Gastronomy is art. It is the art of many senses. As graphic, structural and musical art appeals to our sensory urges as well as our intellectual beings, so does the presentation of food. Actually, our mouths are the last to appreciate what we eat (forgetting for now our nether regions). Our eyes and olfactory senses precede our oral satiety. They are the prelude to the ultimate oral poetry of good food.

          I may one day – but not yet – cease thinking about and enjoying sexual intimacy and all things associated with it. Until then, eroticism will continue to be an aspect of what I serve and how I serve it. While I am heterosexual, this approach applies with equal relevance to homosexual gastronomy. But it is beyond mere lewd food.

          Dining is so often the overture to sexual intimacy that it is appropriate that sensuality begin with the first note of an evening’s music; the first sip of the first wine; the first aroma that wafts from stove or oven; and the first sight of each dish.

          Sensuality is the accommodation of one’s inhibitions to the sharing of physicality. It is the process by which one begins to feel secure, comfortable and unthreatened, and to become sufficiently relaxed to begin to contemplate intimacy as something to be sought rather than resisted or simply surrendered. Surrender is for bad movies. Pheromones are secreted and sensed by an organ in one’s nose that is directly connected to the limbic region of the brain, the seat of emotion and passion. Each gender is programmed to sense pheromones and to react to them. One never needs to “come on” to anyone. The food, the music, the aromas, consideration, generosity, kindness all speak/sing to this music, Mutuality of desire is the summum bonum of everything gastronomic.

          By way of contrary illustration, I recently dined in a very good local seafood restaurant at which the chef was more interested in expressing the functionality of descriptiveness, to the point of missing a great opportunity at effective marketing. He offered a dish that he dubbed Crispy Snapper. How bloody awful! Who would ever think of putting his mouth on a snapper that had such a texture? Snapper is supposed to be warm and wet and somewhat redolent of tumescence, with or without hair. Crispy Snapper sounds like a snapper that needs medical attention. I intend to visit with the chef on my next encounter and explain to him that practitioners of oral intimacy are not enthused by the suggestion of crispiness.

          Someone in my group ordered the grilled cote de porc, which came with a mustard cherry sauce, painted on the plate with an impression in its middle running down the imprint of the sauce. It was red and luscious looking, and that streak of impression running down its middle made the whole thing look like a slightly opening vagina. As it was placed on the table I exclaimed, “Ah. Sauce vaginale!” The waiter cracked up and had to leave the scene immediately to regain his composure. He reported it to the chef who did not look amused. Hmmmm. Maybe I shouldn’t discuss with him my notion about the Crispy Snapper.

         Halve a chicken. Remove all the bones except the leg bone. Stuff the now open chicken demi carcass with your favorite savory, very yummy, most delectable Thanksgiving kind of stuffing – very comfort food stuffing – forget the fois gras and any other fru fru crap. Close the carcass around the stuffing ball so that it stands on the stuffed ball of chicken with the leg bone pointing skyward. Oil and season the now erect plat du our and roast it at 350 degrees for 45 minutes (Check internal temperature for proper doneness). Serve it after a small salad, with olives and roasted and seasoned chick peas, ala Grec (salt, pepper, garlic oil – roasted at 425 for 30 minutes and drained on paper towels spread over a cloth dish towel).

          Wines? Try a Chateau St Jean Fume Blanc – the L’Etoile bottling and Tomassi Ripasso.

          Desert? Each other. If it’s the first date, try Sacher torte and Brut Champaign.

          You can thank me later.