I have a good friend. Let's call him Moses.
Moses is African. I will not specify which country he is from to negate any stereotypes. Moses is smart as a whip, funny, kind and one of the best cooks I know.
I have often found myself driving by his place and checking to see if he has any leftovers he is willing to share. Whether its the traditional food from his country or a succulent roast, Moses takes pride in the food he produces. Unlike many African men who cook, he doesn't just do it to survive.
He is also a wonderful restaurant companion. He will try any restaurant, any form of food and drink (My love for Argentinian Malbecs came from him). He often sends me emails reviews of new restaurants opening up in our area.
"Tell your next date to take you here. It's great!" read one of his most recent emails.
He is the ultimate host and you will often find his apartment with people over for a drink or two. And that was the case last night when I found myself there for a post-work beer. Being the Moses that he is, he decided to quickly "whip up" a pasta with white sauce for everyone.
Seeing that I have the blog, I was sent by everyone else to inspect his work. Also, I was hungry and wanted to taste and nibble as he cooked. I walked to the kitchen
He did not notice me come into the kitchen so I was able to observe him quietly. He was humming a tune under his breath as he chopped green peppers and onions. The oil in the pan was heating up on the stove. The energy was upbeat calm. He was in his own world, content with his own thoughts.
As he transported the ingredients to the pan, he turned and did this "hop-skip" dance move that would have made James Brown proud. It was unexpected and hilarious. My stiffled laugh caught his attention and I came into the kitchen ready to tease him.
I spent the rest of my time in the kitchen helping here and there but mostly leaving him to his devices. As a woman, when I in the kitchen with a man, I often feel that I should "take over" or at least, offer my services. But with Moses, I languidley splayed myself on his countertop, tasting and giving comments on flavors and spices here and there. We mostly talked about life and goals.
The conversation, invariably turned to the fact that he was such a great cook. For some African men, it is uncommon to even see them step into the kitchen. But for them to cook, and be THIS good was something in itself.
He modestly brushed off my compliment and said, "You better enjoy it now. Because once I find my Mrs. [Moses], you will not find me in this kitchen working so hard."
What?! There were so many things wrong with his statement that I just started wherever my mind could land.
"Wait, you're going to get married?"
What followed was a longish conversation about marriage, food, women, work, expectations, and Africa. He let me talk about it on the blog. Here are some paraphrased snippets:
Me: Why would you stop cooking?
Mosese: Real African men don't cook when their wives can. (this was said with no equivocation. This was a fact to him)
Me: Who taught you this nonsense?
Moses: The whole of Africa
Me: But you love to cook? This is not just about survival. You get a kick out of it!
Moses: I do. But I think I will love my wife cooking for me more.
Me: What about entertaining? A big part of your pleasure with cooking is to share with your freinds and family.
Moses: And I will be just as proud and happy when my wife does it.
Me: What if she can't cook?
Moses: That's unlikely.
Me: Why?
Moses: I would never marry a women who doesn't cook better than me.
Me (throwing my hands up in exasperation): Wait! You don't just want a woman that can cook but she has to cook better than you?
Moses: Yes, why would I want to be with someone who is a worse cook or at a similar to me?
Me: But Moses! You cook really well!
Moses: I know.
Me: Like extrememly well. Like you should be a chef. Your palette is impecablle
Moses: I know.
Me: And you like to cooks things like tuna tartare and ceviche. Not just the usual [African] fare.
Moses: I know.
[Pause]
[I pointed at the other room, where a group of our friends were all seated. Four of them are women.]
Me: So basically you're saying you wouldn't marry any of our buddies in there?
Moses: Nope
Me: Nor me?
Moses: No, sorry Adhis. You're cute and you have the blog and all. but No.
[Pause]
Me: Here's to finding a finding a unicorn.
I raised my beer and toasted him.
Moses is African. I will not specify which country he is from to negate any stereotypes. Moses is smart as a whip, funny, kind and one of the best cooks I know.
I have often found myself driving by his place and checking to see if he has any leftovers he is willing to share. Whether its the traditional food from his country or a succulent roast, Moses takes pride in the food he produces. Unlike many African men who cook, he doesn't just do it to survive.
He is also a wonderful restaurant companion. He will try any restaurant, any form of food and drink (My love for Argentinian Malbecs came from him). He often sends me emails reviews of new restaurants opening up in our area.
"Tell your next date to take you here. It's great!" read one of his most recent emails.
He is the ultimate host and you will often find his apartment with people over for a drink or two. And that was the case last night when I found myself there for a post-work beer. Being the Moses that he is, he decided to quickly "whip up" a pasta with white sauce for everyone.
Seeing that I have the blog, I was sent by everyone else to inspect his work. Also, I was hungry and wanted to taste and nibble as he cooked. I walked to the kitchen
He did not notice me come into the kitchen so I was able to observe him quietly. He was humming a tune under his breath as he chopped green peppers and onions. The oil in the pan was heating up on the stove. The energy was upbeat calm. He was in his own world, content with his own thoughts.
As he transported the ingredients to the pan, he turned and did this "hop-skip" dance move that would have made James Brown proud. It was unexpected and hilarious. My stiffled laugh caught his attention and I came into the kitchen ready to tease him.
I spent the rest of my time in the kitchen helping here and there but mostly leaving him to his devices. As a woman, when I in the kitchen with a man, I often feel that I should "take over" or at least, offer my services. But with Moses, I languidley splayed myself on his countertop, tasting and giving comments on flavors and spices here and there. We mostly talked about life and goals.
The conversation, invariably turned to the fact that he was such a great cook. For some African men, it is uncommon to even see them step into the kitchen. But for them to cook, and be THIS good was something in itself.
He modestly brushed off my compliment and said, "You better enjoy it now. Because once I find my Mrs. [Moses], you will not find me in this kitchen working so hard."
What?! There were so many things wrong with his statement that I just started wherever my mind could land.
"Wait, you're going to get married?"
***
What followed was a longish conversation about marriage, food, women, work, expectations, and Africa. He let me talk about it on the blog. Here are some paraphrased snippets:
Me: Why would you stop cooking?
Mosese: Real African men don't cook when their wives can. (this was said with no equivocation. This was a fact to him)
Me: Who taught you this nonsense?
Moses: The whole of Africa
****
Me: But you love to cook? This is not just about survival. You get a kick out of it!
Moses: I do. But I think I will love my wife cooking for me more.
Me: What about entertaining? A big part of your pleasure with cooking is to share with your freinds and family.
Moses: And I will be just as proud and happy when my wife does it.
***
Me: What if she can't cook?
Moses: That's unlikely.
Me: Why?
Moses: I would never marry a women who doesn't cook better than me.
Me (throwing my hands up in exasperation): Wait! You don't just want a woman that can cook but she has to cook better than you?
Moses: Yes, why would I want to be with someone who is a worse cook or at a similar to me?
Me: But Moses! You cook really well!
Moses: I know.
Me: Like extrememly well. Like you should be a chef. Your palette is impecablle
Moses: I know.
Me: And you like to cooks things like tuna tartare and ceviche. Not just the usual [African] fare.
Moses: I know.
[Pause]
[I pointed at the other room, where a group of our friends were all seated. Four of them are women.]
Me: So basically you're saying you wouldn't marry any of our buddies in there?
Moses: Nope
Me: Nor me?
Moses: No, sorry Adhis. You're cute and you have the blog and all. but No.
[Pause]
Me: Here's to finding a finding a unicorn.
I raised my beer and toasted him.