Eat Me: Love, Sex and the Art of Eating

Oh, the diabolical ignominy!

So, given that all of us must have truly terrible tales of first date disasters why do we repeatedly put ourselves through the lottery-style risk they entail?

That’s easy, we just keep going back for more (akin to a boxer who won’t stay down), because every now and then we stumble unsuspectingly into first date nirvana, a rare and magical encounter whereby the simple act of having dinner with somebody affords us such exquisite pleasure it erases all memories of the bad dates that have gone before. (I have on occasion experienced this phenomenon and when it’s that good, it’s the best.)

The problem with these fairytale dates is that I am unable to eat a single bite during dinner. However, to conceal this angst I have perfected the art of pushing my food round the plate in such as way as to appear to have eaten quite a lot. Later on at home, after an enchanting evening which has me fantasising about our next date – the sexy way he holds his glass and how much I love his voice – I suddenly find that I am starving and heading for the kitchen to make a bacon sandwich!

I’ve had a wonderful evening, but this wasn’t it.

GROUCHO MARX

What people order on a first date can be a bit of a revelation in terms of their personality and their expectations of the evening ahead. Here are some examples from real dates – this stuff really happened to me. I share it with you so that you can spot the bad bets immediately and not bother with a second date! The female examples, however, I gleaned from my male buddies.

Traits to watch out for when on a first date with a man:

As you sit down he requests a glass of tap water, skips the starter and orders the cheapest main course on the menu, plus a glass of house wine that he nurses all night. He then proceeds to divvy up the bill, ensuring that you pay for the extra coffee you ordered and refusing to pay the service charge.

He’s cheap and, worst of all, the man has no style. This is date hell. Dump him.

The first thing he does is order champagne followed by two dozen oysters, he then suggests you skip the main course and have another bottle of fizz instead. He orders a vast dessert meant for two which he spoon-feeds you in a rather suggestive fashion.

This guy wants to get dinner over with as quickly as possible and ply you with enough aphrodisiacs and champagne to guarantee that you’ll be a bit pissed, ergo, horny. The idea is to get you into his bed in record time. On the plus side he has a modicum of style and, I’d wager, lots of charm, but beware of sleeping with anyone on a first date, no matter how many oysters they try to force down you.

This man does not drink alcohol, ever. He is macro-biotic in the extreme and polishes his cutlery on his napkin, just in case it’s contaminated. He talks endlessly about the environment and wears plastic shoes. He cycles everywhere, refusing to drive or take any form of public transport, thus doing his bit for ‘the cause’. He’s 35 years old and still lives with his mother.

Yawn. I live by the adage: everything in moderation, including moderation. Next!

He decides to skip the food part of dinner entirely and opts for getting roaring drunk. He veers between morose and euphoric, but is appealing in a ‘save me, I think I’m drowning’ kind of way. What you mistook for bonhomie when you first met is actually desperation. Generous to a fault, he has the Dudley Moore character Arthur down to a tee. ‘Would you like another fish?’

He’s an alcoholic. No, you can’t save him, don’t even try.

He orders a beer, some wine, an adventurous starter, an indulgent main course and some pudding to share with you. Then perhaps he’ll order some more wine, coffee and a couple of brandies. He’s funny, charming and seems to really listen to what you have to say. Just as the coffee arrives he reaches across the table for your hand and tells you how beautiful you look tonight.

He’s lovely, interested and interesting. He’s in no hurry to bolt down dinner in a bid to seduce you tonight, he’s here to have a good time. You actually want this one to make a pass at you! (Yes, this really can happen, great dates do exist, you just gotta keep looking.)

I asked my date what she wanted to drink.

She said, ‘Oh, I guess I’ll have champagne.’

I said ‘Guess again.’

ANON

Traits to watch out for in a woman on a first date.

(Ladies, do you recognise yourselves?)

After several glasses of champagne, this little madam orders the most expensive dish on the menu before necking as much wine as she can drink and then finishing off with a pudding meant for two. She scoffs the lot, as well as all the after-dinner chocolates. Her only topic of conversation is herself and her pathological desire to acquire, by fair means or foul, anything from Gucci.

A greedy guts with definite gold-digging tendencies. Suggest you go Dutch and then run away.

She requests still, ambient, spring water and a starter of vegetable consommé followed by a main course of mixed salad – hold the croutons and absolutely no dressing. This fresh air feast will be followed by a protracted absence while she goes to the loo. She is very quiet all evening, in fact, she hardly says a word and doesn’t seem to be listening to you either. Don’t take it personally, it’s not you, she’s just exhausted!

She’s anorexic. Conversely, if when she comes back from the loo she orders two desserts, scoffs the lot and then disappears off to the loo again, she’s bulimic.

This little minx acts all girly and helpless and insists you order for her, you big strong man, you. She spends the whole of dinner gazing adoringly into your eyes and agrees with everything you say. Her pièce de résistance? Asking how many kids you’d like and how you feel about living in the country.

She’s desperate for a husband and 2.2 children and assuming that this is not forthcoming within the first two weeks of knowing you, has the potential to turn into a bunny boiler. I bet you anything she’s already trying on your surname for size … run!

Before she even reaches the table she’s downed a couple of Margaritas (no salt) amid lots of nervous chatter. She then has a couple of glasses of wine with a light but daring starter, followed by a main course that she seemed to really want but it now appears she’s not so keen; she’s pushing it around her plate rather than actually eating it.

She’s nervous and what’s more she really likes you, hence the rather un-cool initial chattering. As the evening progresses and she chills out you will be captivated by her intelligence, amusing conversation and feminine charms. Shame about losing her appetite, especially as once she’s home the first thing she will do is make a bacon sandwich.

There’s one more rule of thumb: if he covertly flirts with the waitress it’s a sure sign he’ll be unfaithful. Harsh, but fair. If she flirts with a waiter, she’s bored. But hey, don’t worry, in my experience that means she’ll be picking up the tab.

Assuming the date has gone well and we want to see him again, bringing the evening to a close can be a tricky business. How far should one go on a first date, especially if we really like the guy?

At the end of any date there is always that awkward ‘will he kiss me, won’t he kiss me?’ moment. Suddenly he does and when it’s a magical, waves crashing on the shore, full blown Hollywood-style smooch we really don’t want to bring the evening to an end as our hearts pound and we get more than a little hot under the collar. The question is, should we hold back or should we abandon ourselves to the moment and follow our more primal instincts and go with the flow? There is, of course, no right or wrong answer, we just have to do what we feel is right for us.

All this talk of should we, shouldn’t we, leads me to thinking about one-night stands: why we have them and if they really are all that enjoyable?

ONE-NIGHT STANDS (#ulink_125952fc-388e-5238-bb71-2f508de320d9)

The Fast Food of the Relationship Banquet

I’m always looking for meaningful one-night stands.

DUDLEY MOORE

Ah, yes, the one-night stand.

I’m sure we all have cherished memories of the dawn walk of shame: teetering along on our 5in spike-heel Manolo’s, double-shot latte in hand, wearing last night’s crumpled barfly outfit (comprising of teeny top and even teenier skirt), and with mascara streaked halfway down our faces. All in all the image of an unmade bed on stilts desperately trying to be invisible whilst actually sticking out like a sore thumb, attracting knowing looks from those more sensible souls heading for the gym or the office, as one really should be at this time of morning, making us feel rather akin to an alley cat coming home with the milk.

I have never understood what compels us to engage in the somewhat empty activity that is the one-night stand. It must be, by definition, fairly average or surely we would want to repeat it? (There are, of course, exceptions to this rule: those times when it was wonderful but circumstances prevailed, although these instances are few and far between.)

Don’t get me wrong, I as much as the next girl recognise the pull of that ‘eyes across a crowded room’ moment where two people are inexplicably drawn to each other and suddenly your knickers are on fire. Raw passion, bring it on.

I know lots of people whose entire sexual raison d’être is built around casual encounters with strangers. They regularly pick up random cute, fun strangers for a one-nighter, fully aware it’s not the start of anything; indeed, in most cases, the act of copulation signifies the end. Somewhat embarrassingly, should these two bon viveurs accidentally bump into each other sometime further down the line they either ignore each other totally, or mumble a quick hello and head for the nearest exit, despite having been as close as two people can be and having shared bodily fluids.

A one-night stand is rather like eating too much junk food: good at the time, but you feel like crap afterwards.

Leaping into bed with someone too soon can kill off a potential relationship quicker than anything I know. It tends to happen at the dead of night after two people who hardly know each other share one too many cocktails. Having done the deed, one of them has to take the walk of shame as they’ve ended up on the opposite side of town from where they live and they have to be up for work/an early meeting/their kids, etc. Next morning both parties are a little fuzzy about who they were with and what happened. To quote one particular friend, ‘if you can’t remember it, it doesn’t count.’

Whilst a part of me can see the argument for uncomplicated, no-strings sex I also think if you have a great first date, or even if you’ve just met someone in a bar and you like them enough to play hide the sausage, why not get to know them a little better first?

I have a couple of girlfriends (names withheld to protect the not-so-innocent) who, frankly, would love to be in a proper relationship. They are attractive, sexy, intelligent women with great jobs and are much sought after by the opposite sex. They are actively looking for something longer term, yet they scupper every possibility of a man asking them out by dragging him home the first time they meet (in some cases quite literally dragging), having a quick bonk and then getting upset when he doesn’t call or send flowers the next day. Whaddaya expect? Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

It’s my theory that all men are hunters; they enjoy the chase, it satisfies some primeval macho need within them. Equally, just as Mother Nature intended, women love being pursued. So why should we mess up this vitally important component of the courtship ritual?