Smart Bitches, Trashy Books

Oh, man, that’s definitely Gertrude Hawk’s white chocolate snowmen with dark chocolate truffle filling.  It’s a local company (they only have stores in the NY/NJ/PA area) and obviously they only sell them in the winter, and that’s if you’re lucky because some seasons I can’t even find them.  I’m not a huge fan of dark chocolate in pretty much any form but this one.  Hand me a box of those and my complete lack of upper body strength will disappear as I gleefully rip the pants right off you.

I would have to say tuna carpaccio. Mmm. I’m salivating by the mere thought of it.

Seeing that the tuna, clever as they are, vastly prefer to swim merrily along in somewhat milder climates than what we may offer way up north, it’s quite hard to get my greedy little hands on really fresh, good, yummy tuna here in Norway. Thus, if some bloke would bring me a nice, good portion of tuna carpaccio, I would eat it slowly of his naked body - not using before-mentioned greedy little hands (they are not so little either, really. Greedy big hands. Yeah.) Unfortunately for the bringer, chances are that I would become so caught up in the whole stuffing-my-face-with-tuna-part of the deal that I would forget all about the poor naked guy until I was too full to do anything but lie very still in a fetal position until I’d managed to digest some of the tuna deliciousness. But I would see to his reward eventually. Promise.

It probably makes me incredibly strange, but I have a “so good I’ll lick it off someone” standard. Forget chocolate, forget whipped cream. If a guy showed up with a bottle of the maple dipping sauce from Rare Bar & Grill on NYC’s east side, I’d positively expire with joy. I was also notorious for having ecstatic fits over the sweet barbecue sauce from a restaurant in Chelsea that no longer exists. There’s just something about a good sauce that has a sweet kick to it that I just love.

I would probably drop all clothes and inhibitions for a palm leaf with a serving of arhar daal, accompanied by a little plain basmati rice and one naan with ghee…  I haven’t had any since I’ve returned from India and I miss it so much I could cry. (or shag anyone who brings it ‘round my door.

I’m cheap and easy. A good, greasy cheese pizza, thin crust. You would be amazed how hard it is to get good pizza in Maine. I don’t even need the beer, but a cold Corona would be nice.

This is a tough one, but I’ll do plenty for a really excellent hot lobster roll.  No celery, no mayo, just succulent chunks of warm fresh lobster dripping with butter on a nicely crisped hot dog roll.  Mmmm.  Can you tell I’m a New Englander through and through?

I respect your choices, but the aftertaste of tuna is such that it will never, in my mind, be even remotely sexy. It smells like five-year-old kids.

Uncooked brownie mix - sans egg - and a glass of milk. I adore brownie mix, and now that I think about it, every way and place I like to eat it is also a doozy of a spectator sport. Spoiling myself by eating it in the bathtub while I read a good book (yes, that kind of “good”). Taking a big tablespoon and licking it like a popsicle. Anybody who brought me my brownie mix would be welcome to stay for the show, and then, who knows? Maybe I’d find something else big to cover with brownie mix and lick like a popsicle!

I really don’t think there is any food that I would give it up for…either I hold sex to a higher a standard, or more likely - I haven’t been lucky enough to experience such ecstatic gustatory experiences as some of the other bitches. Currently struggling to lose the weight from baby #2 (2 months as of today! -27lbs so far…and way too many still to go) I’d have to agree with Sarah, if someone delivered me something in a combination of chocolate, cherries, and cheesecake and told me that eating it would remove, rather than add, more junk to my trunk…well, that would certainly be call for me to give the bringer of such a magic gift all the booty he wanted.

Precious, my 5 year old most certainly does not smell like tuna…sticky eggo waffles? Yes. But tuna,  uh-uh.

A spinach salad with ripe peaches, warm goat cheese, and a balsamic reduction.

There is nothing better than warm goat cheese melting in your mouth.

...

Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to make this for dinner now.

Risotto a la quattro formagio. Four cheese risotto.  Such a smooth and creamy flavor, but with just a tiny bit of a tang (from the Asiago cheese, I think).  Went down like heaven.  Oh, but then there’s the mushroom risotto.  Gawd that was good, too.

Screw it, can I pick a blanket catergory?  Risotto in general?

I haven’t had any since I left Italy, a year and a half ago.  I live in NC and in this part of the state—well, let’s just say someone at my office recently asked me what risotto *was*.  A pasta or a rice, or what.  My waistline probably thanks me for not having any but my taste buds. . . my taste buds would have me throw down with anyone who brought a steaming, heaping plate of it.

I would drop everything (!) for a really good, authentic Cornish pasty. Flaky pastry. Succulent meat. Tender veggies. With brown gravy. Man, I’m going into overdrive just thinking about it. I’ve tried to make them myself but they’d be put to better use as doorstops.

Ribs.  Real American BBQ ribs.  I haven’t had it since I moved to Japan.

I’m pretty easy, too: Haagen Dazs Chocolate Peanut Butter ice cream. In fact I’d pretty much sex up whoever the genius was who decided that chocolate and peanut butter belong together.

Filet mignon from Commander’s Palace in New Orleans (with whatever sauce they had on top. It was something gourmet and I can’t remember it.) I’m a carnivore and a sucker for a perfect cut of meat, cooked to just the right degree of doneness, and served with a sauce that compliments it to a T.

Chicken Mole, good Chicken Mole that is.  Yumm- it’s my favorite dish in the whole world and I’d jump on the person who could bring it to me or prepare it correctly.

I am a goner for chewy, nutty, chocolate chips extra chocolate brownies. I seriously would eat a whole plate of those if I could.

I haven’t had sex in 6 years.
someone could bring me a tic -tac and he wouldn’t know what hit him LOL

I haven’t had sushi since I left California a year ago.  (I’ve been told it’s possible to get good sushi here, but on my grad student budget it’s right out.)  If someone brought me a nice plate of the good stuff he could pretty much have anything he wanted in return. 

If sushi was too hard to transport I’d also give it up for the gooey chocolate bites from a bakery in LA.  They’re like balls of slightly undercooked brownies rolled in confectioner’s sugar.  So fabulous I can’t even tell you.

Salmon. In pretty much any form but especially cold smoked or fresh salted/gravad/however you call it. On rye bread. I haven’t had nearly enough salmon since the cursed EU made the Norwegians raise their prices on salmon. (Maybe I should move to Norway - or find myself a guy who fishes. That would give me time to read!)

Truthfully, when I live abroad it’s rye bread I miss. But now that I’m home where I can get all the rye bread I want at any supermarket or bakery (and satisfy most exotic yearnings at little ethnic groceries) it’s salmon I lust after.

I’m so tired right now that if someone brought me a good, steaming hot, cup of black coffee, I might very well make both of us happy.

I am sitting here wracking my brains for some food that I long for, and I’m coming up blank. Maybe I need to broaden my taste horizons.

Agedashi tofu.  Just the right amount of gingery goodness flaked into the tempura crust.  Crunchy on the outside, melt in your mouth tofu inside. 
Side of slightly dry sake that has just a hint of plum-fruityness on that first sip. 
This is a food experience (starting with that warm, almond-scented hand washing).  I don’t even understand what makes me crave this like nothing else, but while my husband is drooling over thin slices of “oily tuna” between visits to our favorite sushi restaurant, its the agedashi tofu that keeps me up at night.

I haven’t had sex in 6 years.
someone could bring me a tic -tac and he wouldn’t know what hit him LOL

OMG!! That is so funny.

My mind is swimming with everybody’s choices and I feel like such a dork. My food is plain potato chips and garlic dip. Its not allowed in my house because it’s an automatic binge. I could eat the chips till my mouth is swollen from salt overload (rather than swollen from kisses) and go till I’m a round ball of over-sated femaleness.

Not that it takes such Herculean effort on my significant others part, the calories that will definitely lend towards an activity to take those calories back off is my ‘liquid crack’ known as a Starbucks Peppermint White Mocha.

I give it up (on a fairly regular basis) for the man who cooks for me every night. He’s a chef at a restaurant that does lots of yummy comfort food, so at home, he likes to cook for people—namely, me, and also him—who have slightly more sophistocated tastes. What gets me going, more so than the fact that there is a man cooking for me, is that while he’s preparing the dish… he totally ignores me.

I sit in my chair in his kitchen, sipping the glass of red wine he’s poured me, and watch this skinny Irishman dance around the kitchen, mincing garlic, slicing bread. Often he’ll stop and feed me a bit of whatever ingredient he’s currently slicing—a bit of cheddar, the ends of loaves (he knows I love crusts), a mushroom—before going back to his stove. There is no conversation, only smells, and me watching him from my chair like some sort of feral jungle cat ready to devour everything that looks tasty. Mostly him.

The first time he cooked for me, I had just had a small operation that made it impossible for me to have sex. “Stop!” I said. “We’re ordering pizza!” There was just no way I was going to let him cook for me, for the first time, without immediately being able to tear off all his clothes. As Anthony Bourdain says, good food should make people want to have sex. It doesn’t need to try; it’s just sexy.

(Small aside: now that I realize, after much sampling, how good his food is, and likewise, how good the sex is, sometimes I have to sneak in a little sex before the meal commences. I’m so full afterwards, it’s all we can do to grin ridiculously at each other before passing out. Usually.)

I love a good brownie.  When they’re hot and right out of the oven.  I’m in such a piss-poor mood today, though, that anyone expecting some lovin’ is bound to be disappointed.

God I love food but sex with the server—ummmh!  That’s a tough one.  Chicago is luckily FULL of ethnic food of all types lovingly prepared in Mom/Pop establishments, great ribs & soul food(southern blacks brought some good eats when they migrated here), and some fantastic local hand made chocolates (my all time favorite food).  Superior Mexican food (after all Rick Bayless has his restaurants here!) with a local restaurant a mile away that makes fantastic mole.  I’m a great cook myself and make fantastic pasta and lasagna.  Even great seafood flown in—at a price—lovingly prepared in some great restaurants.  Frankly if I get a craving for something the only thing holding me back from getting it is that it might cost a lot more than I’m willing to pay.

Frankly if you live in a marvelous place like Chicago with its mix of people from all over you have several of almost any type of restaurant to choose from.  (A small grocery near me has homemade tamales brought in by a local lady once or twice a week—super yummm.)  I get out of season cravings, of course, lovely vineripened fresh melon is hard to find in Feb. anywhere but so does everyone else everywhere. 

I do crave my Grandmother’s big fantastic “tea cakes”—southern cookies not very sweet but delicious but I’ve been craving them since she died 25 years ago and always will.  No recipe—just a bit of this and a fistful of that.  AND the most delicious yeast rolls that were high, light and tasted deliciously of yeast that I’ve never had the like since.  Great cold with a dollup of homemade jelly and a glass of iced sweettea.  Unfortunately you’d have to send someone capable of bringing her back to make them.

Ban Chien Kueh.  It’s a Malaysian peanut pancake.  I have not found anything like it in the States for 27 years.  If someone comes to my door now with a LOT of Ban Chien Kueh, or as we call it in Malaysia, Tai Kao Min, I’ll do you and your twin brother right in my kitchen. Just don’t mind me munching away.

I want one a big ass burrito from a hole-in-the-wall place in the San Francisco Bay Area. You’d get in line and it was like Subway for burritos. You’d tell the little hispanic lady behind the counter what you wanted in your burrito: chicken cooked in this delicious sauce, or pork, or beef, rice, guacamole, beans, hot sauce, etc.

It was heaven on earth.

You’d come out of the shop with this massive burrito wrapped in foil all dripping with tasty yumminess.

This is a hard one, but I think I am going to have to go with tomato water.

Tomato water, if you have never had it, is the liquid of the gods.  One obtains it thusly:

1.  Several perfectly ripe tomatoes.  Vine-ripened, no less, and not the shabby pretense of tomato you buy in the grocery store with the stubby green bits attached—real, glorious, heirloom tomatoes, the kinds that you can never sell in a grocery store because they are so exquisitely sun-ripened that you cannot stack them into a produce box, or they will squish.  These, you purloin from a farmer’s market on an early Saturday morning.

2.  Chop them into tiny bits.  Show no mercy.  Put the chopped up bits into a mess of cheese cloth.  Do not, for the love of God, do anything so gauche as to squeeze the cheese cloth.  Instead, suspend the cheese cloth over a bowl in your refrigerator and let it sit, dripping out the juices, for two days.

3.  What you will get out is a mostly clear fluid.  Oh, it might look a little pink if you use red tomatoes—but if you use yellow or green ones (green zebras make awesome tomato water) it will be perfectly clear.  This clear fluid is the nectar of the gods.  It is liquid tomato—and not just any tomato, but it is the flavor of a tomato pulled off the vine and popped into your mouth.

4.  If you must adulterate the tomato water, slice the following paper-thin and add in sufficient quantity to just let the pieces bask in the tomato water:
plum, apple, jalapeno, sweet pepper, shallot, basil, mint

allow the mixture to macerate for several hours, and then get some cherry tomatoes (the little black ones, again from the farmer’s market) and slice them in half and let them bob on top.

A bowl of this will get me out of anything I’m wearing in no time flat, and it’s just my luck that Mr. Milan makes it during the summer.

Ultimately, though, it’s not the food itself—it is the ingredients and the preparation.

P.S.  Sherry, I had agar-agar jelly salad at a Korean restaurant in Colorado Springs.  Slightly different dressing, but the same thing.  And yes, it is too kill for!

I once had a dish of mussels, steamed with ginger and lemon grass and Thai peppers and goodness knows what else.  And when the mussels were gone I poured the liquid (likker?) over Jasmine rice and shamed myself with the gustatory orgy of it all. This was around 1991 and I have been kept awake nights since then wondering what I did that I cannot replicate this dish.  The situation is beyond bearable.

A man (or a woman, now that I think on it, because although I prefer the company of men in that particular way I’m willing to be flexible - we *are* talking about 17 years of trying here) who brought me a bowl of these mussels would be rewarded with every trick and nuance of amorous attention I’ve acquired in my 39 years on this earth.

While in Scotland I discovered Chocolate Caramel Shortbread. Buttery shortbread with a layer of carmel and topped with milk chocolate = orgasmic. Of course now that I’m back in the states I can’t find it anywhere and although my hips are certainly happier about that fact, I have to confess that I day dream about caramel deliciousness.

The Mighty Loving that would ensue if someone brought me Chocolate Caramel Shortbread would put even the hottest love scenes to shame. Particularly if it came via a Hottie Scottie in a kilt. In fact, if that happened I think my ovaries and taste buds might just explode on sight. *sigh* Oh, but I’d die happy. Very very happy.

I have to say that I would rip off my clothes and drop my panties for a huge plate of oven roasted potatoes covered with garlic herb butter.  Oh, God, it’s so warm and slick, and the nuggets of potato just make my tongue have an orgasm!  The garlic herb butter is so savory it’s a treat to my tongue and I’d be willing to use my tongue to treat the bringer of this dish to me.

Joykenn, try getting a mint julep on Derby weekend in Chicago.  It’s the ONE THING I was never able to find (didn’t discover Heaven on Seven until later in the week.)  But you do live in culinary heaven.  Good Lord, even your popcorn (Garrett’s) is the best of the best.  And let’s not even talk about a Chicago hot dog.  I’m salivating.

I’m a major foodie, so making a choice is near to impossible.  All depends on my mood.  However, there was this old restaurant called the 94th Aero Squadron (WWII themed) that had this amazing starter salad.  I think the trick to the dressing was toasted sesame oil, but I was a teen when it closed and my culinary skills were not good enough to recognize ingredients.  If a former waiter from that restaurant showed up at my house (it was made table-side), he might get lucky.

I’m picking a salad.  God, that’s ridiculous.  Ooooh, what about the crab cake benedict from the Bellagio in Vegas?  Oh, yeah.  That’s better.  Beignets from Cafe du Monde in New Orleans?  Anything from La Duni in Dallas?  I’m such a food traveler!  But honestly…who said good ribs?  Because that’s a hard find…and I’ll do anything for good ribs!  (Wet, not dry…and no mustard based sauces, please.)

Really scrumptious Japanese “chou creams” (cream puffs) will do for me. Mind you, it is near impossible to find really good Japanese chou cream places in US. My friend in NYC tells me there are a few in Mahattan area which I am determined to visit this summer.

A slice of Moussaka Pizza from Mystic Pizza. Yes, there was a film titled “Mystic Pizza” that starred Julia Roberts (back when she had that wildly beautiful hair, but before she became Pretty Woman). But Mystic Pizza is an actual pizza restuarant that serves the best pizza I have ever eaten.

http://www.mysticpizza.com/mys_menu.htm

My husband was stationed at the Submarine base nearby. It was his first time being out to sea and away from me since we had been married. To cheer ourselves up, a few of us wives headed to Mystic Pizza, ordered 3 different pies and several glasses of wine and commiserated. The pizza was magnificent. The company was comforting. If it weren’t for my fellow wives and a slice of moussaka pizza, I don’t know how I would have gotten through that first night.

Wow, that was 12 years ago! I’d love to go there again with some girlfriends and relive that night.

KTG

S’mores.

The outdoor fire is a necessity (none of this toasting the marshmallows over scented candles crap), as is the chocolate (Hershey’s, please) ice-cold from a cooler.  Guh…...

The nachos from Denny’s.  My eyes have been known to roll into the back of my head with the first bite of these babies.  And my husband says I even moaned once.  He swears that it no one in the restaurant could have heard me, but DAMN.

I am such a cheap date.  *sigh*

Bring me a top shelf single malt scotch and I’m yours.

But for food?  Hmmm….The perfect flan or creme brulee might do it for me.  Plus you can have fun with it in bed!

Piping hot slices of fresh peach that have been dipped in sweet batter and deep-fried. With a side of cold sweet cream to dunk them in. Ahhhhhh!

There was a restaurant… somewhere… probably Dallas? Where we used to go when I was young. They deep fried peach slices like doughnuts and NO ONE IN MY FAMILY REMEMBERS THE NAME OF THE RESTAURANT!!! ohmigawd so damn good.

Filet mignon from Commander’s Palace in New Orleans (with whatever sauce they had on top. It was something gourmet and I can’t remember it.) I’m a carnivore and a sucker for a perfect cut of meat, cooked to just the right degree of doneness, and served with a sauce that compliments it to a T.

I’m with you, Kimberly.  Give me a really good steak, like prime rib so succulent and tender it melts in your mouth, and I’m yours to command.  Or steak pan-seared in bourbon and smothered in mushrooms and onions…ohh, my toes curl just at the thought. 

Followed by really good creme brulee?  Oh, LAWD, I’d need to be hosed down. :)

The peanut butter candy my Dad used to make when he was alive.  I want some of that.  Sweet, rich, buttery, almost-hurts-your-teeth it’s so good.  The awesome part (besides the taste) was I could easily stop after one or two pieces.  It satisfied my mouth. 

However, as the candy is intrinsically wrapped in memories of my father, there will be no sexx0ring for the bringer.

This is easy…the Myer Lemon Cake that used to be served by Chow restaurant in SF.  I seriously would experience a euphoria as I ate it.

No contest. Pillsbury makes this delicioius (and highly calorific) ‘Birthday Cake and Frosting’ ice cream. Gives me such delight I’ll be perfectly open to anything…

I’m on day 8 of the first phase of South Beach.  I FEEL much better, and I’ve lost 7 pounds, but I have this low-grade hunger going on for sweets.

Things that are normally meh or bleh for me are taking on great attraction.  Hot dogs rolled up in Pillsbury croissants and baked, which I’ve not actually eaten since puberty? Mmm.  Oatmeal with brown sugar melting on it?  Actually gets me horny.

For those of you who mentioned ribs, this is my new favourite recipe:

The original recipe came from a magazine (either Canadian Living or Chatelaine), but this is how I make it, based on what I remember from the recipe and what I think is just a good idea.

1 cup beer
1 cup BBQ sauce
1 tablespoon maple syrup
1 tablespoon soy sauce
2 shots hot sauce
½ tsp black pepper
1 onion
1 clove garlic
2 racks back ribs, cut into individual serving size if you prefer

•  I actually used a whole can of beer and a whole bottle of BBQ sauce (about 1 ½ cups each).

•  The onions and garlic you can either leave in big chunks and strain out, or mince finely and leave in to make really thick sauce.

Combine all ingredients except ribs in a big pot (dump in the bbq sauce, and use the beer to rinse the remnants from the bottle), and stir to combine.  Add the ribs.  Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to simmer for 1 – 2 hours.  (Check at an hour, and frequently thereafter to see how you like the tenderness.  Falling-off-the-bone makes it a little harder to BBQ.)

When the ribs are done, remove them from the sauce and strain out the onion chunks and loose bones (use a slotted spoon rather than dumping the sauce between pots, a few loose strands of meat in the sauce does no harm at all).  Turn the heat up under the sauce and boil, stirring often to prevent sticking, until the sauce has reduced to the thickness you like (stick a clean metal spoon in, and check how the sauce clings to the back of it).  Be careful not to burn your stirring hand in the steam.  Said Suzanne, who severely cooked her thumb last Thanksgiving.

Transfer sauce to a serving vessel and pour off as much fat as possible.

Light your BBQ, coat the ribs in the sauce, and cook them until the sauce carmelizes nicely.  Watch so it doesn’t burn.

Eat.  Enjoy.  It’s good.

While in Scotland I discovered Chocolate Caramel Shortbread. Buttery shortbread with a layer of caramel and topped with milk chocolate = orgasmic.

Millionaire’s Shortbread. Yes it’s quite wonderful I could send you some - no strings attached.

I’ll be the weirdo; I would drop down in blissful greediness for a plate of very proper smooth, buttery, creamy mashed potatoes with beef gravy - complete with bits of roast beef in the gravy. No clear gravy allowed, has to have meaty bits. 

The bringer would have to wait until I’d had my fill of the potatoes before getting their fill of me.

I’m also going to have to try battered and deep fried peaches now. Thanks Victoria!

My family’s Ufda fudge. Its a Norwegian desert my great great grandmother started almost a hundred years ago. Its made with just about anything that has the word sugar and molasses in it, Jack Daniels whiskey (? not a clue why, but from what I hear great great grandma could probably drink even me under the table), and all the starchy fatty goodness that would make your dream of fitting in a bathing suit disappear. Much like the fudge…......*drool*.

It does however have two secret ingredients that my grandmother will not pass down, so that guy who’s got the recipe had better be damn creative getting it! :)

A lobster roll from Abbotts in Noank, CT!

This isn’t just any lobster, mind you. The meat is steamed in seaweed, lovingly plucked from the shell, pressed into a patty (no nasty bread crumbs or other fillers to ruin the meat) and dipped in drawn butter. Then placed on a roll and voila! One of the best and tastiest gustatory experiences there is!Yumm!!!

Hmm… this is tough.  Savory or sweet?

Okay, there are two things—one of each. Cedar planked Pacific salmon (has to be Pacific) grilled over applewood and glazed with maple, butter, and lemon.

Followed by perfectly fresh peach ice cream, just out of the churn.

Oh yeah, I’d rip my panties off in a heartbeat for that meal.

This will sound punny, but. Sweet Italian sausage. I don’t know what’s wrong with people out west, but they’ll label something as sweet sausage, and then it’s spicy. Or the texture’s all wrong - but mostly with the spice. Spicy isn’t sweet, and I can’t make sausage and pepper sandwiches with spicy sausage.

I never knew how good I had it back in CT, with the sweet sausage and Italian bakeries and mascarpone cheese all over the place.

Nutella.  Without a doubt.

It can be both a fantastically yummy treat in and of itself, though it can also be a barrel o’ fun when used as a “thank you” during the sexxoring….

Gotta go with perfectly ripe wild strawberries. Was introduced to these little gems while living in Eastern Europe and for the short period they are in season I was in absolute heaven. Tiny and juicy and dark red and melt-on-your-tongue! The raspberries were a close second but gotta go with the strawberries we bought from the babushkas at the local market. The steroidal ones in the US are bigger and brighter but don’t have nearly the taste…sigh.

I’d pick Chocolate Rasberry shooter from TGIFriday’s.  It’s one of the dessert shooters - chocolate mousse with chocolate chips on top and drizzled with rasberry sauce.  If someone brought that to me, I’d immediately throw him down on the floor, pour the rasberry sauce on his lips and lick away.  He’d have to wait for me to finish up the chocolate dessert.

Something I haven’t had in a long time is baklava, that sticky gooey Greek dessert made with phyllo dough, layered with walnuts, and drizzled in honey. It’s sticky, it’s sweet, and it’s crunchy, and endlessly pleasing to the palette. In a pinch you can also use your honey-laden fingers to make other things sticky too! Hmmmm….

A spicy tuna sushi roll. 

I love me some spicy tuna.  I would give spicy sex for yummy spicy tuna. 

I think if tastebuds could have orgasms, mine would after consuming spicty tuna rolls.

I want a nice, big slab of medium-rare prime rib from Lawry’s in Beverly Hills, with sizzling mushrooms, Yorkshire pudding and a baked potato with all the trimmings.

A nice bottle of cabernet and some cheesecake for dessert wouldn’t go amiss either.

Oooh, that’s a tough one.

I’d gladly drop trou for a piece of Lemon Cream Cake from The Olive Garden. Light and fluffy it is neither too sweet, sour or creamy.

The tartness of the lemon is expertly balanced by the creaminess of the cream cheese and the sweetness of the icing sugar. It is the perfect cake year round either served with coffee or lemonade.

What other restaurant made cake has over 109,000 Google search results linking you to people trying to find the perfect home-made recipe to mimic what the restaurant so perfect makes?

Yes, for Olive Garden Lemon Cream Cake I would sex up the delivery person.

I’d settle for a package of Oreos and a tall glass of milk…mmm.

ill41—yes I’d be ill after eating 41 oreos…

Truffle Tremor, a French goat cheese.

NOM NOM NOM

Yeah, DeeCee, my husband’s family is Norwegian and the older generation could drink.  My mother-in-law tells me that the aunts & uncles used to gather and she’d bring her mother but wasn’t allowed to stay cause—“we’ll just be drinking and talking Norwegian, Jeanne, so you can come get me in about 6 hours”.  Ma was always pretty well lit when Jeanne came to pick her up.  Evidently the children (my motherinlaw) speculated that there wasn’t a whole lot to do in the winter in Norway so they drank a LOT to forget the cold and dark.  Frozen bottles of aquavik seemed to figure into this tale somewhere.  Like drinking fire and ice at the same time, she told me.  She got one for the road and then was sent out the door.  Sounds great.  Hey, after a few of those she might have even eaten Lutefisk (delicious but she hated fish) and learned Norwegian but they sent her off.

Hmmm, this is a toughie. But if someone could fly over to Paris, and bring me back a waffle from the Musee d’Orsay’s restaurant, I’d jump them. A delicious waffle that’s crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, with little crunchy bits of cinnamon and brown sugar on it, french vanilla ice cream, with a thick, warm chocolate sauce all over the entire thing. Oh, I’m drooling just thinking about it.

Key lime pie…not the cheap imitation, but the real thing.  Mmm…

Definitely an Italian Grinder from Delia’s in Riverside, CA.  It is truly the only thing I miss from California, well that and In-n-Out burgers, (I don’t even miss my family as much as I miss these foods).  It has been four years since I have had one, and I can still taste it.  They are made with the most perfect bread that is crunchy and flaky on the outside, yet soft and fluffy on the inside and they pile them high with provolone cheese, meat (Genoa salami is my favorite), shredded lettuce, tomato, salt, pepper and just enough oil to keep it moist.  Nothing compares to these sandwichies.  I keep trying to find something comparable here in Oregon, but no luck.  I would definitely drop all of my inhibitions for whoever brought me one of those.

I’d do anything for a chocolate mousse. It’s soo incredibly hard to find a well-made one or to make one yourself.  I love the mix of the dessert between the airy and the substance, the sweet and the bitter. It’s very hard finding chocolate mousse on a dessert menu and usually, if you do, they tend to suck.

My husband is a chef, and I think I may have fallen in love with him for the pasta he made the first time he ever cooked for me - not only was it the most intense FLAVOUR EXPLOSION of fresh herbs from my garden, but he had no fear of using olive oil and butter because it tastes better that way, and I think that is a brilliant food philosophy (within reason, of course).

However, if someone showed up right now with a tub of pistachio gelato, that would be a whole different story.

If my husband were to bring in baked potato right now… with cheese and brisket (no bbq sauce) and sour cream… my co-workers would want to know what was going on in office!

(Sorry… not sexy… but due to diet reasons… I haven’t had a baked potato in over six months!)

Oh man, I might be willing to break a few laws for a good watermelon right now. I’m in the throes of pregnancy cravings. It’s all I can think about it. In fact I might have to call hubby and have him pick one up on the way home. Yes, I will richly reward him. Especially if he picks a good one. Hehe!

I would have to say, whoever brought me Belgian waffles, fresh-made, with whipped cream and blue berries and hot REAL maple syrup on top.

And, since I’m super Catholic, there would have to a wedding ring someone in that whole delicious mess, sorry. :)

*someone = someWHERE.

Evidently the children (my motherinlaw) speculated that there wasn’t a whole lot to do in the winter in Norway so they drank a LOT to forget the cold and dark.  Frozen bottles of aquavik seemed to figure into this tale somewhere.  Like drinking fire and ice at the same time, she told me.  She got one for the road and then was sent out the door.  Sounds great.  Hey, after a few of those she might have even eaten Lutefisk (delicious but she hated fish) and learned Norwegian but they sent her off.

I’m sorry, Joykenn, but as a norwegian living in Norway, I feel that for the health and safety of the people of SB, I have to set one thing straight.

Long, cold dark winters where the only comforts are aquavit or other alcohols - definitely.

Lutefisk, on the other hand, is an abomination of the worst sorts, and should not be eaten under any circumstances. Not even aquavit contains enough alcohol for lutefisk to be edible. The word means, literally, lye fish, which scarily enough is exactly what it is: one takes dried (!) cod and leaves it in lye for quite some time, until it has become a bluish and quite transparent jelly. The so-called food is then soaked in water before it is cooked. I just don’t get why people still wants to eat such a disgusting dish now that air-drying is in fact not the only way of preserving fish. Fresh cod is oh-so-much better - it actually tastes good, as opposed to vile.

Ahem. Thus ends the slightly passionate post from someone who has been served lutefisk in more-than-one too many christmas dinners.

Lyvvie, tell me if that works out for you!!! I’ve never deep fried anything at home, but those babies might be worth splurging on a Fry Daddy. *g*

Everyone’s making me hungry.

Oh, and for those of you craving European treats in the US, it might be worth a trip to Cost Plus World Market. They have lots of surprising goodies. Maybe even Millionaire’s Shortbread! (Which makes me think of Twix. Mmmm.)

I want one a big ass burrito from a hole-in-the-wall place in the San Francisco Bay Area. You’d get in line and it was like Subway for burritos. You’d tell the little hispanic lady behind the counter what you wanted in your burrito

Kristen, are you talking about the place in Mountain View?  If so, I’ve been there & I agree with you that the burritos are great.  I’m not normally a burrito lover, but I’ll eat those any time.

hanne, I can’t tell you how many times I heard my grandmother disparage her first husband and his lutefisk-eating family. Never mind that she was half Norwegian herself and surrounded by nothing but Norwegians in the wilds of Minnesota.

Now some fresh lefske slathered with butter and dusted with sugar? That was ALWAYS allowed in the house.

Oops! I meant lefse, of course.

Duck confit with “pommes à la sarladaise”: sauteed potatoes in duck grease, with garlic and the right amount of salt, served with salad and a nice vinaigrette…. Just typing this has me drooling…

And the bringer covered from head to toe in hot chocolate sauce for dessert.

White chocolate, quality white chocolate will get you some every time!

Chicken, fried by my grandma, who’s been gone for 10 years.  I dream about it and can taste it right now, a warm, peppery chicken leg wrapped in a slice of white bread.

dark chocolate.. but not just any dark chocolates.. only the best.. belgian dark chocolates that money could buy…

There are two things that come to mind (I love food. . .). The first is a steamed bun filled with adzuki paste, like the kind you can get in any Circle K in Japan. I think you can probably buy them in the states, but it would never be the same. The second is a vegetarian appetizer sampler from a Moroccan restaurant in Chicago where I had the single best meal of my entire life. I still want to cry just thinking about it.

Ferrero Rocher’s chocolate and hazelnut covered wafers, with a creamy, chocolaty filling surrounding a whole, hard, roasted hazelnut.  *gasp/sigh

OMG.  I call these Orgasm Balls myself.  They are on my Christmas list every year, and this past Christmas my mother finally tried one to see what all the yelling was about on my part.  She agrees with the name.

I would do just about any bringer to the best of my ability and that is allowed by law for a 48-count box of these……

At the risk of sounding like the culinary equivalent of an easy lay, my ultimate sex-worthy treat would be summer raspberries with honey-whipped mascarpone cream. I have an incredible weakness for the little red berries, which could probably inspire a grateful sex act or two on their own, but for a truly steamy encounter the delivery man had better bring the mascarpone cream. I’m incredibly lucky not one of my guy friends has made the connection between my obsession with this dessert and the potential for some bedroom (office, kitchen, bathroom-take your pick) olympics. Otherwise I’m pretty sure I would be in a rather compromising position (or 5) for the better part of the summer. Thankfully raspberry season is short so the danger is ever so fleeting…if not Confession could get really interesting.

This is really difficult, because my darling daughter (home for a brief visit) has given me an intestinal virus.  Nothing’s staying down, so nothing really sounds very good.

I have to agree on lutefisk. Vile stuff—my former father-in-law loved it, but the smell made me almost as ill as I am right now, particularly when I was pregnant.

Lots of the other stuff people have mentioned would normally sound good to me, although good enough to have sex with WHOEVER brought it?  I dunno; I’m pickier about my partners than I am about my food.

Chinese BBQ duck.

But not from just anywhere.  For maximum erotic benefit to the giver, it would have to come from one of two places: either Lucky Deli, in the heart of Los Angeles’ Chinatown, or from a modest BBQ and noodle place, Kam Gok Yuen, in Victoria, B.C.

In both places, the duck has been roasted until the crackling skin is a deep, port-wine red with touches of black at the wingtips and drumstick ends. And the meat is as dark as mortal sin and as softly rich as velvet.  The flavor is incomparable—a blend of sweet, salty, and smoky, with notes of citrus and star anise. Even the layer of translucent fat between skin and meat is silky and seductive, though I usually scrape away all but a trace of it on general—if regretful—principle.

Pair the duck with wildly curling egg noodles in a bowl of savory broth redolent of fresh scallions or with crispy rice chips lighter than air. Or both—I’m not fussy about side dishes, however persnickety I am about duck!

Now some fresh lefse slathered with butter and dusted with sugar? That was ALWAYS allowed in the house.

Lefse is the goodness! I like it with a sprinkle of cinnamon in addition with the sugar. Mmm. Craving lefse too, now.

Pat & Oscar’s breadsticks followed by California Pizza Kitchen’s tiramisu.

The breadsticks are coated in chunks of garlic and perfectly fashioned for rubbing over mantitty, which means lots of fun licking yummy garlic and salt off chesticles and abs and….

The tiramisu is creamy and dark and just a little bit sweet with the tiniest shavings of dark chocolate scattered over the top. It’s the perfect consistency for some serious licking and licking and maybe a little sucking and mmm mmmm nom nom mmmmmm.

Mmmmm, it would have to be an $18 mango pudding from the Fook Lam Moon restaurant in Tokyo. It’s amazing, with a consistency between gelatin and pudding, made from pure mango puree with tiny slivers of ripe mango…something so hard to find in the US. Would definitely jump anyone who could bring me one from across the world or maybe make one just as good.

Now I’m going to have to continue experimenting to make my own…

Sweet, succulent, decadent Alaskan king crab legs.  To get that particular meat in my mouth, I will make a complete fool of myself.  Anywhere, at any time. 

I will free my inner klutz to tackle the shell with any tool or utensil that’s handy—pliers, nutcracker, hammer, fondue fork.  Doesn’t matter as long as it works.  Hell, it doesn’t even matter if I send shell shrapnel at my fellow diners’ eyes! 

Then I will free my inner slob to dip-dip-dip in drawn butter and lemon juice whatever slivers of crab flesh I’ve managed to extract, and I will let that drawn butter and lemon juice drip-drip-drip down my chin.

After all that, the bringer of said Alaskan king crab legs has no interest whatsoever in sexxoring.  Small wonder.  Not only am I a mess, and not only is my place at the table a mess, but I don’t NEED sexxoring.  Because I already got me some of the best via that oozy-juicy dead but delectable crustacean!

Was in Seattle a few weeks ago and had a creme brulee with chocolate mousse- it was the perfect custard, smooth and sweet without being over powering topped with a chocolate mousse that was rich and yummy and that had a burnt sugar crust that was thick and actually burnt not just melted.  Add a glass of good red wine and I could get naughty.  On the other hand all that richness and wine and I would probably just go to sleep after eating.

Zeppoles.  Please.  Drizzled with a light honey.  Slightly crispy and golden brown on the outside but oh so soft and fluffy and sweet on the inside.  You bite into it and the honey gets all over your lips but your teeth sink into that sweet dough.  Mmmmm.  They are so deliciously bad for you.

I’m not sure if I would sex up someone after making those for me though.  I made them once and I was too tired to eat afterward.  Not to mention covered in oil and flour.  Well maybe oily floury sex might be fun.  Oh but the clean up… ew…. flour in the cracks!  EEEEEEE!

Baked rice pudding which was a cross between custard, creme brule and rice pudding from a resturant whose name now escapes me on the Istiklal (street name) in Istambul.  The window had a tower of baklava type rolls dripping with honey.  We found this place on my honeymoon.  And yes, my honey got lucky that night - once we had walked off the baked rice pudding.  Agree though regardless of the dish that is brought, the bringer needs also to be worthy of jumping.  Or at least showered.

This is sort of a not-fair question, if only because as a person with a ubiquitous (an ubiquitous?) food allergy, who discovered her allergy by having an anaphylactic reaction which totally sucked the big hairies and gave her a foretaste of what it would feel like to die slowly by suffocation, I have come to the realization that there is no food on this earth that tastes good enough that I a) haven’t learned to make it for myself, sans my particular allergen, or b) would risk illness for, which is the only other option (since if I can’t make it for myself by now, I obviously don’t want to eat it all that badly.) I also love to cook, which is very fortunate, but also means that there’s not even anything that I would prefer someone else to make for me and bring unto my person as if I were royalty (because I love my own cooking best of all—I control the salt and seasonings.)

However, if anyone could figure out how to get a good smokey flavor in a barbeque sauce without soy or Worchestershire Sauce which contains soy, I might be tempted to at least lick a sample off their persons. I won’t say it would be a full on sexxoring, or even a mildly NC-17 outing, but there would be licking involved. :-)

The last time I went to visit family in Vancouver, I tried to get to this chocolate shop that I had loved when I lived there, but it wasn’t there anymore and I couldn’t find another store of the same. So if someone were to bring me a selection of delicious white chocolate raspberry ganache hearts (that melt slowly on your tongue - first the smooth, creamy white chocolate melts into the tangy raspberry ganache that slowly disappears in an orgy of taste) and chai truffles (bittersweet chocolate mixed with the subtle spices of cinnamon, clove, ginger and pepper), I would have sex with them. Sex and chocolate, mmm.

I thought of something!  It still wouldn’t work right now, with the stomach flu, but it would under more normal circumstances.

A couple of years ago, my DP and I spent Thanksgiving in Morro Bay, on the Central California coast.  Just the two of us, which was a first (being a big family holiday usually).  We had dinner at Dorn’s, and we decided that fresh seafood for Thanksgiving would be great.  He ordered seared ahi in a sesame-ginger sauce, and when he fed me a bite, it was SOOO good that—well, let’s just say that I was a LOT quieter than Meg Ryan in that famous scene from When Harry Met Sally, but I wasn’t faking it.  Wow.

Needless to say, we have tried to recreate that experience a number of times—I’ve lost count of the restaurants where we have ordered seared ahi.  Some of it has been very good, but never, um, climactic.  We even went back to Dorn’s; the ahi was delicious, but the effect was not the same.

If someone brought me seared ahi that was as good as that first time, I would definitely reward them in the manner stipulated for this contest.  (And now I am wracking my brain for which romance novel I’ve read in the past year or so in which the just-deflowered heroine wonders if it can ever be as good as the first time, and the hero assures her that it CAN be as good, or EVEN BETTER.  Ah the conventions of the genre, gotta love ‘em.)

Right now I’m seriously jonesing for the crab cake fro Oceana in New Orleans. It’s the best thing in the world. Man I need to get my butt back to NOLA soon!!!

Pomegranates. Partly because they’re so flipping hard to find here, but mostly because they’re as delicious as they are beautiful and because I still like to play with my food.

Right about now, I’m all about the sushi.  I’m not particular as to what type of sushi,  but if it involves raw fish wrapped in ice and seaweed, I will lick every bit off your naked body before, during, and after the mad hot sexx0ring that would only be a suitable reward.

Supreme bonus points if it’s followed by moist triple chocolate cake.  Then you’re not getting out of that bed for a week.

I lived in the Eifel region of Germany for 4 years and there are a few things that I miss so very much, haven’t had since we left, and can’t reproduce properly.

One is the almond cookies from this bakery in Speicher.  They are about 1/2 inch thick and cut in the shape of a triangle.  The triangle is then dipped into dark chocolate at each corner.  They are soft cookies and they are the very best, most delicious cookies EVER!  It’s all dark chocolate and almond yummmmmm.  Just thinking of them makes my mouth water.  Even in Germany, I never saw these cookies in any other bakery, so they must be from the owner’s secret recipe.

The other is a German wine/beer fest favorite:  Schwank.  It’s a piece of pork tenderloin that’s been marinated in something.  (Haven’t a clue what but I believe that paprika and onion are involved.)  It’s then cooked on an iron grate over a wood fire (at least that’s how they sell it at the Wittlich Pig Fest) and served on a hard roll.  The juices soak into the bread, softening it and it’s perfect!  And oh my gawd, the wonderful, mouth-watering, stomach-growling aroma of it as you get close to the fest!  It was always the most expensive food item at the fair and I got one every year because it was so very worth it.

Whomever shows up with either of those things would get a major sexoring!

Something (not ice cream) with warm Dolce de Leche.

My secure word is position87—is that one from the Kama Sutra I need to adopt in order to be treated with Dolce de Leche?

I don’t really have a sweet tooth even though I love food of all sorts.  So for me, it’s spicy food that, if it’s good enough to make me cry, I’d bounce on the person bringing it.  For that, one thing I love is a *really good* Szechuan slow cooked beef dish that is super tender beef that has been slow cooked with szechuan oil and seven different kinds of szechuan chili along with garlic and other spices.  Served over jasmine rice, it’s enough to make me cry.  Even better, it’s not habanero pepper hot, it’s a lot more subtle and flavorful than that, but spicy enough to get me sweating which means I’m likely to want to strip—a perfect prelude to the bounce!