Should I Cook for Him or Just for Me?

There was a time in my life when cooking for a man meant something serious. It meant I liked him, a lot. In some cases, it meant that I loved him. It meant we were cruising towards being “something.” That a toothbrush might be left behind, on purpose.

But that was before I learned to enjoy cooking for myself. Before I understood the pleasure of lighting a candle at a table for one (I don’t know if you guys have noticed that I talk about candles a lot. I LOVEEEE CANDLES). Before, I felt the deep satisfaction of buying the expensive organic ingredients just for me. Before I understood how sacred it was to mince garlic while listening to Sade without nervously wondering, “Will he like it?’  

So now, when someone new enters the picture, the question isn’t Will I cook for him? It’s Should I? It’s Do I want to?  Do I want to invite him into the intimacy of my charming and slightly collapsing Parisian kitchen? It’s more than just inviting someone into my solo kitchen life, which is no small thing. It’s about allowing someone to witness my sacred dance: my rhythm, my ritual, my recipes, my inner world. 

It’s also about vulnerability. There’s a chance that this person will watch me salt a pot of water in my favorite stretched-out T-shirt, no bra. He’ll see the organisation, or lack thereof, of my fridge. Does he understand that my table is an altar, not just somewhere to plop down and scroll through his phone? 

Cooking for someone else used to feel like I was auditioning for an award, one that confirmed that I’m the best and hottest.  Look, I make really good lasagna! Look, I have my life together!  Look, I’m nurturing and totally chill! I don’t care that you’d rather play video games than eat with me! I’m totally chill…

Now, things are different. These days, I don’t cook for someone just because they’re nice or tall or took me to Hôtel Particulier in the 18éme for drinks that one time. I will cook for someone when I want them to see me. When I trust them to show up with their certainty, their honesty, and their attention.  Because cooking for someone else is an invitation into my world to witness something that makes me feel alive. 

But until I’m ready to hand out that invite, I’ll keep making delicious meals for the person I can always count on to appreciate them: me.