Cooking - He wooed me with a lamb curry

I love food for all its sensuality. I love the scent of onions sauteing, a ripe melon, a freshly baked loaf; I love to browse food displays. I'll take Granville Market, Pike Place, East Sound Saturday market on Orcas, St. Philip's Farmer's market in Tucson, over the latest movie offering; I love the snap of a freshly harvested green bean; I love hefting perfectly proportioned eggplant in each hand and most of all I love the taste of a fig, sun ripened and plucked from the tree.

I don't eat a lot, I avoid buffets; I do like to play with my food. Maybe twenty plus years ago following divorce from my first husband I became conscious of my need to share this love with a partner. I realized that in that marriage food was purely functional. Yes, I was a good and adventurous cook; I gave splendid dinner parties but he had no role in that. It was compartmentalized as my job. Shortly after that breakup I had a relationship with a man who celebrated food, who was openly demonstrative about his likes, who teased me in the kitchen, peeled the potatoes and did the dishes. This is it, I thought, nirvana - a man at ease in the kitchen. Didn't last long but that shared passion became a benchmark for other men in my life.

My late husband, on our third date, arrived at my house with an apron, a cleaver, a leg of lamb and a box full of spices – he wooed me with a lamb curry. Even during his long illness, when his appetite was diminished, he'd reminisce about a meal we had cooked together and ask for it again. In those long months I cooked many dishes just for the sounds, tastes and scents. One day he recalled a dish we had shared in Sardinia – fregola con vongole – clams with fregola, a Sardinia pasta a bit like couscous. I scoured Tucson for fregola , finally getting up the nerve to call the a chef/owner of a well known Italian restaurant. He listened to my story and prepared the dish for me. By the time I brought it home, David had forgotten his request but it didn't matter.

I’m in a relationship now that I have high hopes for. He loves to cook, he enjoys the same sensual approach to food as do I. We’re still long distance but of the many daily e mail exchanges and phone calls, food figures largely. Just little details about what we're having for breakfast, the peach that was so ripe and full of juice he needed to change his shirt after eating it, me spreading avocado on toast and sharpening it with a squeeze of lime and a grind of black pepper, the halibut steak that flaked like a dream and was made even better with the addition of a little lemon zest and parsley to the pan sauces, the simple soup I’m about to make today with ripe, sugar heavy sweet corn and pancetta. When we are together we love to plan a meal, shop, pick the right wine – and then cook, talk, laugh and share. That's what I mean when I write that I love food for all its sensuality.

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