How I Used Food to Get Married

Some foods are naturally linked to romance. Some are even reported to be powerful aphrodisiacs. For me, cooking and food has always been a way to open social doors and get dates. It even played an important role in helping me get married.

In my last post on food and dating, I mentioned how I used a particular marinara recipe as a way to entertain dates. Italian food is wonderful but, if I was going to turn My Future Wife (MFW) into my bride, I was going to have to up the ante. I resorted to one of the most powerful cuisine's I know - Chinese.

After dating MFW for a couple of years, we were both wondering where the relationship was going. What were we doing? We were both single, out of high school, and were expected to start making something of our lives. I had already served in the military and, although the opportunity for serving a mission for the LDS Church had been offered me, I wasn't jumping through hoops to sign up. I was too busy courting a lovely young blonde. Getting her to drop all semblance of common sense and marry me seemed to be the only way to make sure she tayed around.

So, I made my plans.

'Making plans' is really pretty deceptive. It makes it seem like I had taken several hours to come up with things, all down the last letter. Nothing could be further from the truth. How quickly this came into my head, and how quickly I executed it, would make your head spin. It had certainly made mine spin. I pretty much decided I wanted to marry her, and asked her as much, on the same date.

I had taken her to a local Chinese restaurant, the 'Canton Village.' (Sadly, it's no longer in business.) It was on the way to that restaurant that the decision to ask, and the plan itself, came nearly fully formed into my head. No, this wasn't a spiritual impulse from on high. I blame it on my infatuation with her and my natural impulsiveness. I've lost a lot of that impulsiveness over the intervening years. Some days I wish I had it back.

Right after being seated and placing our orders, I started into my act. I patted my pockets and said, "Oh, no. I forgot my wallet. Wait here while I go get it, okay?"

She gave me a look of concern but, as I'd never dumped her with the check before, she was probably safe to let me leave for a moment.

Instead of leaving right away, I stopped and spoke with the manager. I scribbled a quick note on a small piece of paper and tasked him with part of my quickly formulated, but super secret plan. MFW naturally assumed I was explaining the whole "forgot my wallet" thing to the manager and had no idea the real deviousness of my intent.

I left the restaurant and drove down the street about four blocks to 'The Flower Patch,' a flower shop I had used in the past. I ordered a dozen violet roses in a vase. (I was young. I didn't want to do traditional white roses. I wanted to be different.) They didn't have any long-stemmed ones, so short-stemmed would have to do. I was on a schedule.

Driving back to the restaurant, I secreted away the roses on the floor of the car, on the passenger's side. I knew they'd be the first thing she'd see when we got back to the car.

As I walked back into Canton Village, the manager greeted me with a conspiratorial smile, told me the preparations were in place, and I went back to dinner with MFW.

It was a very nice dinner. I love Chinese food. We had egg rolls and I think I ordered Mu Goo Gai Pan. It was all I could do to makes small talk without revealing myself. The food helped keep me occupied, thank goodness.

When the time came around for the bill, and the fortune cookies, they brought the cookies out on two separate plates - one for each of us. I don't remember what mine said, but MFW will always remember that hers read, in my horrible pencil scratch, "Will you marry me?"

MFW's eyes lit up. She gave me a broad smile, took my hand from across the table, and said, "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you!"

Then it was my turn to smile.

As I went to pay for the meal, the manager, and the rest of the staff, we're all huddled around, looking eagerly at me. "Well? What did she say?" my co-conspirators asked. I was glad to report the mission had been a success, and they seemed glad. I suspect it's not often that they got to help a guy propose.

Back out at the car, MFW found the roses, and hugged them all the way home.

How I Used Food to Get a Date

Some people say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I think the same can be said for a woman’s heart. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like cooking a good meal.

In my last post, on how I became a Mormon Foodie, I mentioned a recipe book that the local Relief Society had published. There was a recipe in there for a killer marinara sauce that I used to make for the girls I was dating, including the one I married.

With her, I went all out.

I was twenty-two and had come back from military service about a year or so prior. In order to pay my way, I had become was a licensed EMT, working at a nursing home, and was getting ready to go to college. At the time I was also living with my parents, paying them “rent” money. As long as I was going to school they were fine with me living there and helping out. Who was I to argue about such a sweet arrangement?

My Future Wife (MFW) and I had met on a blind date set up by her brother, and had been dating for a while. One day, I called her up asked if she’d like to go to my favorite Italian restaurant, and then to a movie. Her common sense having somehow left her, she agreed to go out with me.

When the time came, I drove to her house to pick her up. She was her typical vision of loveliness – blonde hair, green eyes. She was to 'sigh for' in a nice blouse and pair of slacks. I’d told MFW we were going someplace special.

After seating her in my car, an old grey Chevette hatchback that I thought was much cooler than it really was, and took her back to my house. I had arranged for my folks to be out of the house and we had the place to ourselves.

Taking her into the house, I revealed the ‘restaurant.’ I had set up a card table in the living room, complete with candles and a checkered table cloth. I set it with the best china my parent’s had. MFW gave me a look somewhere between, “This is interesting.” and, “What have I gotten myself into?”

After seating her, and making small talk, I told her I needed to go check on the waiter. I scurried away, took off my sport coat, donned an apron, a false mustache, and grabbed the menus I’d created for the evening. Heading back I acted like the typical Italian American stereotype, speaking in a really bad Italian accent and waving my hands like a madman. I offered her the menu, and asked where her boyfriend had run off too. She gave me ‘the look’ again, but played along.

The menu only included the things I had prepared for the meal, or course. Spaghetti with marinara sauce, green salad with her choice of dressing, and some kind of sherbet based dessert. That’s all I’d done so she’d have to take it or leave it. I even wrote that in the menu.

After pouring some water, the ‘waiter’ went back to the kitchen and ‘I’ reemerged. We chatted a bit about the ‘waiter,’ and, after she’d made her selection (given the range of her choices this didn’t take very long), I went off again to ‘find the delinquent waiter.’

This went on a few more times, with the ‘waiter’ complaining to her about how her boyfriend was a louse for leaving her alone in such a crowded restaurant, and ‘me’ wondering why the service was so slow.

The meal was a hit! It turned out very well and MFW complimented me at all the right times. After cleaning things up a bit (I didn’t want to leave a mess for my folks to clean up), we took off for the movies.

We both had a great time but, to be honest, I don’t remember what movie we went to see.

How I Became a Mormon Foodie

The story of my transformation from a mild mannered Mormon kid, into a raving food maniac, is a long and sordid one. I like to blame it on my mom, because she's such a good cook. Truth be told, she just sowed the seeds of my ... well, not really destruction but, you get the idea.

The Mormon part of the equation is pretty simple. Or rather it's complex. No, wait. It's simple. No . . . never mind. I was born into the LDS Church. I grew up in what used to be a suburb of Salt Lake City, and lived a pretty mundane life. Years later, as all rational thinking people do, I began questioning my actions and beliefs. I tried out various philosophies and religions ranging from Zen Buddhism to Scientology. In the end, I came back to my LDS roots. Even though I was born in the LDS Church, I still feel like there was a time in my mid-twenties when I was actually "converted."

So much for the 'Mormon' part of being a Mormon Foodie.

The Foodie part is a little stranger. I think it started with food as a source of comfort. It's very easy for parents to try and "fix" their children's problems by offering them a treat. As an adult I've begun to realize that it's more like a bribe. "Please quit screaming and I'll give you a cookie." For me it wasn't cookies, it was cold cereal.

"It's time for bed, John." my mother would say.

"But I'm hungry!" I would whine.

Rinse and repeat.

After a while, my Mom got tired of it, I'm sure, and just gave in.

"Fine. Pour yourself a bowl of cereal and then go to bed."

So, I grew up doing one of the things they tell you never to do (and to this day I still do way too often): eating just before bedtime.

Later, in fourth of fifth grade I think, I had another dose of food love. Through a school book program, I bought my first cookbook: "A Peanut's Cookbook." I loved the comic strip, so how could I pass this up? There were actually some pretty cool recipes in there (I still love the simplicity of 'Red Baron Rootbeer'), and I got a little weird about them. There was even a recipe for dog food (which my mother never let me make).

There was one recipe I remember called 'Sally's Scrambled Eggs." One day I got a little weird. I was too young for my mom to feel comfortable with me at the stove. I egged her on (pun intended) to make me eggs according to this recipe, and none other. She warned me they were going to be too salty (she was right), but the texture was light and fluffy. I'd never had scrambled eggs like that before.

Score one for cookbooks.

The Relief Society had something to do with me being a Foodie, too. Many ward Relief Societies are obsessed with doing various home craft projects from time to time, including, but not limited to, making cookbooks. Growing up, my home ward was no exception. At some point in my early teens, they combed the ladies in the ward and compiled a book of favorite recipes. I remember going through it and finding all kinds of weird dishes I'd never heard of. I'd seen them on TV and in magazines, but I'd never actually eaten them. My father's tastes in food stretched only so far, and so our typical family fair was, well ... pretty meat and potatoes based, with limited seasoning. Anything beyond salt and pepper was suspect.

For some unknown reason, I decided I was going to learn to cook. I already knew how to make toast and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, so I was good to go. How hard could it be? So I decided to start trying some of the recipes. Much to my parent's chagrin, I decided to make a cheese soufflé.

Okay, that probably wasn't the best choice, but it turned out alright. I thought it tasted good. It was light and fluffy, and vaguely cheesy. My parents ate it without making sour faces, so that was a good sign.

One odd thing I remember about it, though, was that my Parent's weren't at home at the time. Maybe I was trying to avoid them subconsciously, I don't know. My Dad was at work, and I don't remember where my Mom was. What I do remember, though, was calling my neighbor, Mrs. Sloane. I didn't know how to separate egg yolks from egg whites, and the recipe said I needed to. She thought I'd gone mad, but she was nice enough to come over and show me how.

Later on I used that same cookbook to get dates, or rather to entertain them. There was a recipe for a slow-cooked marinara sauce that I still think is the best I've ever had. On more than one occasion I cooked this up for the girls I was courting, including the one who became my wife.

But, you'll have to wait until later for rest of the story.