Alternative title: The Art of Culinary Courtship, Part Deux
Dating is a funny thing. If you’ve been on enough dates like I have, you begin to believe you’ve got it all figured out – you know how to choose the right venue, the right outfit, the right things to say. But then, just when you think you’ve got it down to a science, a guy does something that throws it all out the window: he offers to cook you dinner.
Maybe I just haven’t grown accustomed to romantic gestures like this one, but I think more than that, I didn’t know how I felt about a guy swooping in and using one of my classic moves before I even had the chance to do it myself. After all, cooking is my specialty and obviously tops my male wooing techniques. (Let the record show that my shrimp scampi from March’s post was not a contributing factor for that relationship’s failure.) But because this particular guy jumped at the chance to cook for me with such enthusiasm, I certainly couldn’t fault him for his assertiveness. Plus I could hardly wait to see what kind of skills this guy had up his sleeve. Something made me think I wouldn’t be eating Hamburger Helper chez man friend.
Gearing up for the big date all week, I decided the night before that it would be proper for me to ask if he wanted me to contribute anything to the meal. I figured my offer would be declined, but the culinary control freak in me couldn’t help but at least try to slip something in. I was wrong. “You can bring dessert if you like” he responded. Sure, I can bring dessert. Not a problem. Dessert is often what I do best. Of course this offer and acceptance came at 11:00 pm Thursday night, so I had to start thinking fast. What kind of summer dessert could I whip up tomorrow night after work and still allow enough time to primp myself, account for Friday night traffic across the bridge, and be a punctual dinner guest to arrive by 7? Hm I was stumped. I had no eggs, no cream, no berries; finally I came to the realization that in this narrow time frame, I would be forced to fit in a trip to the grocery store. Luckily I chose to forego the usual heels for flats, because after work, I practically ran through the store, picking up the necessary items to make a blueberry crisp with lemon zest whipped cream when I got home.
Multi-tasking in the kitchen is not always my strong suit, but last night, I was nothing short of amazing. Wash and sweeten berries with sugar, apply mascara. Pulse oats, flour, sugar, and butter into a coarse meal in food processor, straighten hair. You get the picture. All of this, and I still only managed to be 20 minutes late (and I'm wholeheartedly blaming the traffic on that).
After I got over the shock of how huge his kitchen is (not to get ahead of myself here, but this was definitely a kitchen I could get used to), I noticed something else startling: it was immaculate. There wasn’t an appliance, dish, or an ingredient in sight. Wait a minute: I thought he was cooking for me – had I been led here under false pretenses? Turns out I wasn’t – he’s just all about simplicity, preparation after his guest arrives, and washing dishes as he goes (something my mother has been trying to teach me for years). This approach may be far from clatter’s, but I decided I’d just sit at the bar, chat, and watch the man at work.
He started by toasting thin slices of a baguette, and then softening cream cheese in the microwave. As he made a spread for the crostini by adding wasabi paste to the cheese, fresh tuna lightly sprinkled with seasoned salt seared on the stove until just golden on the outside and still pink on the inside. Simple yet sophisticated…and delicious! I might have to steal this idea. He then turned on the grill and prepared the rest of the meal.
Just as I got settled in at the dining room table with a gorgeous view of the Columbia River from my seat and linen napkin in my lap (nice touch!), I noticed how quickly my date was eating and how little he was talking. I’m aware that I eat on the slow side (and that I don’t like to dine in silence), but this seemed a little odd. With the salmon and asparagus perfectly grilled, the rice plump, and the bread superbly soft and toasted, I just wanted to savor it. But apparently there was no time for that, because he had bigger plans in mind. As soon as I took that final bite, he quickly examined the sky, cleared my plate, and told me we had to hurry – we were going to miss it.
Sure a post-dinner stroll along the river’s trail to admire a clear view of Mt. Hood and a beautiful sunset with a good-looking chap sounded nice, but I didn’t expect to be knocked off my feet. I’ll give the guy props for his brisk walking pace (have I finally found someone who doesn’t tell me to slow down?), but what he failed to take into account was my footwear. I’m pretty good with heels, but these particular three-inch wedges are far from ideal when it comes to, well, anything other than sitting and looking pretty. So you can imagine that these shoes did not bode well for a quick jaunt to the trail’s point to catch the last moments of the setting sun. I’m all for efficiency, but taking a shortcut off the path came at a steep price. Yep you guessed it - I took a tumble and have the battle wounds (including bruised pride) to prove it. At least I could take some comfort in knowing there was a doctor close by.
Even with my less than graceful moment, we still managed to enjoy the warm summer air and catch the last of the sunset. (Are you gagging yet? This is why I write a food blog and not romance novels.) I’ll admit, I half-expected to spot The Bachelorette TV cameras and to feel Chris Harrison tap me on the shoulder as I gazed out at the water (or was it into my date’s eyes?) in order to ask me if I felt an “amazing connection” with this guy. Gosh - with a home-cooked dinner, a walk along the river at sunset, and an evening swim while blueberry crisp baked in the oven, it was almost too much for my jaded heart to take.
But even so, I’m sure you’re still dying to know: did my swain get a rose at the end of the night? You’ll have to wait until the episode airs to find out.
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