesting thing. A recent sex study in America involving a group of men tested penile blood flow in response to various aromas. Apparently, the more erotic they found the smell, the greater the reaction. With me so far? The stuff they tested included, amongst other things, expensive perfumes, female pheromones, suntan lotion, various flowers and freshly ground coffee. They found out that the biggest turn on, the one that set the blood rushing, was none other than the spice cinnamon (now known as Love Dust), which by pure coincidence (or is it?) was the signature spice of the greatest female seductress of all time, Aphrodite, goddess of love. Apparently, when she needed a little assistance with her seduction technique (despite her well-documented and considerable charms), she simply sprinkled a little cinnamon dust onto her victim’s dinner and the poor man was toast. Putty in her hands. It has to be worth a try! Here are a few more: It is mooted that caviar works very well, it’s the zinc thing again, though I personally believe it’s because it is so damn expensive you feel spoilt and special, ergo, horny, just being around the stuff. Also, any kind of shellfish: prawns, lobster, mussels, scallops – all that prising, peeling, licking and sucking does it for me every time. With regards fruit, I love grapes because you get to drape a bunch of them over your mouth and devour them in the manner of a Roman orgy; strawberries, because they fit so nicely into a champagne glass and are the perfect fruit to dip in melted chocolate and feed to your lover; figs, because, well, I won’t go into detail, suffice to say they bear a startling resemblance to female genitalia when cut in half; but the high priestess of aphrodisiac fruits, as quoted in the Kama Sutra, is the pomegranate. It was also the sacred fruit of Aphrodite, and we know what a little minx she was! For my money, if sex were a fruit it would be a mango: the taste, texture and perfume drive this woman to distraction. Asparagus is also extremely effective. Again, I think it’s the licking and sucking quota that makes it so sexy, rather than the actual taste. Of course, we cannot forget the truffle, the smell of which drives men and women wild; that musky aroma is capable of arousing even the most reticent lover. N.B. If you are seeking a guaranteed successful seduction I will avail you of my secret weapon, a menu so packed with aphrodisiacs it should carry a health warning. Culinary Viagra Start with some stems of lightly steamed asparagus served with hollandaise for dipping, follow this with a steaming bowl of tagliatelle dressed with nothing but a large knob of butter, a dusting of Parmesan and finished off with shavings of fresh white truffle. Dessert is slices of mango and pomegranate seeds sprinkled with cinnamon. You should, of course, serve nothing but champagne throughout the whole meal. Use this menu wisely and sparingly, as it will provoke nothing short of a sexual frenzy. Herbs and spices are jammed with aphrodisiacal powers. Cinnamon, as we have discussed, is top of the list, also ginger for male fertility and nutmeg for staying power. Ginseng can apparently fuel our sexuality in the manner of rabid rabbits, and saffron, here’s one for the girls, assists in arousal as it ensures our erogenous zones are ultra sensitive. I find one of the most effective, sure-fire aphrodisiacs is champagne. It gets you squiffy quite fast and one tends to lose all one’s inhibitions, along with one’s knickers. Clearly all alcohol can be used to the same effect, but a pint of bitter does not quite have the same ring to it nor, I imagine, the same results. My family has an old recipe that is reserved expressly for honeymooners. As newlyweds my parents spent a few days of their honeymoon on my grandfather’s farm near Parma. While they were there my great-grandmother, Nonna Marianna – in a bid to assist the baby-making process – would knock up her version of an aphrodisiac every morning and deliver it to the happy couple at breakfast time, placing it outside their door with a sharp rap of her knuckles to alert them to its presence. The recipe was passed down to her from her great-grandmother and a few years ago when my sister and brother-in-law were passing a few days of their honeymoon at the farm before their grand tour of Italy, it was my mother who was at hand to prepare for them this very special family tradition. Nonna Marianna had 12 kids and swore that each one was due to this recipe. Uova Sbattute Luna di Miele (Honeymoon Eggs) 4 egg yolks; 4 tbsp caster sugar; 4 tbsp Marsala. Whisk the egg yolks and sugar together until you have a pale gold, creamy froth then add the Marsala and a huge pinch of love. It’s kind of like an uncooked Zabaglione, although much lighter and without the Savoyard biscuits. The happy couple are meant to share a bowl of this every morning to ensure virility in him and fertility in her. N.B. My Nonna died at the ripe old age of 97, and a wiser woman I have yet to meet. PINK CLOUD (#ulink_346ee84b-fb6b-5871-b0c0-49f9771966f0) Rose-Tinted Rapture Knowing you is such delicious torment. RALPH WALDO EMERSON My, oh my, things are going well. You have now crossed the relationship Rubicon and are officially in that delicious stage commonly referred to as ‘Pink Cloud’. You lucky people. You have so much to look forward to. This is my favourite bit (which explains a lot about me). By now it’s clear that you are both very keen, although neither of you has actually said anything you can just feel it and see it written in each other’s eyes. You are slowly starting to discover each other’s characteristics and foibles, layer by layer, much like peeling an onion, and you get a real kick out of doing fairly mundane things together like, supermarket shopping, travelling to work, going to the gym, etc. They are all so much more fun, a deux. Operating in Pink Cloud ensures that when you go out to dinner it seems for all the world as if the two of you are the only people in the restaurant, existing in your own little bubble. Invariably you are the last to leave and the waiters usually end up sweeping up around you, but even then you are having so much fun you can’t bear the evening to end and search out a late night bar so you can carry on talking and touching, thrilled by the simple fact of being together. You have gone from only seeing each other on Saturday nights to spending the whole of Sunday together in blessed and blissful Pink Cloud rapture. For the culinary goddess this presents the perfect opportunity to dazzle him, but it does mean getting just a little organised in preparation for those dreamy weekends you now spend joined at the hip. EASY LIKE SUNDAY MORNING (#ulink_d1f905c8-05e9-55ce-a254-d484ef1b87e9) Brilliant Brunches Here’s to me and here’s to you and here’s to love and laughter. I’ll be true as long as you and not one moment after. IRISH BREAKFAST TOAST Your eyes flutter open, it’s Sunday morning – well, just, it’s 11.55am. You snuggle closer to your still sleeping bed mate, sigh contentedly and let your mind wander. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/alexandra-antonioni/eat-me-love-sex-and-the-art-of-eating/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. 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