There’s a big debate on Twitter right now–the YA lit world is buzzing with what could be the most pressing question of our time. Team Peeta or Team Gale? Not since vampires vs. werewolves has a debate been so heated. But honestly, I’m going to let Hunger Games experts be the ones to discuss this because, while I loved the books, this seems like a non-thing to me. Obviously, the answer is Team Gale. Obviously.
Now. My friend Amanda is vehemently Team Peeta. Her defense of this mousy, pasty beta-of-all-beta heroes is indefatigable. It is clear and single-focused: “Everyone loves a man who can cook.”
Interestingly, this simple defense is enough to give me pause. Because, truthfully, everyone does love a man who can cook. Me, especially. I have a total obsession with chefs. The day Top Chef was created in a back room at Bravo I swear, I heard angels sing.
I admire knife skills. I dream of palates. I think those white jackets are about the sexiest thing ever worn by man. I TiVo No Reservations. I refer to Tom Colicchio as “Big Daddy Colicchio.” I heard Eric Ripert expound on the difference between sea salt and iodized salt once–and fell a little bit in love. One of my dad’s closest friends owns a restaurant. Sometimes I sneak into the kitchen just to watch the guys work the line.
My name is Sarah, and I’m addicted to chefs.
It’s ok. My husband knows. He’s cool with it. (Because he’s a foodie, too.)
You have only to read Bella Andre‘s Tempt Me, Taste Me, Touch Me or Louisa Edwards‘s fab Can’t Stand the Heat to know just how hot a chef can really be…but what is it about chefs that makes them so. Very. Sexy? They’re artists, and they work with their hands, sure. But they’re also keenly aware of the senses…taste, scent, texture, the way food looks on a plate…and I think that’s where their sexiness lies–in their clear commitment to perfection in the most sensual of ways. Yum.
Are you addicted to chefs? Why?