A food documentary in the style of the Loving Wives forum.
This story is satire. No endangered species were consumed in its production. It has no redeeming social value whatsoever apart from sending up the unconventional lifestyles of Loving Wives. If that is not your cup of tea then please read something else: Shakespeare, the news or even The Naked Chef (!) ...
Thanks to titianapeaks for editing and to gloriagoodfellow for her superb contributions.
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Looking back, I think in amazement of the early days when I was married. I met Dora just before she completed her course at a catering school. She took me home to taste her delicious home-baked buns. I suppose it was a matter of love at first bite: I can still remember how my mouth drooled at the fresh yeasty smell, how the fresh bread yielded to my squeezing fingers, and how I closed my eyes in pleasures as I inserted the bun into my hungry mouth.
It seemed that every time we were together, Dora offered me some new delight. Once she made me the naughtiest, kinkiest, sweetest chocolate cake, and I could not help thinking how well the dark brown of the cocoa contrasted against the exquisite white form of her bone china tea set.
I bought Dora a special outfit; whenever she was inspired to make a special treat she would look at me with her kitchen eyes and ask whether I felt up for a little fun. Just the sight of her as she appeared in the dining room in her white chef's uniform complete with chef's hat and Chez Dora buttons was enough to make me drool, whether she was carrying a tray with devilled egg or a diet milkshake.
There were definitely limits to what Dora was willing to try. She strongly believed in being true to the local cooking traditions. She would not even look at a recipe that was not local. I tried to get her interested in more exotic foods, like pork bangers, wieners and Italian Kisses but she always refused. She said they came from a dirty imagination, and that her mother had warned her against foreign concoctions. But I was insistent, and tried every trick in the book to convince her. I presented logical arguments; I took her to Italian restaurants. Once I even played the soundtrack of a Japanese tea ceremony to her while she slept. All of this was unsuccessful, she stubbornly insisted on potatoes and beef for supper.
I finally resorted to downloading recipes and food pictures off the Internet. I had to do this furtively because Dora had warned me not to go to sick foreign food sites. Once she nearly caught me, but fortunately I was able to convince her that I had only been reading a sexy story from Literotica.
I was disappointed that Dora was not interested in meeting my culinary fantasies, but I thought that with time she might become more broad-minded.
Alas, this was not the case. Instead of her cooking improving, it became even more boring. Dora grew tired of cooking me a meal every night, Without either of us noticing, our home-cooked meals became further and further apart, until Dora was only cooking once a week.
After fifteen years of marriage I finally plucked up the courage one day. "My sweet, remember the food you used to make when we got married?" I said. "I couldn't wait to come home knowing that supper was waiting. All the way I had visions of your beautiful plates covered in delectable dishes such as luscious chicken thighs, scrumptious turkey breasts or mouth-watering cherry tart. Why can't we have that again?"
Dora looked at me blankly, so I decided to change tack. "Let's go on a decadent holiday where we will have food orgies all day long. It will be our little secret. None of the neighbors need to know."
Dora was skeptical at first, but I think that deep down she also had fantasies such as having more than one course in an evening. Eventually she agreed, thinking that after the holiday we would come home and live in our boring old way. I let her believe what she wanted because I was sure that her experiences would open her up to crave new recipes and foods.
Dora thought that we were going to Allentown, but I wanted something a little more out of the ordinary. Was she surprised when we took the flight to Jamaica instead!
On the plane she hugged me and said, "I never dreamed of a Caribbean holiday. But I am a little worried about the food there. I have heard that they use the strongest, hottest spices and I am not sure I am ready for that."
"Don't worry, honey," I said reassuringly, "I will be there to protect you with lots of glasses of water."
"I'm so glad," she said as she nestled closer to me.
All through the flight I made Dora's mouth water with descriptions I had downloaded from the Internet. Somehow, by the end of it, I had her drooling for jerk cooked chicken, gasping for callalloo and begging for Pelau. The dishes were disguised under less threatening names such as "chopped barbecue," "vegetable soup" and "spicy chicken." Her biggest difficulty was in accepting that anything resembling pea soup might be edible, but for the rest it was plain sailing. She insisted that she would never try strange food, but that it made for a nice fantasy.
When we finally arrived in Kingston, Jamaica it was late afternoon. We were felling a bit tired, but I thought that it was time to test how far my wife would go. I suggested we have a passion fruit drink at the lounge before going to the hotel.
"Hold it!" she asked anxiously. "Isn't that some fancy foreign thing?"
I confessed that people from other cultures had been known to enjoy it. "But honey," I protested, "I noticed that your friends, the Johnsons, bought a bottle. I saw it in their trash."
"I would never have thought that they were into that," Dora said with a smirk, but I ordered two glasses anyway. When it arrived she watched me carefully, possibly to make sure that I was serious in trying out the new drink.
She daintily sipped it. Her eyes stretched in amazement. "So good," she gasped, before gulping down the rest as fast as she could. I watched her throat bob up and down as she tried to take as much of the drink as she could. It was at that moment I knew that my wife's inhibitions about food would soon be broken forever.
It was nightfall when we checked in at the hotel. Dora and I went to our suite. While she showered, I ordered supper from the extensive room service menu.
