Miss E is my favourite waitress in a French restaurant close to my office that I have adopted as my eaterie of preference, where the food competes with the service and the ambience that this amalgam generates is hard to beat.
Not to say that the rest of the girls are less efficient or lack the charm of my chosen one, but in life you feel a certain frisson to a particular maiden who electrifies your own private space and whose absence when it occurs creates a void which is not easy to decipher.
Every time she comes to my table to greet me I feel a sense of contentment and my food seems to taste better, as if my palate gets a refinement and my appetite engenders a boost that defies psychological scrutiny.
Perhaps the secret of it all is less strange than it seems. It all began when one day at random, being served with some delicious home-made chocolate with my usual espresso, I called her to open her delicate mouth discreetly and gently guided a piece of chocolate between her parted lips.
I felt then the compulsion to share something exquisite to heighten my own gastronomic sensation to uncharted domains that only dreams can create.
It’s odd that such an incident can perpetuate a bond from its infancy to maturity in a short period of time, for the perception of food and sensuality are interlinked. Women who eat are more likely to be sexually active than those who do not.
I once lived the experience in my bachelor days with a beautiful woman who buried her sexuality in a lettuce leaf. She horrified me to the extent of repulsion and I felt no longer able to touch her.
Food can be a slow killer but lack of it is a libido destroyer, a fate worse than death.
On reflection, however, the dreamlike incident could be attributed to a fecund imaginative process rather than a factual adventure – for the mind can sometimes fail to differentiate between reality and fiction.
Could it be perhaps a journey of creative proportions that beguiles the reader but fails to manifest itself in more mundane fashion?
That’s my quiz for the day.