The way to a man’s heart is most assuredly through his stomach and let no one steer you wrong about this. Our grandmothers knew what they were talking about when they passed on this failsafe gem. All you need is a game plan. Here was mine:
Go existentially broke. Learn how to meal plan, shop for groceries, and cook out of the sheer necessity of abject poverty. Get a DVR. Record the Food Network religiously. Get a good job. Live near Whole Foods. Practice, practice, practice.
Meet the man of your dreams accidentally on the street (a true story for another post).
Frequent weekend guerrilla cooking sessions at your boyfriend’s house to roll out what you’ve learned.
Bask in the glow as your boyfriend gloats to all of his friends while you thank God for dishwashers.
The minute you can pull Austrian beef goulash, homemade spaetzle, cucumber and onion salad, and a warm cinnamon-chive apple compote laid under nutmeg sprinkled vanilla ice cream out of the air on a Saturday afternoon (my oeuvre capitale of last weekend), buddy just go register the china pattern, cause he’s all yours.