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A Little Romance


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This is personal...so go as far you want to. What was your most ROMANTIC food moment in your life?

I related mine in a thread a while back. He was eating a sandwich. He was eating it with relish and gusto and.....(like Fred Mertz noted in his Ethel....noise!! :raz: ) and I fell for him! Then...once..I lost track of him at a Farmer's Market we were at. I finally found the man. He was standing in a fresh corn stall......nibbling away! The butter in his chin...and the kernals sticking. He looked like a sheepish...(or perhaps Cornish??) little boy! How I loved him. :wub: He is deceased now.....

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Actually, hundreds of years ago, the poet Omar Khayyam penned these immortal words in his poem The Rubaiyyat:

“Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough

A Flask of Wine, a book of Verse -- and Thou

Beside me singing in the Wilderness.” .. okay, maybe not the wilderness exactly! Read on ... :rolleyes:

How very sensual the tingle of a bubbly champagne, the saltiness and pop of great caviar, the salty slipperiness of fresh oysters ... In fact, almost every food whispers of sex, and I guess I alone can often hear that voice.

For me, eating (with someone one loves) can be quite an erotic event, when shared with the right person ... Just as a marvelous wine is the perfect accompaniment to good food, food is the perfect accompaniment to romance.

So you may well ask: What’s sensuous about food? Almost everything!! You touch it, you smell it, you taste it, you share it. When you feed it to each other, it’s nurturing and loving and sexy, all at the same time ... luxurious!

Oh, what's that you say? Give a specific example?? ... hmmm.. one of my favorite meals was shared with someone special and was most definitely a Cajun-Creole extravaganza ... sharing the hot, spicy, succulent crawfish gumbo from a single bowl .... the very hot boudin sausage with chunks of french bread which we used to sop up the buttery sauce ... the oysters which we downed with glee with a delightful hot sauce ... the fluffy crabcakes with a remoulade .... and the requisite creamy, sweet, decadent bread pudding with the warm whisky hard sauce. Quite an experience and decidedly romantic!! Memories of so long ago but as real as if they had happened just yesterday ... ummmm... :wub:

Edited by Gifted Gourmet (log)

Melissa Goodman aka "Gifted Gourmet"

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Maybe not romantic but certainly sensual: I remember the first dinner I made for a long-ago boyfriend in London. Actually, I remember what I cooked: roast chicken with lemon, grilled eggplant with pesto, tomato salad, and apricot compote with ice cream. But what I really remember is realizing that he made the same noises while eating my food that he made in bed. :biggrin: Some months later, he trudged six miles through the rain to bring me a six-pack of Diet Pepsi that I think he must have gotten at Harrod's or Selfridge's, since God knows no normal grocery was carrying diet sodas in those days. Now THAT was romantic.

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Something that happened last week comes to mind:

I introduced him to white truffles. In my kitchen. He looked up, misty-eyed, and said, "I had never imagined meeting someone as turned on by food as you are. And now I think I get it" .

The previous week, he was spun into orbit by his first taste of foie gras: "How does it know? How does it know I'm going to bite down on it?"

<shudder>

He eats ice-cream at the temperature at which it melts.

My favorite, though, are the incomprehensible murmurs of appreciation and those gooey, incredulous glances of awe and bewilderment that he throws between bites. Sweetbreads, I have found, will do that. Also, morels. And fresh sourdough bread. I'm pulling tricks out of my hat, I know. And good pastries have been known to bring this one to tears-- a keeper, to be sure.

It's nice to leave the last bite for someone else.

It's even nicer when they like the food so much that they forget to leave you any. In secret, of course. :wub:

Edited by Verjuice (log)
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I had dinner at Shelburne Farms in Vermont for the 4th of July. We sat on the terrace as the Vermont Symphony Orchestra played, and the sun decided to set. It was the most enchanting moment ever, and I highly recommend a visit to Shelburne Farms if you can take the time.

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I remember an occasion with a co-worker that I had become friends with.

Three of us from the restaurant were off for the evening and rented a movie. We ordered up two dinners of the gigantic, featured two plus pound lobster tails togo, figuring that was just fine for a dinner for three. Our chef only charged us at cost, which was an unforseen bonus.

Clint, was exhausted and fell asleep as soon as the movie started, however my other fellow co-worker and I shared one tail eating only with our fingers, inclusive of the herbed-garlic roasted baby reds. I think that was the only time during the busy season that we had time to laugh, smile and look into each other's eyes. I fell in love, as the Clintster snored, although I don't think either one of us really heard him. We ate the remainder of this gigantic lobster tail, watched the movie, and at one point Clint woke up and we all returned to our professional, work personalities. Sadly he moved for his job as did I, but get together when either is in town for some more outstanding dinners.

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Eating a cheese sandwich at eleven o'clock at night at the kitchen table of the man I'm now married to.

It was our first date, and we were both so busy falling in love with one another that we couldn't break off the magic long enough to decide where to go for dinner. Finally it came down to what was in the kitchen, which was Cracker Barrel cheddar cheese and Pepperidge Farm dinner rolls. With carrot and celery sticks on the side. They were what put me over the edge--at that moment I felt there was no more tender, clever, enchantingly romantic thing in the world a man could do than make me carrot sticks. (As I said, I was falling in love.)

There is no love sincerer than the love of food.

--George Bernard Shaw

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A new lover took me out to a fine restaurant and ordered for us: The first course was an etagere of raw seafood: mussels on the half shell, cockles, etc. I was so impressed he'd looked to my comfort and pleasure even out of bed! :biggrin:

I'm a canning clean freak because there's no sorry large enough to cover the, "Oops! I gave you botulism" regrets.

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2nd date with my now husband at my favorite Japanese restaurant. I had fallen hard and, after a relatively composed first date, was so nervous that I couldn't eat a thing. He remembers that meal as the one where I finally set down my chopsticks and confessed, "Listen, I'm so nervous right now that I don't think I can eat a bite. So, if you don't mind, I'll just listen to you talk and take my dinner to go."

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Yesterday afternoon, as I was recovering from a frightening visit to the oncologist, my boyfriend stopped in to check on me and fed me Breyer's chocolate chip as I reclined on the couch. That was pretty romantic.

Eleven years ago, I met this Boyfriend at the Farmer's Market. He was selling basil, and for me it was love at first sight. That's why I'm Basilgirl. :smile:

I love cooking with wine. Sometimes I even put it in the food.

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Unrequited, owing to professional requirements: On the way back to port after six weeks at sea, feeding a steadfast colleague a breakfast of an orange and some excellent chocolate because he was busy using both hands to dissect a fish.

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Yesterday afternoon, as I was recovering from a frightening visit to the oncologist, my boyfriend stopped in to check on me and fed me Breyer's chocolate chip as I reclined on the couch. That was pretty romantic.

Eleven years ago, I met this Boyfriend at the Farmer's Market. He was selling basil, and for me it was love at first sight. That's why I'm Basilgirl.  :smile:

awww... so sweet!

still searching for my moment....

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Freshman year of college, I had the flu and could not get out of bed. A boy I had been dating for just the past three weeks arrived at my bedside unannounced and surprised me with a couple of bananas and a carton of milk from the freshman dining hall. I didn't care that I had no make-up on and looked a mess and hadn't showered in a couple of days. Also hadn't eaten in a while. Didn't know bananas and milk could be so delicious.

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A little over a year ago, my boyfriend (now of 5 years) stopped to see my parents on a road trip with HIS father. They picked up my dad's smoker (mom & dad are now in an apartment building), cast iron & all, and loaded it into the back of his truck.

Now, he'd never had brisket before and couldn't understand why I'd read about it, dream about it, and wistfully sigh when I tried it somewhere and it was awful.

He came home with the New Braunfels smoker and called a friend to help unload it and set it on the deck next to his beloved grill.

The NEXT DAY, I shunned all work and drove to the market to buy a brisket (and had to explain that no, I was not making corned beef and yes, I did indeed want the fat on it), lit a fire, and smoked the darn thing. (That meat market manager was so confounded, but I maintained my sweet demeanor and turned on the drawl, and he now says hi to us every time, asks how things are going and what we've put in the smoker recently.)

I was in tears when I cut into it and it had a beautiful black crust, incredibly pink smoke ring, and juice just flowed out. I tasted it, then fed him a small piece and cried even harder as his eyes got wide and he shook his head in disbelief, making those (already previously noted) same noises he did in bed.

"It's really, really good, honey. But do all Texans cry about meat, or is that a girl thing?"

:wub:

Second best moment would be when this same man stopped mid-meal at a restaurant a few months ago, looked at me, and said, "Your pizza is better than this." For someone aspiring to elevate her cooking skills, that moment was precious indeed.

Diana

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Okay, the food was not even secondary in this instance. The food was somewhere waaaaaayyyy, waaaaayyyy back in the overall scheme of things.

There was this girl at the call centre I was working at, you see. She wasn't conventionally beautiful but I found myself rather drawn to her. After she'd been there for nearly a month, she happened to mention that the Canada Day holiday was also her birthday. Now, please understand that by this time I'd reached the point where I was in despair after work on Fridays, because I wouldn't be seeing her again until Monday.

So I invited her to join me that night, June 30th, at a bar in Gastown that I frequented in those days. She said she'd come out.

I went home, showered, downed a hasty mouthful, and went straight to the bar. Sat there for hours (it couldn't have been any later than 6:00 when I got there, but I wasn't taking the chance that she'd show up when I wasn't there); getting a crick in my neck from watching the entrance so intently. She finally got there at around 11:00, by which time I'd been through several cycles of intense depression ("She's not coming...dammit, dammit, dammit...I should just go home and forget about it...but maybe she's just running late...maybe something came up...maybe she went somewhere else...she's not coming...").

She met my friends. We talked, we laughed, we drank, we talked some more. We closed the place down. We walked to a 24-hour restaurant a few blocks away, and sat and had a big meal of steak and eggs and lots of coffee and talked and talked until sunrise. Then we walked up to her place in Mount Pleasant, where after some more talk we dozed off in each other's arms, in companionable (and non-sexual) coziness.

A couple of hours later we were awakened by the arrival of her aunt, from the West End, and her best friend (& friend's husband) who'd driven in from Edmonton as a surprise.

Surprise!

Ummm.... everybody? This is Fred....

That was seventeen years ago, this past ten days. I woke her up on July 1st with her now-traditional birthday breakfast of eggs Benedict. There's still nobody I'd rather cook for.

<'scuse me...gotta go hug somebody now....>

“Who loves a garden, loves a greenhouse too.” - William Cowper, The Task, Book Three

 

"Not knowing the scope of your own ignorance is part of the human condition...The first rule of the Dunning-Kruger club is you don’t know you’re a member of the Dunning-Kruger club.” - psychologist David Dunning

 

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We were married on June 6. D-Day. I remember the proposal day well. We were at an awesome party. Seafood to die for. Funny look in his eye. Me "Penny for your thoughts." Him: "I'm thinking about our wedding." Me: "What?" Him: "Haven't I asked you to marry me?" Me: "No." Him (a history major): "I'm thinking either December 7 -- Pearl Harbor Day -- or June 6 -- D Day (unsaid was "so I will remember). June 6 wa a Saturday; December 7 was a weekday. So, June 6 it was. It was a glorious day. We receptioned in my folks' back yard in and amidst the prime rhubarb, irises, and struggling tomato plants. We had ham and fab potato salad and marinated artichockes and other stuff, plus beer and good wine. My favorite memory was the unbelievably great bottle of champagne (year and make escape me, but it was probably worth about 1/2 our yearly income at the time) that my brother-in-laws parents gave us as a gift). We stood in the basement bathroom with this bottle of champagne -- Paul and I, my parents, my sister and her future husband, and drank this stuff out of dixie bathroom paper cups, all perched on the counter, toilet and back of toilet. It was the best bottle we ever drank. Young Love. It's turned into Old Love.

This, I quote from my thread on The Cabin

Although this was not food, it was a very romantic moment. One couple who had been married for over 25 years. One who was just married. One couple who was soon to be married.

It was not long after this bottle that Paul whisked me away to our apartment in North Minneapolis -- a virtual tree house. In our 1970 orange VW bug, totally decorated. To an an apartment which had new fresh sheets, another bottle in an ice bucket. Candles everywhere. Just waiting to be lit.

And, the next morning, we loaded the cooler and went to the ultimate romantic spot. The Cabin. T'was just us, a fridge full of food and drink and crappy weather. A week filled with finger food and treats.

Susan Fahning aka "snowangel"
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These stories are awesome. :wub:

Think there is a food+love book somewhere in here, based upon a lovely "bouquet" of nostalgic, romantic anecdotes?? I certainly see one!! :biggrin:

Thanks for starting this thread, Pickles! Had you wished for something more gastronomically graphic?? :wink:

Melissa Goodman aka "Gifted Gourmet"

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I was lucky enough to be whisked away to Timberline Lodge (Oregon) by a very considerate ex for my 21st birthday. I was a budding foodaholic and he was a baker and breakfast chef for a small local restaurant.

I had salmon with hollandaise and an artistic swirl of raspberry and a decadant chocolate torte with chantilly cream and more raspberry sauce. White wine from the Umpqua Valley. Afterwards we watched a screening of "The Shining." Appropriate since I was born on October 30th.

I awoke the next morning, opened the window to better smell the fresh, cold snow, put my feet up, turned on Ramblin' Rod (cartoon/kids show) and proceeded to make my way through a bottle of Wassons Raspberry wine. This was at about 8:00 a.m!!! Romance, raspberries and good ol' Ramblin' Rod!

Shelley: Would you like some pie?

Gordon: MASSIVE, MASSIVE QUANTITIES AND A GLASS OF WATER, SWEETHEART. MY SOCKS ARE ON FIRE.

Twin Peaks

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I find it fascinating that all the respondents have been women except for Chromedome. Draw your own conclusions. Maybe it's just too early in the day/game? :wink:

Here's mine: I don't remember the year, but it was less than 30 years ago. HWOE and I were on vacation on Nantucket for the first time. We went from town all the way out to 'Sconset, to Chanticleer. I ordered Rack of Lamb, he ordered something else. I'm a slower eater, so I still had food on my plate when he had none. I gave him my last bits of lamb.

In all the time since, that is our benchmark for "I love you": I would give you my last bits of rack of lamb.

:wub:

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It was relatively early in the game, but Mrs. Busboy-to-be and I were living together on the first floor and basement of a renovated Dupont Circle rowhouse. I split a batch of buerre blanc, pureeing watercress in the larger portion, to make it emarald green, and putting saffron in the other part, to turn it gold. I can't remember if I poached the oysters in Vouvray and served them with Champagne, or if I poached them in Champagne and served them with Vouvray, but I do remember laying down a carpet of green buerre blanc on the plate, pooling little circles of gold around the edge, spooning just-warm oysters into the circles -- garnished with a tiny dusting of paprika -- and eating them by candlelight.

I don't think she ever thought I could cook like that and I don't think I did, either.

There was a long pause between courses that night.

Edited by Busboy (log)

I'm on the pavement

Thinking about the government.

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In all the time since, that is our benchmark for "I love you": I would give you my last bits of rack of lamb.

:wub:

That's major. I'm reluctant to even surrender the bones.

“Who loves a garden, loves a greenhouse too.” - William Cowper, The Task, Book Three

 

"Not knowing the scope of your own ignorance is part of the human condition...The first rule of the Dunning-Kruger club is you don’t know you’re a member of the Dunning-Kruger club.” - psychologist David Dunning

 

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There was a long pause between courses that night.

And we can assume it wasn't due to bad oysters, yes? :: wink-wink ::: :cool:

Indeed, you can.

I'd like to try that recipe again, but with the kids at the table....

I'm on the pavement

Thinking about the government.

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