Monday, March 29, 2010
I hate to cook. Actually, I loathe it. Detest. Am repelled by. I am a danger to myself and others when trying to use a sharp object, impatient with recipes and raw meat nauseates me, though I'm happy to eat it if someone else cooks it without me seeing.My children live in fear of the weeks that I single parent, sure that they will starve. I can overcook ramen noodles with the best of them, though, and as long as there is pizza delivery, no one will get hurt. I enjoy going out to eat, too, but really for the social aspects of it. I have annoying dietary issues that can make eating out a challenge, and that can suck the life out of trying the hot new restaurant. So I would not call myself a foodie. I do a disservice to Jewish mothers everywhere. Food does not equal love, to me. Food equals get off your ass and make it yourself.
Yet, I am drawn to Cook to Bang like a moth to a flame. This is like a look inside an alien mind. I honestly didn't know that anyone would go to such complicated lengths to get laid. It's not as if I've never heard that old "quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach" saw, it's just that I have learned over the years that actually going straight through the sternum is much more effective. Truthfully, I don't look at the recipes themselves. I love the whole concept of Cook to Bang, and the care that the author/founder, Spencer Walker, has taken to get his brethren some pussy. He could be a ginormous douchebag for all I know, but he isn't cooking for me. He is cooking for YOU, males of the species:
COOK TO BANG is not just gourmet recipes broken down into steps so simple a monkey could make them. It’s not just a smartass seduction guide. COOK TO BANG offers simple, effective methods for of enjoying the two greatest pleasures, food and sex. So unleash your inner Kitchen Casanova. COOK TO BANG!
And apparently, this dastardly weapon of seduction works. If you look at the testimonials, while the majority are from straight dudes, there are testimonials from gay guys and lesbians thrown in, as well as FOREIGNERS. It even works in other languages! I think they are about as authentic as Penthouse letters, but they certainly supply a huge laugh.
MICHAEL IN PORTLAND:
Up here in Porkland, Oregon there’s very little tail that hasn’t expired or gone lumberjill. But when you do find one you can’t just be another emo hipster with a cool tattoo. Cook to fucking bang! That’s why they call wining and DINING them. That FLAT ON YOUR BACK FLATBREAD PIZZA recipe cost me a short trip to Trader Joes and a 3-pak of Trojans.
ANDREW IN CHARLOTTE:
My game has been so bad for so long that my friends thought I was gay. Girls always thought of me as their guy friend that they could say anything to except for “I want to ride you like a pony”. Thanks to the tips on this website and the Baked Briez Nuts recipe after dinner I felt like Sea Biscuit after 8 furlongs. The perfect breakthrough for the “Let’s just be friends” talk.
"I never thought this would happen to me, but last week when I was cleaning my neighbor's pool..." Yeah, yeah. Andrew. Or should I say "Andrew". But as you can see from these clever quips, the recipe names are the best part of the whole experience. And I have to admit, if someone went through the trouble of cooking me a meal of CUNNI-LINGUINE with a side of SO READY TO MEAT MY BALLS, I might be a wee bit entingled. But in order for it to work, he would HAVE to tell me the names of the dishes. And wouldn't that be revealing too much, revealing that his WHOLE GOAL WAS TO GET IN MY PANTS? Not so romantic anymore. Now it's just amateur porn on a plate, only not as grainy.
Still and all, I applaud the concept. It is more productive than a pick up line and less illegal than a roofie. And there is something sweet about it, because someone has taken the time to actually think about what you might like. Sadly, I am not a fan of the grand romantic gesture, and this kind of falls into that category for me. Vacuum the house without me having to ask and you are talking romance. Add a bag of M&M's, and I'm yours. No cooking required.