There is something about the recipes in Venus in the Kitchen that is remarkably brutal, as if a show of willingness to eat anything at all, no matter how beautiful, how rare, or how distasteful will most please the gods and goddesses of love, or assuage any subterranean guilt, thus releasing the diner to enjoy, however briefly, the pleasures of the flesh, a dutiful penance having been paid.
Certainly, food and sex have been linked since the earliest of times. How could it be otherwise? Hunger of one sort or another keeps us going not only as individuals but also as a race, so it should come as no surprise that we use our culinary expertise to court the favors of Aphrodite. We go to truly astonishing lengths to encourage the goddess of love to bestow her pleasures. Throughout history, stories abound of spider-to-the-fly concoctions that are sure to change a no to yes, to melt even the iciest resistance. In fact, if it is arousal one seeks—and it is always best when it’s mutual, so a question of whose arousal is beside the point—it is really a very simple matter. The world is a constant sensual invitation if only we look at it in the right way. The important thing to remember when entwining any one hunger with another is to not become too sated, but leave a little desire for one thing to spill over into hunger for the other.
It melted voluptuously in my mouth, the flavors and textures mingling, the cherry itself so good it was more like the idea of a cherry…
Remember, too, that few things cool the passions more than a set stage; an element of mystery, an air of intrigue, a whisper of surprise can be as stimulating as a pristine raw oyster. I recall a moment long ago when a meal at a new restaurant took me by utter surprise. It was spring, and when the first course arrived, my companion fed me from his plate, offering a morsel of seared foie gras with a Bing cherry and a hazelnut. It melted voluptuously in my mouth, the flavors and textures mingling, the cherry itself so good it was more like the idea of a cherry, a pure cherry thought form brought to life, God’s Bing cherry made manifest. A tiny bit of juice ran down my chin. Max reached across the table and wiped it off with his finger. I nearly fainted, the air crackled and shimmered, and the night moved on to its delicate, delicious conclusion.
And now, it’s spring again. The air is fragrant, heavy with promise, and an inevitable sense of harvest. You may be asking yourself, just what foods are sexy? That’s easy: Anything that tastes good. Anything that slips all silky and wet over the tongue, like a ripe fragrant pear. Anything one must bite, like a hot dog at a ball game; anything one must chew; anything one licks, or sucks, like a root beer Popsicle after a long bike ride.
Anything with thin skin that upon breaking releases its sweet juices, like a cherry or an apricot. Anything in a shell that, opening, releases its salty liquor, like an oyster or a mussel or a clam. Anything with a thick skin that holds a surprise, like a black fig torn open with your fingers. Anything warmed by the sun, like a silky tomato just plucked from the vine or small black grapes fed to you by your lover. Anything that glows, like a ripe plum or a glass of red wine held up to the sun. Anything that fits into the curve of your palm, like a peach or a white nectarine. Anything that makes you sweat, like too many hot chilies in your favorite salsa. Anything pouring into anything else; anything white and creamy, like homemade mayonnaise or French vanilla ice cream; anything that sparkles, like champagne. Anything naturally sweet and sticky, like honey from a comb. Anything that someone you love feeds you, especially outside. Anything at all that you can’t get enough of, like tiny white Alpine strawberries.
