Love and Food

My latest HJ News story:

When I think about foods that say amour, I think about the avocado. Its availability is an exotic luxury in frigid Cache Valley. This bulbous fruit has a creamy texture and flesh that undulates between deep and pale green. A ripe strip of buttery avocado spread on a crisp baguette stippled with a sharp accent of freshly ground black peppercorn is positively sensual.

I'm not alone. Along with bananas, almonds, oysters and eggs to name a few, the avocado has long been linked with passion. The Spanish, in fact, found the avocados from the New World so obscene that they were shunned by descent folk. There is no science behind the association … in fact many foods thought to be aphrodisiacs are thus categorized because of their similarity to the shape of various parts of the human anatomy. Our brains are that simple.

That isn't saying that the avocado isn't good for you. The fruit is loaded with folic acid, B6, and potassium, and although it has some fat, it has no cholesterol, making it good for your heart. And a healthy heart never hurt any relationship.

But as any country song can tell you, true love takes more than cardiovascular health. It takes the right menu. Food is kind of a control thing. From the very beginning of life you get to choose what goes into your mouth. You seek out what tastes good, and reject what you dislike. You like Cheetoes. You don't like peanut butter. It is part of the definition of who you are.

Then you meet somebody. She loves peanut butter. She cooks Ethiopian food. She doesn't eat processed flour. What do you do? Love is about sharing. You share yourself, you share your possessions, and you share your meals. Being open to new experience is an essential part of love, and food can play a big part.

When I think about love, I also think about strawberry frosting. My husband is … shall we say “particular” about his food. When we were dating, we stopped by the grocery store to pick up some ingredients for cupcakes. I chose my favorite – lovely pale pink strawberry frosting. He looked at the container and made barfing noises. I burst into tears and ran to the car.

A few months later, he made a dinner for me. He presented a beautiful pudding cake, smothered in creamy waves of bright pink strawberry frosting. That was the moment I knew I really loved this guy.

We don't eat much strawberry frosting anymore. We don't need it. We have moved beyond the strawberry frosting stage of our relationship. We are past the intense, light, beautiful but unsubstantial menu of dating. That was the day of chocolate souffle, coconut shrimp, and curried wild salmon. The food of dating is rich, spicy, elaborate, and fleeting. You daringly eat things that aren't supposed to be consumed … rose petals with couscous or pancakes at dinner. It is intoxicating, but it can't last. You need some fiber.

Those happy souls who move beyond the strawberry frosting stage enter what I like to call the spinach ravioli stage of love. This is where sharing and learning become central. Passion no longer spits with the vengeance of a deep fryer. It simmers. Things don't always come naturally. You learn to meet the needs of your companion, you explore limits, you shed baggage, you hurdle obstacles, you learn to compromise. The first time you try and form a ravioli it isn't perfect. A little ricotta squirts out at one end. There are flecks of spinach stuck in the dough. It is shaped like a cow's udder. But you keep trying, and it gets better and better. And you savor the process for the meal's sake.

Then comes the brown-sugar-glazed ham stage of love. This is when staying awake after dinner is less important than eating well during dinner. Your table gets larger. You both have to choose foods that please and satiate the masses. You have the resources and knowledge to put together a grand meal, and you do – on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Roasted sweet potatoes with butter, green bean casserole topped with crunchy fried onions, and chocolate pudding pie garnish your table. On other occasions easy pasta casseroles or simple meaty grilled burgers fill your stomach. Certainly strawberry frosting reignites serendipitously on occasion. And you make it work with whatever is else is on the menu.

Then comes the Coq au Vin stage of love. Characteristic of French cooking, this classic chicken and wine dish takes three days to make, but you have the time and the commitment, why not invest? It is something to be savored. This is the time for good cheese, baked Brie and pears, braised lamb chops and mango chutney.

And then the golden sweetness of mature love … the pan-fried fish stage. One of the sweetest exchanges I've ever heard came from an elderly couple who related how they didn't like fish … neither of them. But they ate pan-fried fish every Tuesday for three decades. They look at each other and chuckle. The woman thought the man liked fish, and although she found the smell and texture distasteful, she prepared it and ate it for his sake without complaint. The man had never liked fish, but his wife was kind enough to go to the trouble, and he consumed it with pleasure for her. For three decades, once a week, they ate fish that neither of them liked. What they were really serving up to each other was love.

And if all else fails, there is always chocolate. Eating chocolate can make you happy. It's a chemical thing. It contains a host of compounds including theobromine, a stimulant similar to caffeine, and phenylethylamine which releases dopamine in the pleasure centers of the brain. Chocolate also helps the brain produce feel-good serotonin which aids in relaxation. Be sure to grab the dark kind – it contains antioxidants, whereas milk chocolate is just that: milk and sugar with trace amounts of cocoa. Try Logan's famous and delicious Bluebird chocolate … but honestly, I'd prefer pan-fried fish.