Chef on a Platter

“What do you want to do for the rest of your life?” I ask him, taking a long sip of Nebbiolo. I’m digesting the delicious creature in front of me as well as his dinner.

“Cook for you,” he responds without hesitation.

“Come on, what do you really want to do? Head a 5-star kitchen? Be a Food Network Star? Do an Anthony Bourdain and travel the world in search of the perfect meal?”

“Why don’t I fix you the perfect meal? Hmm?” he says leaning back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I’d do something fresh and unpretentious and, well, PERFECT. It’d be me on a plate."

I raise an eyebrow.

"Wanna know the best part? The next time, we’d do it together. We’d recreate the passion and flavors—”

“—honey,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling my cheeks flush.

“Uhhum,” he clears his throat impatiently like he does when he's onto something, "Like I was saying, we'd recreate the passion and flavors, then write it all down, bind it between two hard covers..."