Aside from the pleasures of the bed, there are the pleasures of the table.
Tonight, three medium-rare rib lamb chops done on my grill, fresh baby spinach sauteed in olive oil (and a dash of bacon fat) with garlic and salt. A glass of very cold Pinot Grigiot.
And the pleasures are not simply in the eating, but in the making.
Not political. Not sexual. But religious.
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1 comment:
Wow, are we different! Hard to believe since we're both white middle-class Western imperialist males each with his own "phobia" vs ordinary gay culture. In truth, when I first saw your reference to "the pleasures of the bed" I thought of slumber and rest. Absolutely no guff! And cooking is an uphill chore - with no detectable charismata unless of punishment. (I don't mind cleaning up a kitchen someone else has cook'd in: my mind can go its own way in thinking, whereas even with a simple recipe cooking requires total focus on the task at hand or stuff burns etc. ... Vive la différence?
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