CBMused

Imagine these…

Sipping on a flute of your favourite Champagne and enjoying the delicacy of freshly chucked oysters…

The release of flavours in your mouth the instant Beluga caviar makes contact with your tongue…

Slowly peeling a just-ripe banana and having that first taste…

The moment luscious strawberries that have been dipped in chocolate meet your mouth…

Indulging your visual senses in perfectly shaped figs before that first nibble…

Holding a perfectly round peach in your hand and biting the juicy flesh…

Eating a ripe mango and letting it dribble leisurely down your face and neck…

Indulging all your senses in the velvety richness of quality chocolate blended with cinnamon…

According to folklore, all the above foods, whether they are to your taste or not, claim to have aphrodisiac qualities. Wrap your mouth around a banana, caress a velvety peach with your lips, lick the chocolate off your fingertips and your libido is set to soar.

The act of eating foods that we enjoy can be a sensual and sensory experience, yet claims that certain foods can spice up our sex life are best taken with a grain of salt. According to several medical sources (not cited here) most foods that are attributed to aphrodisia are in fact full of necessary vitamins and minerals that nevertheless contribute to our health and well-being. To state it in common terms, if we feel good, we’re more likely to be in the mood for sex.

I have yet to experience a particular culinary delight that leaves me in a heightened state of desire. After all, the list above is nothing but a gourmet’s delight with a premise of aphrodisia.

Do you believe in the magical qualities of aphrodisiac foods? Does the taste of briny oysters remind you of sex, or does the sight of steam-opened muscles put you in the mood? What type of foods sends your libido meter off-scale?

Your opinion…

… boots and elegant winter scarves; multiple facial piercings on twenty-somethings; the ubiquitous spaghetti marinara on plates and menus; crisp mornings with a welcome stillness in the air; café trottoirs and restaurants with outdoor gas heaters; generous servings and warm service; vibrant city centre abuzz with an eclectic mix of people; single red rose sellers in restaurants; night-lit buildings and an eerie green glow of old trees;

… food lovers who have cast the waif-starved look with flashy flesh exposure in favour of more rotund figures; tight narrow lanes that are open to traffic; helpful locals ready with a smile and a sense of humour; decadent shopping arcades with European flair; long strips of eateries vying for business by soliciting for patrons not unlike here and enticing customers with free bottles of wine with dinner;

… a calm stretch of water where the sea meets the sky in a powder blue finish that locals call a beach; preservation and restoration instead of demolishing and modernisation; skinny leg jeans tucked into stylish long boots; caked-on foundations on pale skins of young pencil-like figures; patrons huddling around tiny square tables; outdoor smokers and smokers in open air dining;

… redefining the cosmopolitan label with young men in white shoes, numerous Kwik-E-Marts and a lot of Indians, authentic Italian restaurants with Lebanese owners, and foreign accents such as Italian, French, Greek, Indian and overheard alongside English; small cafés that are licensed for alcohol; perfect lattes but no white sugar; cyclists, cars, pedestrians and trams cohabiting the streets; free wifi hotspots and more…

Thank you.

“An Irishman never goes back on his word,” Conor said to me as we bolted out of the quarterly company meeting breakfast and made a dash across the CBD to the head office. It was St Patrick’s Day and as much as we were both expected at different clients, he was determined to make me his famous Irish coffee, because a few weeks earlier, he had given me his word. And who was I to argue with the boss?

Back in the galley kitchen of our office, I could smell the aroma of the brewing coffee. I watched him as he emptied a generous shot of whiskey into the tall glass, poured the coffee then stirred in the brown sugar.

“Now watch carefully,” he added with the zest of a master educating his pupil. I looked on as he skilfully poured the cream over the back of a spoon, ensuring it floated smoothly on top of the dark liquid, forming a thick layer through which the coffee is to be sipped.

We clinked our glasses and took a long slow sip that drew big smiles of satisfaction.

“Was that a double shot?” I asked Conor on our way out. My knees had started to wobble and I was already wishing I hadn’t worn heels that day.

“To be sure, to be sure…”

I made it at my client almost on time. Then I spent the morning masking my light-headedness by looking very busy, hunched protectively over my laptop emailing my colleagues drunken antics.

In honour of Saint Patrick, BeMused, the blog has been cloaked in green for the day. As for me, I’ll be making sure I get a little Irish in me tonight.

Happy St Paddy’s Day!

The restaurants that line up the tiny alley that is rue St-Grégoire de Tours beckon on a cool autumnal evening. Madame stands outside soliciting for business, enticing walkers by to dine at the restaurant. The competition seems fierce as others vie for the Euro but her flamboyance has its rewards.

It is our last night in Paris.

After dining on an array of meals that ranged from the mundane to the extravagant, my inner gourmand was more than satiated. For the last meal, I have something specific in mind.

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