Real chefs – the ones with passion of artists — they have a secret habit. If you’re astute, and a bit lucky, you can catch them. They peer out the kitchen doorway ashamed to even be looking. They know it doesn’t matter, but they can’t resist.
He brings the crab cakes with wide eyes. No server presents them; he wants to be the one describe the pepperiness that complements both the shrimp and the red wine he’d perfectly paired. He wants me to know. He wants me to see.
He’s proud and confident. There’s been hundreds before me. He knows what he’s doing. But then, a flicker of apprehension and curiosity.
I adore watching it. I adore it because I know it. That look. Those thoughts. There’s a terrified teenager behind the eyes of every passionate, obsessed creative I’ve ever met. And I see his now, peering out.
I’m so lucky to feel this with him. For me, this is why. Why I accepted his invitation to dinner. Why I built a life watching people create.
He sits.
I like him. He wants me to. Even more, he wants me to like his work. Our curse. The hundreds before don’t matter, there’s just me. With one plate in front of me.
I wait before tasting. This small movement is the opening note in the waltz of flirtation we are both about to dance.
Picking up my fork and twirling it in my fingertips, I ask him how long he’s been a chef. He answers and I listen to his eyes more than his words. They flash anticipation and he thinks I missed it. I didn’t miss it.
I like watching his eyes.
Am I torturing him? Probably. I know this torment. How many times I’ve poured my soul onto a page like he’s poured his soul onto this plate. His eyes beg me as he tells me about that time when he was 13.
I know what he wants. Take a bite. Let me watch you taste it.
Torn. He wants to talk to me, to know me. But first, his passion, sitting lonely on the plate.
Finally, a bite. And a smirk.
The release. The flavors mix and dance on my tongue. It’s worth the anticipation.
He’s talented. And I tell him so.
Our waltz ends. He returns to the kitchen. The feelings calm. I take a breath and a sip of wine, the tastes he created still on my tongue.
Another course is on its way.
We’re going to dance all night.