I’m becoming addicted to food porn. In the 21st century, food is the new sex. But I’m not talkin’ about Kate Upton and whatever she thinks she’s doing with Carl Jr.’s Jalapeno Patty Melt. (BTW, nobody’s mouth opens that wide.) No, I’m talking about something far more sensual than retro cleavage smut.
Food and sex have always been exotic playmates, joined at the lips — everything from phallic strawberries dipped in dripping chocolate to the mythological properties of oysters. However, contemporary gourmets are redefining this sensual relationship. They’re taking food one step beyond mere foreplay into an erotic world of its own.
Real foodies don’t just cook and eat anymore. They see preparation and presentation as a slow seduction that begins in the marketplace rather than at the table.
They search for the first blush of ripeness, finding the freshest of willing flesh. They trace the contours with their fingers, feeling the textures and tensions replying to their touch. And they smell, filling their nose and mouth with scent, tasting the raw anticipation on their tongue.
They collect their ingredients and caress them with hot and cold and fire and spice until — intimately entangled — they open, melting and melding into each other until, finally, they release themselves in a blossom of flavour that spreads and spreads, all subtle and bold.
They dress this dish like a Degas painting, selecting just the right plate, position, and pose — the symmetry and the light suggesting, offering, allowing the eye the promise of taste. That’s what they bring to the table.
And if all this isn’t erotic, I don’t know what the hell is.