Why a meal cooked by a lover so delicious, even when it tastes awful

A meal prepared by a lover is the ultimate way to show that they are careful, whether it is an old lady who cooks chicken soup for her sickly grandson, a mom making a ham sandwich for her broken heart daughter, or a neighbor sharing her lounging cake with the lonely man (I doubt that the latter scenario has occurred since the 1950s, but I like the imagination).

So being cooked for someone else is always a good feeling, but being cooked by a lover is just different, even if the food is bad. I fear that the Netflix and Chill movement means that romantic and homemade meals are less common. Instead of your Beau-Petit-Coussin on a candlelit supper, your beautiful is now through zomato. Why would he cook then that he can get 2 for 1 on a pizza with a side of chicken wings with sticky finger and a volcanically large bottle of sparkling pop? All this delicious salt and processed meat? Followed by a Bangathon and a TV? I understand the call, I must admit it.

But if, in case a lover cooked for you, you have to take note how special it is. Likewise, if you have the opportunity to cook for them, you have to savor this sweet little look of “feeling loved”, he paints on their face.

When I was 18 and in my first relationship, my boyfriend made me his famous Thai chicken curry. He being a chic suburban boy without any cooking experience (or eating) good Thai cuisine, the result was … Diabolical. Robust rice tufts have swam on my plate, drowning in a warm and “green” green curry sea. The coconut cream was not cooked, the heat was nonexistent, the Thai basil was still in the shop in which it had not been, the chicken was hard and the presentation was grotesque. But my God, this meal was celestial. This dish was more than a food plate, it was a symbol of his commitment, his dedication, his love for me. I swallowed up every last piece of gray chicken, and it is always one of the best Thai currys that I have never had: my stomach satiated by love, not the flavor.

In the twenties, I had an affair with an older man, and after a particularly spectacular night of Pumpy Rumpy of the company, I woke up with the smell of toast. I fell into the kitchen and I discovered that he had done everything and had prepared a complete brunch spread: eggs, fruits, smoked salmon, pastries, producers’ bread and good coffee. He had this fantasy machine to make coffee, which I now know how to be a coffee. I was violently in a wood, and when I saw the vast display, it overwhelmed me. While I was sleeping, he had come out and provided the ingredients, had brought them home and prepared them – for me! I imagined him to whisk the eggs, like a beautiful child Julia. I went to the toilet to vomit, but I did it silently so that it does not know. Against the chances, I kept everything. My stomach was hungry not for his food, but for his love.