But he KNOWS how in love I am with Gordon Ramsay.
I honstly cannot comprehend that this man is only 42 years old…you could stick a quarter into his worry-wrinkles. Still, I find him insanely hot– handsome, an awesome chef, and with an awful Horatio Alger-ish childhood to boot…and we all know how I love me my tragic tortured heroes.
I love cooking. LOVE IT. Were I not an “arteest” I would want to be a chef. There’s just something so satisfying about cooking, about making something amazing out of random minerals and carbon. It’s very, if not impossible, to describe how enthralling cooking is to someone who doesn’t feel the same way about it. Preparing a good meal is just the best thing in the world. Caring about food– not being a food snob (“Is this organic arugula? PAH!”), but caring about how things are prepared and how they are presented and how they taste…God. As a former roommate said, “I’d rather go without sex for five years than give up a good meal.”
I love Gordon Ramsay because he cares about food. He is obviously insanely passionate about it, and yes, I know the recent scandal about some of his restaurant’s food being “pre-packaged”…but who gives a fuck, really? Seeing him prepare a meal is orgasmic. I love watching food be prepared, I collect cookbooks even if I know I will never use them. I collect takeout menus so I can read the meal descriptions. The funny thing is, anyone that knows me will tell you that I don’t eat but once a day! I simply do not get hungry! Food is such a…God, don’t want to say erotic but it is, almost, thing with me.
I blame my Southern heritage. My God, but do we like to cook. Y’all oughta taste my cornbread.
I also blame this:
Oh, BABY.
