All the Single Ladies or The Way to a Man's Heart

Listen up, ladies. I am here to dispel the myth that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Bullpucky! If that were true, I wouldn't be on a slow crawl towards spinsterhood, having "how was your day" conversations with my cat! Neither homemade pizzas, (dough & all,) brownies from scratch, rich chocolate ganaches, hand-dipped & rolled chocolate-nut pretzels, steak stir-fries, hundreds of cookies, cinnamon rolls, elaborate cakes, picnics, lasagnas, countless pastas, BBQ, peach pies or dozens of apple crisps have successfully paved the way to any man's heart that I've had the pleasure (or displeasure) of knowing.

Perhaps back in the proverbial day, before the take-over of fast, cheap and nutrition-less food, when traditional gender roles weren't considered misogynistic and primitive, it was an extremely valuable and attractive skill for a woman to produce a delicious haiku-worthy meal.

Man brings home the meat.

Woman prepares meat for all.

Tasty, Happy, Full.

Not so today. Now it's a novelty for one to prepare and cook the majority of their meals, and while appreciated as such, men need not look to women to be caretakers of their family's food health--not when Wendy, Mr. McDonald, Marie Callender or Bob Evans are happy to step into that role. 

Yet, even suspecting the truth of the plummeting value of mad kitchen skillz in young women, I still thought mine might aid in attracting that seemingly mythical creature: the worthwhile male. Like a frustrated explorer trying to find the elusive Northwest passage, I have attempted to cook, bake, and saute my way to a man's heart and have found that it is not through his stomach. (As a side note, if any of my sisters out there have found the way to a man's heart, contact me immediately with the directions!)

I learned that with every carefully crafted treat or meal, I was giving a piece of my affection and self to that person, which only made me feel more empty when the relationship ended. I'm not trying to draw a direct correlation between delicious meals and the fast-track to Dumpsville, but what I would like to share from my experience with the short end of the relationship stick(s) is this: pace yourself.

Really--pace yourself ladies. This goes for any kind of favor or token of your affection, from your time to your money to gifts and physical expressions. There is an appropriate pace to everything and most would agree that too much too soon is just too much. A diamond necklace on the second date, for example, would be inappropriate. Showing up to the door in lingerie for a first date would be considered by most I hope as inappropriate. 

Why, you may ask, should we care about pacing? Why not fully express how we feel in the moment? Because, friends, I have observed that healthy relationships demonstrate balance between the levels of investment in each other and in the relationship between both parties. This does not imply a petty tit for tat or you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours mentality. I am speaking of appropriately balanced levels of investment between each other at every stage of the relationship. When there is a dramatic imbalance, the  result is a one-sided relationship, and for anyone who has experienced this lopsided love, it's incredibly painful. No one wants to be the only one making efforts.

What does this have to do with food? Well, I would simply suggest that we pace ourselves in the kitchen as well. Save those truly gourmet or labor-intensive dishes for a man who has earned your trust and shown by his actions (not pretty words alone) that he is captivated by you, and is in it for the long haul. Save the really good stuff for someone who's invested in the adventure of getting to know you in all your glory and especially in your non-glory. As for the others--make something nice, hinting at your skillz, but don't pull out all the stops just yet.