Pinot Noir, amuse-gueules and violin - The Way of the Farmer

These images that the woman saw in her mind’s eye that evening only fueled her growing curiosity about the man who had suddenly and unexpectedly strolled into her life. Who had by now, began to cook alongside the proprietor. Who had even insisted that he stay and do a tandem for old time’s sake. The man had flashed a

“What do you say?”

That evening the newly reborn woman who sat on the only bar stool in the kitchen of one the trendiest French Fusion Cuisine restaurant in Old Crompton street where the most discerning diners and celebrity chefs were only separated by five millimeters of tempered glass was game for anything and everything – she flashed the man a look that simply said,

“I would love nothing better than to sit here and just watch you cook.”

In the newly reborn woman mind’s eye as she traced the form of man as he began medallioning baby carrots, spooning caviar along with whipping sauces, she said to herself,

“This one is smooth as silk. He even knows it…this is his personalised version of foreplay…..This one starts the evening by fucking a woman’s taste buds. Very interesting! I can tell, he has done this to other women before. Fed them in the same teasing way, he lovingly feeds me. I know. His give is he thinks he’s got it down to a science. Never feds me too much…just enough to open and shut the doors of delight like a camera shutter…and leave a haunting memory for more – when I ask for more…he holds back. I can see the cruelty and relish in his eyes. Then another delight that surpasses that other delight. And again, like a delight after delight, surprise after surprise. I saw it all…..the man who fucked the shit out of my taste buds – it will never be the same again – as far as purveyors of the perfect imitation of love goes, this one has to be the Prince of Prince’s, I reckon – this one has to be very close to a perfect ten…….. Not like the others….I bet he even fucks well, so well that he even comes with a built in speed and vibration setting…he thinks I don’t see right through him…he’s too confident…then again, he has cause to be. He moves well.  He knows exactly what’s he’s doing – even the rest of the chef’s can see that they can learn a thing or two from this man, that’s how he throws his weight around…that’s how good the mythical lover has to be…I will just watch…listen…eat…sip….observe…I must find out more about this man…I must…I realize now, he just didn’t appear from nowhere…he is here for a purpose…nothing is accidental about this man…I’ve seen the way he moves…the way he arranges his materials before he works…the swiftness of his hands….the way he winnows the good from bad…the way he narrows his eyes at the younger chefs …he wants it done exactly his way and he’s even prepared to be rough and brusque about it…the manner in which he proceeds, pauses and speeds up……such a man doesn’t ever make a mistake…but he will soon…as he’s too cocky….if I give him enough rope….he will trip up….and then I will see it!”

When the man cooked for the diners, he choose only the menu’s that made it possible for him to serve up delightful bite sized amuse-gueules to the newly reborn woman. The culinary art – where a little goes a long way – from time to time, the man would lean across the stainless steel table and watch the woman as she took in his creations, studying her expression in the way a lover delights in satisfying a lover – creations that he had fashioned with tender loving care that made endless and passionate love to her taste buds, suffusing them with endless streams of perpetual orgasm of the gastronomical order of Nirvana. At other times, when the crowd either settled or thinned out, they would sit and talk over Pinot or something or rather. In didn’t really matter to the newly reborn woman – she was simply suffused in the heady maelstrom as she watched the ballet of the man whipping up dishes for the diners, serving up delightful amuse-gueules to her and simply sitting down and chatting. It was a happy trilogy that seemed to be separated yet seamlessly woven together to create the impression, this was done only for her and no one else. 

From all this the newly reborn woman could make out the precise nature of the man.He was trim and fit like an athlete – his hands moved with a practiced ease like a professional with the knife – she could even tell that he could probably kill a man silently and swiftly by just the way he wielded it. From time to time when he worked, he would look up at her as if saying, “watch this!” Or, “tell me what you think about this when it melts in your mouth.” The  newly reborn woman knew the man was in his element – he moved well in the kitchen, like a dancer – so well that he probably even knew he looked so good to her that night that she probably didn’t want to be anywhere else but here, to simply sit, watch and be enthralled by love in motion – he was after all the mythical lover – the man who had betrayed everything he ever believed in to transform himself into the purveyor of the perfect imitation of love – she knew this was a highly advanced form of seduction. Not the contrived type where a man shows off his worth with the power of influence and money and so often made a bloody fool of himself - here seated in this nucleus of perpetual motion of purposeful chefs running up and down, stirring, blending, whipping, splicing and cutting – the newly reborn woman realized love was furiously and mysteriously at work. This she witnessed in this form and shape of a man who moved swiftly, precisely and decisively when he worked – this she imagined to herself was his way of whirling his entire being into her heart– it didn’t take her very long to figure out that the way he had seamlessly stitched together all the moments when he worked and yet made enough time to sit on her side form time to time – that uncanny ability to shift gears seamlessly between work and play reminded her of that she was the very reason for all this – and it delighted her. She was drawn further in by the delightful mysterious beauty he exuded – she could make out his lean and muscular frame from his figure hugging turtle neck, black slacks and mirror polished shoes – on one occasion he had even leaned so close to her that she had caught a hint of his scent, it reminded her of freshly cut grass in spring mixed with the essence of the forest, like the amber from ancient wood – she could even make out that he was confident about his looks. Confident enough to suggest that he would touch her very soon. Above all, the newly reborn woman realized what she was simply witnessing was a form of seduction that she had never experienced before. 

By her fourth amuse-gueules, third glass of Pinot and after a series of conversations ranging from the humorous, playful to serious – the newly reborn woman realized somewhere in all this – she had she had somehow managed to step back into a time machine to a distant age somewhere in her happy past – where she only saw the world in terms of bright and bold splashes, colors that always just popped right out. This she realized only too well could only be pulled off by the man who she insisted on calling the gentlemen planter; who she now saw as the mythical lover – the man who had indeed travelled half way across the world for a cup of coffee. Just for her. As this was what the mythical lover excelled in – the lost art of the slow burn love. That variety of love that stirs a woman from deep within where even she herself realized that although this might not end well. This was all she ever wanted – and though the newly reborn woman was wary of the man’s less than honorable intentions – she did not care that evening. Neither did she despise or hate the man either. She understood him. Had even stepped into his shoes and saw the world through the black and white photograph that she came across.  Perhaps it was the wine – the delightful bites of joy the man had lovingly fashioned for her and fed her through the unfolding evening like a prow of a ship cutting through a mysterious ocean of time – or maybe this was just how the newly reborn woman wanted to see that special evening – whatever the reasons, the newly reborn woman drank it all. She had never really truly know how thirsty and hungry her heart had been; how starved and deprived it had been of nourishment and love, till the moment, he had fed her lovingly, looked into her eyes intensely and when registered her joy – she could tell that he was happiest. The newly reborn woman even entertained the thought she was just not any woman…but someone that the mythical lover only cared to be with for the rest of eternity. That was all that really mattered.

As the three piece jazz band began to play – the man, suddenly smiled…it was a wry smile. That she had recognized it – a knowing smile. A smile that mirrored all her hopes and aspirations – a smile that simply said he would play his violin for her that night…he was after all the mythical lover the newly reborn woman said to herself and with these thoughts, she smiled supremely at the only man who she wanted to be with that evening.