Okra, Fries and Finding Mr. Right
My Cooking Skills Fried My Relationship
He was built like a long distance runner. The epitome of athletic chic — I couldn’t take my eyes off his abs, as I imagined how they would feel against my cheek. I guessed that he was Jamaican and I was right.
He lived two buildings away from my girlfriend. He could feel my gaze and once our eyes met it was a wrap. Yes, I was going to escort him to the block party and no, there was nothing preventing me from pulling an all-nighter. As we walked away, my friend did her best to dissuade me with stories about all the girls Russell had blessed with his physique—but all they did was make me salivate.
The first week was a haze of physically ambitious activities that challenged my knowledge of male dominance. He was quite specific about how he wanted things done and I obliged him because it felt good and he was stronger. He was also interestingly obsessed with breakfast— ackee and saltfish to be specific.
The first time he asked me to fetch him some from the local eatery, I was taken aback. “Can’t we just order it?” He swiftly killed that option. “No, I like it fresh and hot — it’s just down the street, it’s not far.” I lazily got up, and as he watched me reluctantly get dressed, I made him promise to pay me back first when I returned. I was slightly annoyed, but once he flashed those pearly whites, I grabbed the cash he handed me and flew out the door. Maybe this variation on foreplay would eventually grow on me.
It didn’t. I tried to switch it up by urging him to walk with me or perhaps even find a spot to eat together, but he was stubborn about his routine. He was that guy who expected things to shape up the way he wanted. Clearly I was stuck with a control freak whose childish fits were fast becoming a buzzkill.
On a rainy Sunday morning, I staged a coup. I had bought all the ingredients I needed and done the prep work the day before. An added bonus was my naked bod under the flimsy apron.
The process turned out to be a bit more complicated than I had anticipated. By the time I was through, I was left with a soggy burnt mess and a famished, irate man-child who didn’t hide his fury. As I watched and listened to his rant, I was overtaken by the hilarity of the scenario — me standing there over a skillet with my ass hanging out, and him annoyingly hovering.
I was basically tossed out of the apartment, partially clothed and delirious.
A week later, however, I was back in. He had done what guys do when they fuck up, and I forgave him. Next I cooked his ackee and saltfish to perfection, even though he begged me not to after the previous fiasco. I blindfolded him and tied him to a chair. He was ready and so was I, but not in the way he expected.
I quickly packed the goodies into my container and slithered out the door. Over at my gal pal’s pad we enjoyed a scrumptious meal. Till this day I can’t order the damn dish without bursting into laughter.
Ackee and Saltfish Ingredients
1/2 pound boneless codfish, 1/2 cup vegetable oil, 4 cloves garlic, finely chopped, 1 sprig fresh thyme, 2 onions, sliced, 4 scallions, chopped, 1 cup sliced assorted bell peppers (red, green, yellow, orange), 1/4 scotch bonnet pepper, finely chopped with seeds removed, 1 (20-ounce) can ackee, drained, 1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, 1 teaspoon paprika
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