French Romance Cooking Class by Beth Mathison

Young @ Heart: French Romance Cooking Class
By Beth Mathison
    It was Frannie’s turn to pick a date for their twice a month get-together. With two kids, a high-maintenance dog, and two careers, Frannie and David made a point to spend time together away from daily distractions. Their date mission was simple: have an open mind, learn something new about each other, try to have fun, and be physically intimate if at all possible.
    Frannie doubted they were going to accomplish the physical intimacy part of their goal since they were in a class of five couples, but she had learned that David had an intense aversion against raw oysters.
    “I’m not touching it,” David said, poking the oyster on his plate with a fork. “I don’t care if they’re an aphrodisiac, I can’t do it.”
    “Are you at least going to eat them?” Frannie asked.
    “Sure, I’ll eat it,” David said. “You know me, I’ll eat practically anything.”
    “But you won’t touch it?”
    “Absolutely not,” David said. “It’s going to have to go right from my fork to my mouth. There will be no hand touching involved.”
    “Is there a problem here?” Chef Louis asked, stopping at their table. He wore a tall white chef’s hat, an immaculate white apron, and grasped a spatula in his right hand.
    “I’ve decided I’m just going to eat my oyster, not touch it,” David said to him.
    Chef Louis paused. “You realize these are perfectly fresh oysters?” he said. “I hand-picked them just this morning. They were shipped in from Seattle.”
    “Well, that’s very reassuring,” David added. “I understand that you wanted us to touch them to get the feel of a good oyster, but I think I’m just going to use my fancy little shellfish fork here to stab the sucker.”
    Frannie prodded her oyster with her finger.
    “See, it’s not so bad,” Chef Louis said to David. “Now your wife will know the feeling of a fresh oyster and you will not.” Chef Louis walked over to the next couple’s table.
    David leaned closer to Frannie. “You’re a teacher’s pet, is what you are,” David said to her. “Showing off with your oyster-touching. I’m hurt.”
    Frannie frowned. “Really? I just wanted to touch the thing.”
    “Nah, I’m just giving you a hard time because that really grossed me out,” David said with a smile. He leaned over to give her a kiss.
    Frannie and David sat at a small table at the back of the room. The table had a spotless tile top, and was low enough so that they could sit comfortably in kitchen chairs while they cooked. Two burners were set on one side of the table, with warning stickers affixed to their stainless steel surfaces. An assortment of cooking utensils were arranged in the opposite corner. Other couples sat at similar tables, some looking comfortable in their provided aprons, others looking wide-eyed and shell-shocked. Fortunately both Frannie and David spent time in the kitchen at home, so they were comfortable in the cooking environment.
    Chef Louis, advertised as a French chef from Paris, held classes twice a week in a converted office building on the edge of town. He had a spotless kitchen set up at the front of the room with bright pots and pans hanging from the lowered ceiling. Two large commercial ovens and two refrigerators flanked the long table in the center of the kitchen. A large mirror was installed above the table so that all the participants could watch Chef Louis while he worked.
    Frannie and David had introduced themselves to an older couple sitting to their left. Marie and Ralph were in their eighties. Marie wore a powder blue pants suit with patent leather shoes, her pocketbook placed firmly on her lap. Ralph had coke-bottle glasses perched at the end of his nose, and kept asking Chef Louis to talk louder. Marie told Frannie and David that their granddaughter had given them the cooking class as an anniversary present.
    To Frannie and David’s right were Donna and Dale Steinhueval, a newly