Ever since I started writing this column, people assume that I am a seasoned expert in a variety of things that I know nothing about. I have been pegged as an authority, a veritable Confucius of fornication. So when the good folks at the Yale Daily News asked me to write about sex and food for this epicurean issue, I was not surprised. I was, however, stumped. The only encounter I have had in which these two great pleasures have met was as an innocent grade-schooler at my local Chuck-E-Cheese. A little tuckered out from jumping into all those balls (no sexual innuendo intended), I paid a visit to the bath-E-room, only to find Chuck-E, the giant mouse mascot, giving his cheese to a very willing employee with a slice of pizza in hand.
Needless to say, the experience was wholly traumatizing and to this day, I refuse to partake in a pre-hookup slice at Yorkside. I did learn something from that fateful encounter though: men enjoy their sex in much the same way they enjoy their food — fast.
My confusion regarding the matter is only exacerbated by my good-little-Jewish-girl status. My mother has instilled in me the idea that food should be eaten in large quantities at a table — not in small quantities off a chest, or anywhere else for that matter. I’m not even allowed to watch television during dinner. And of course, I’m certainly not supposed to have sex — EVER.
We all know those classic sexy food cliches, the whipped cream and chocolate sauce fantasies, the edible panties (which, by the way, are only glorified fruit roll-ups), the strawberry aphrodisiacs, but what’s the appeal? Granted, I am a great fan of the Food Network, but Emeril’s BAM is more about spicing things up in the kitchen than in the bedroom. I wonder if he’s imagined the possibilities of a chef’s hat and a little chocolate body powder? Or could the origins of this fetish be found in the Garden of Eden, where Eve enticed Adam with her forbidden fruit?
According to one friend, biting into a good ole Granny Smith apple during sex is just the crunch she needs. I wonder what Granny would say about that. And how do the logistics work? I’ve heard of keeping a glass of water by the side of your bed, but turning your nightstand into a Dean & Deluca is a whole other issue.
Another Latin American friend of mine, sticking with the fruit theme, cited cold fruit (ANY cold fruit, he said) as the gourmand’s sexual go-to. Given that his father is a plantation owner, that could be his dirty little way of pawning bananas off to the general public. But he said it with so much conviction that I found myself wondering whether I was missing out on something. Something flava-ful.
After tackling the produce aisle, I figured I’d try something new, and take my question of food and sex beyond the streets and into seminar. It’s not as if I’m a physics major; people in the History Department actually get laid. And granted, maybe early national America and sexual fetishes are not exactly on the same page, but it is rumored that our own Thomas Jefferson (you can call him T.J.) needed some good booty lovin’ before drafting the Constitution. Say what you will, everyone’s got their personal cure for writer’s block.
My professor was quick to point out that kitchen floors are used as a “popular cultural reference” in the context of sex and are supposed to be ideal venues.
Let us not forget sex-themed foods. I’ve learned of Penis Pasta that, allegedly, goes much better with white sauce than red. There’s also Body Butter for the less diet-conscious, and even something called Choco Dick Lick, available only in the UK for those who are NOT DISCREET AT ALL.
But all of these options seem a little messy to me. Choco Dick Lick could turn into a messy Choco Dick Stick situation. Let’s be honest, in college, it’s hard enough to get us to wash our sheets once a month, much less after every time your bed turns into a freaky-deaky candy store. On second thought, at Yale, that might never happen.
But on the other hand, nothing beats some good post-sex eats. To feed the need (after that other need has been met) is a highly individualized experience. Some enjoy a good turkey sandwich (right in time for Thanksgiving), others ice cream, while still others might prefer ethnic food — Mexican, Italian, Chinese. Maybe even Russian. Which brings me to my next question: If Americans are using whipped cream to spice things up, are the Russians pouring borscht across each other’s chest and licking it off?
Ponder that one.
The truth is, that hooking up can be likened to one long, all-you-can-eat buffet line — you take a little of everything and hope that for your $14.95 at least something is good. And when you do find it, the pursuit of gourmet food and gourmet sex await. If one has both, separate or together, true happiness is surely right around the kitchen corner.
Natalie Krinsky wants to be on the Food Network with the Yale football team. Eat Harvard.