Mincing Men

Men who cook are just too sexy.  Almost as sexy as men who gyrate in firemen uniform with whipped cream can in hand.
And I'm happy to say that my husband is one of them --one of the men who COOK, I mean, silly!  Whenever I sit around and watch, he kinda reminds me of those celebrity chefs on Lifestyle Network and TLC. 

Of course, in the kitchen, my husband doesn't annotate his step-by-step routine in perky, naive, boyish manner like Jamie Oliver.  He doesn't drop anecdotes about how he grew up loving to cook with a backdrop of nature and love. 

He doesn't purposely seduce as he bastes his meat like David Rocco.  He doesn't wear a minimally buttoned shirt.  Not one iota of Italian swagger comes out of him as he chops and dices.  Except maybe when he kisses the tips of his fingers before saying 'Delicioso!' whenever he's done. 

I'd say he's more like an Anthony Bourdain.  Ruggedly, he perfects his afritada, adobo, sinigang, tortang talong while smoking.  He doesn't follow a seriously laid-out traditional recipe.  He does it haphazardly.  Messily.
He doesn't travel to be as adventurous as Bourdain, but his creativity for every dish is astoundingly adventurous.  He learns a text book dish and then he plays with different ingredients --making the whole thing like a brand new journey all the time.
He isn't an author like Bourdain but he tells me outrageous stories about our future in between marinating and grilling.
And he knows how to have fun.  Like Bourdain --minus the leather jacket-- he has a never-ending romance for life which translates into beautiful food.   Life is food.  Life is fun.  No rules.  No reservations.  The whole package is a turn on.

But no matter how a man cooks, it's still sexy.  It's masculinity meets femininity in one ethereal body.  Men.  Food.  Come on.  What else can you possibly add to a pleasurable combination like that?

OH!  A fireman's uniform...