French Romance Cooking Class by Beth Mathison Page B

Frannie’s neck.
    Chef Louis had moved to the front of the room, and rapped a spatula on the marble countertop to get everyone’s attention. David and Frannie jumped.
    “One thing to remember about cooking as a couple is space ,” Chef Louis said evenly. “Just like in any relationship, you need to respect each other’s personal space .” He made a small circle around his body as he emphasized the words, presumably defining his area of personal space.
    David moved back from Frannie and motioned around his own torso. Personal space , he mouthed silently to her.
    “In the kitchen, we need to respect personal space. Otherwise unfortunate things might happen,” Chef Louis stated. “You can spill things, bump into each other, you can get burned.” He paused, looking out at the crowd. “That was a little joke,” he said. “You can get burned, as in a relationship outside of the kitchen.”
    Marie and Ralph stared blankly at the front of the room. Marie looked at the two-foot space between her and her husband, apparently satisfied with the space between them. “What?” Ralph asked, adjusting the hearing aid on his right ear. “What did he say?”
    Dale and Donna looked at one another and laughed nervously. Dale looked longingly at his phone, which he had put face-down on the edge of the table.
    “Is this guy for real?” David whispered to Frannie. “Is he a real chef or a drill sergeant?”
    “He’s won all sorts of local awards,” Frannie answered. “Although they were for his culinary accomplishments, not his sense of humor.”
    “All right then,” Chef Louis said, undaunted by the lack of audience response. “I would like to talk a bit about love before we will make our petit pea soup.”
    Marie went white, looking around her nervously. “I thought this was a cooking class,” she said. “I’m not interested in new-fangled talk about hanky-panky. I think that all should be kept in the bedroom anyway. Goodness, why do people have to bring it all out into the open anyway? It’s on the television, in the magazines, on the billboards. Can’t we just keep it at home?”
    “What?” Ralph asked, peering at the front of the room. “What about hanky-panky?”
    “Personal space is not the only similarity cooking has to love,” Chef Louis continued. “We need to pay attention to our food, just as we need to notice our significant other. This is why I had you feel the oysters. We need to pay attention to things and people around us.”
    “What?” David asked. “So what is he saying is the oyster in our relationship?” He turned to Frannie. “Are you my oyster? Because I’m not afraid to touch you at all.”
    “Take time to enjoy the food and drink tonight,” Chef Louis said. “Notice its textures, the way it tastes, how you respond to it.”
    Couples around the room were fidgeting in their seats, looking nervously around. Marie looked like she was ready to bolt out of her chair.
    “Respect your food,” Chef Louis said. “As the French have long realized, men are motivated by respect. Women are motivated by love. Therefore, we must both love and respect our food.” Chef Louis ran a hand over the marble countertop for emphasis.
    “Any questions?” he asked. When there were none, he held up a small bag of peas. “Now we will begin cooking!”
    Frannie picked up the bag of peas on their table. “Am I supposed to respect my peas?” she asked. She held the bag in both her hands and bowed slightly towards it. “I respect you, peas.”
    “I’m not going to say I love the peas,” David told her. “I love you, but not the peas. I am not a huge pea fan. Do you respect me as well as the peas?”
    “I definitely respect you,” Frannie said.
    “What does that look like?” David asked, curious.
    “Well, I value you as a person,” Frannie said.
    “You iron my dress shirts,” David said. “I think that’s showing respect.”
    “Sure,” Frannie said. “I know you hate to iron, so I iron