25th November 2011
A conversation with Madhu Menon yesterday made me think…
A man who cooks well….
How can a woman possibly deny the appeal of such an idea?
A man with a shirt with rolled sleeves and maybe a blue apron with white stripes. Maybe one is so lucky as to find a man with a round belly that makes the apron fall in that very special way… Or maybe even a man with beautiful hands; hands that slice onions and pour wine as if they were sculpting. Ah that’s bliss: that is when a woman sits back, drinks her wine and enjoys that unique dance made of small steps that lead from the fridge to the chopping board, and from the chopping board to the frying pan that welcomes the chef with its sizzling melody.
I see this and the occasional meeting of the eye, the unspoken vertigo of the scents coming from the stove, a complicit smile, the subtle understanding that comes from the pleasure of shared rituals.
And this is what makes the major difference.
The common language, the genuine pleasure of the selfish act of showing love through cooking. This is why a man who cooks to impress is doomed to fail. Or at least to fail with a woman who loves cooking and loves food. Such a woman would only be touched by the same drive and passion, anything else would only be just cute.
The spontaineity of a shared pleasure can hardly be replaced by the artifacted effort of a crafted dinner. The soul would be missing. It could perhaps like having sex, if would definitely not be like making love.