GUEST POST: Getting Dishy, by Clarissa Lily

GUEST POST: Getting Dishy, by Clarissa Lily

Sometimes, food and sex mingle – and at the start of a love affair, there’s really nothing nicer.
Take my current beau. A man whose iPhone is filled to the brim with recipes, cooking videos and links to Jamie Oliver drizzling things over other things. A man who owns a blowtorch – and isn’t afraid to use it. A man who, in the early stages of our courtship, made cheesecakes and crème brulee every other day. Recipes have been whispered as pillow talk. We have been on a date to the kitchen section of Peters of Kensington. Our first photos together are mostly, of each other smiling contentedly over his stove. Of course, those calorifically glorious times often end up in the bedroom, where I’ve found that strawberry sauce stains terribly. (But I regret nothing.)
I make no apologies for judging a potential lover on their eating habits – just as anyone who eats like a bird (being picky and eating small quantities, I mean… not the whole regurgitation thing) sends out all the erotic energy of a parking inspector. In my mind, a man who knows his food, enjoys it and even, god willing, knows how to prepare it, promises a sensuality that can’t be learned.
That said, I’m not talking about the glutton. There is little that’s attractive about gluttony, or greed in any form, for that matter. It’s a very anti-social and lonely thing – the antithesis of the epicure – and witnessing the intensity between a glutton and his food is akin to accidentally catching sight of a person masturbating: it’s grim, it’s businesslike and all the glamour is strictly internalised – entirely in the head. Which is also why I always feel vaguely dirty in shopping centre food halls – and not in the good way.
Ditto the blokes who have three recipes, if that, which they pull out if they must (most usually to impress a girl). But I argue that these are the same men who have three sexual positions they learned from reading a dogeared Cosmo mag in a doctor’s waiting room one time, in order to dust them off with a flourish in the first three months of their next relationship. Ladies, those recipes are a smokescreen – a pretence. And once you’ve tasted those recipes, they will lapse lazily back into spaghetti bolognaise, the missionary position of the culinary world, once a week. Heaven help you if they start sending out for pizza more than they should.
Of course, speaking of pizza, judging a man on the contents of his Kelvinator has not always worked out for me. I spent way too much time dallying with a particular alcoholic tortured type, simply because, even in an advanced state of inebriation at 2am, he was still capable of quickly whipping up a homemade pizza, including the dough and sauce from scratch. Homemade pizza does not a perfect man maketh. But it’s amazing how blinded one can become with a freshly baked pizza in the wee hours of a Sunday morning.
Arguably, the best lovers of the world are the ones that understand the important things that lie beyond the necessary. They are the ones that add the homemade relish to the ham sandwich; who look at the steaks of the world and think, yes, that would be better with a Bordelaise sauce simmered down from a classic demi-glaze. They live by their senses: taste, smell, sight – the very same that transform simple sex into a hedonistic delight. And that’s something that really can’t be learned from a dogeared copy of Cosmo. Although I have noticed that my local doctor’s office has a whole heap of delicious magazines, these days. Perhaps there’s something in that for all of us.

Freelance journo, blogger, self-appointed advice-giver and co-author of Get Lucky. If you've got a dating or relationship issue, feel free to ask a question. (PS. You can also find me at The Mama Files and Letter To My Ex).

1 Comment

  1. Lizzie 8 years ago

    I had an ex too that was a whiz with homemade pizza. He would make his own dough and sauce. He was so, so wrong for me, but the man could cook! he was really into food too…dessert particularly.
    probably stayed with him a few months too long…oh well!

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