Everyone has their own opinion of what is sexy. Some get turned on by a soulful jazz riff, some by a certain scent, or a touch in a particular spot. Some are attracted to a bad-ass attitude, some go for the loud and boisterous type, some like quiet and laid back. Personally, I like people who can out-argue me for fun, make fun of themselves, carry on an insightful conversation (not just talk about themselves in my general direction) and cook me a meal. It really doesn’t have to be a great meal—it’s the effort that is important.
The thought behind cooking someone a meal—from choosing a recipe, shopping for ingredients and devoting time in the kitchen—shows caring and consideration, which is attractive. Eating as an act itself utilizes most of the senses, from smell to taste to texture, and that alone can be invigorating and sensual.
Cooking for someone is the ultimate expression of love; you are literally trying to provide them with nourishment. You are giving them something essential, something they can’t do without. You are, if only for that one meal, their provider.
Eating was never meant to be a solo affair—it brings people together, acting as a comforting experience that should be shared. This is why all of our holidays, and most of my social calendar, revolves around food. When I like someone, regardless of the fashion (romantic or platonic), I always try to feed them. I don’t even think about it anymore, it’s the way I express myself, a language that I understand. Although it’s my mother who is the chef by profession, both of my parents love to cook, and growing up this was a way affection was shown in our family. On a birthday, the intricate cake my mother would bake would be more important than the gifts received. Favorite meals were prepared as rewards for achievements or special occasions. It’s a non-verbal way of communicating, of sharing feelings without words, of connecting.
Someone who knows their way around the kitchen, or is at least curious to explore and discover, is the sexiest someone of all. Screw the flowers and Kama Sutra inspired bedroom moves (okay, keep those)—cook me a meal, dammit!