Friday, April 24, 2009

The way to a woman's heart

The first time my boyfriend cooked for me was the morning after the first night we kissed (ahem). I woke up to the sound of his gentle snoring, tangled in his arms for the first time, and he peppered me with kisses before heading into the kitchen to make French toast from the two day old loaf on his counter. I sipped a homemade latte and we talked about our families while he proceeded to make one of the best breakfasts I'd had in years.

A week later we took our first trip to the Ferry Plaza Farmer's Market. He grabbed my hand and weaved me around from stall to stall making me try different pastries, knowing which herb guy was the best, and picking out vegetables for that night's dinner. I bought a bouquet of lavender and some jam, and the whole time could not get over how romantic it all felt. Later we rode the cable cars home I stepped outside of myself for a minute to relish this slice of life - newly in love, holding hands and fiddling over food while holding a vibrant, purple bunch of flowers in my arms. To me it was, and still is, one of the most breathtakingly beautiful moments of my life.

The second time my boyfriend cooked for me was that night. I returned to his apartment to find him wearing an apron, elbow-deep in juicy red tomatoes which were being crushed into a sauce with nothing more than olive oil and basil. As they simmered on the stove, I perused his wine collection - which was better than mine. We picked a bottle, sipped and chatted more. This time it was about past relationships - soon for that kind of talk, but it felt comfortable. Everything did.

The tomato sauce was ladled onto fresh pasta, also from the farmer's market, and garnished with nutty Parmesan cheese. We continued to talk, but the sauce was so good I could barely concentrate on anything else. The tomatoes were a bright crimson red, and richly sweet - easily
the best tomato sauce I'd ever had. It was so good, at times I was actually holding on to the sides of the table to prevent myself from passing out. I had several helpings, and sopped up the leftovers with crusty bread.

And then he baked a strawberry souffle and hand-whipped cream...


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home