Ok, Chefster, get this boy a’cookin’.
Eschew Obfuscation
Put my hand on your grill, Chef! Indian spices send me into a yond state of bliss!
Caaarrrrddddaaaamommmmmm…
The ride is short and the thrills are cheap- Men and rollercoasters. - - -Courtesy of Wally, that Signifying Guy.
Thanks Chef, for letting us single guys figure out who the available women are! 
<chortle>
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
Sorry, SingleDad, I know for a fact that at least Grace is married. (However, I’m available 
)
Ok, Cheffie, I wanna get cookin’ too!
Dearest Scarlet…
From the moment I saw you in that dashing mask, my heart was pounding so loud I could hear it. Of course it turned out to be the king’s men pounding on the door, but it’s the thought that counts.
How I longed to slip the mask down and reveal the attractive face beneath…to hide it instead beneath a hundred kisses…to feel your sword press against my leg (get your minds out of the gutter, you eavesdroppers…it’s an actual sword). I knew, however, that your identity must remain secret. I could only watch from the window as you eluded your pursuers and slipped into the night to seek out injustice. I wonder if you knew that my heart rides the night with you.
Spray me with gasolene and set me on fire, Cheffie!
Darling H-thur,
How can I tell you how I feel about you? We’ve known each other such a short time, it’s like I’ve only heard you speak on, say, seven or eight occasions. Still, I’ll struggle to find the words; the writer in me calls out to the writer in you…
I sing to you in the grammar of desire. Your verbs give me the action I crave, your prepositions tell me the where and when; your adverbs supply the why and how. I’ll never forget the tireless way you conjugated on that timeless night at the MLA convention. The past was perfect; the thought of life without you makes the future tense.
Grammatically yours, Chef Troy
Athena, my love,
I was devastated to learn that you wouldn’t be able to make it to the Denver get-together. I’d envisioned an interchange of eye contact, a few swapped recipes, and then slipping away as soon as a discreet opportunity presented itself. You said you were sick…I knew the truth. The crushing burden of our forbidden and unconfessed love was too much for your fragile body.
I just wanted you to know that I understand, and that although my passion for you could move mountains, I will leave the Rockies where they are, a testament to what could have been but cannot be.
T
Damn, Chef, now I’m gonna be stayin’ up all night!!!
The ride is short and the thrills are cheap- Men and rollercoasters. - - -Courtesy of Wally, that Signifying Guy.
Cheff-
I hate you… I really really do (j/k) I wish I was bold enough to start a thread like this, but alas, I’m much too shy. Best of luck you dog you.
cook me up somethin’ tasty, cheffy boy!
“Organs gross me out. That’s organs, not orgasms.”
-the wallster
Oh. Chef…cook me, cook me! :: :puppy eyes:::
MaryAnn
I’m into superstition, black cats, and voodoo dolls (<—written in case Ricky reads this board)
Dearest Angkins,
I still remember the first time I touched you. I was a massage-school trainee and you were my first client. I was nervous as I entered the room; you were already undressed and prone beneath a sheet on my new massage table. I briefly admired the way the sheer cotton of the sheet molded to your buttocks before remembering that I had to be professional.
I began with your hands and arms, the massage sending blood to my own hands and the warm almond oil softening my fingers for the more tender areas ahead. You chatted amiably about your dogs for a moment but soon fell silent under the relaxing spell of my talented hands. I lowered the sheet to just below the small of your back and soothed away the tension in your neck and shoulders. With every kneading stroke your breathing grew more langorous. I realized the sheet had slipped a little too far down…blushing, I tugged it back up and walked around to your feet. I worked my way up your legs and back down again. I couldn’t believe how unprofessional I felt…this had never happened before. I couldn’t possibly make a move on you, and you seemed oblivious to the effect you were having on me. I finished your massage somehow and turned away to fill out my invoice. I turned back and flinched when I realized you were standing right behind me, the sheet clutched to you. You smiled and said, “not bad for a first timer…are you free again this Friday?”
Live a Lush Life
Da Chef
My sweet Psycat,
Ah, such intensity of emotion you inspire in me. Your name alone causes the dull crimson flush of unrequited desire to rise on the back of my bowed neck. These haiku of mine about cats are really about you…
Thou inscrutable -
Thou loving and yet aloof -
Goddess that is Cat.
Look in a dog’s eyes,
And you’ll see love. In a cat’s,
Amused tolerance.
How honored I’d feel
If only my cat would just
Touch her nose to mine.
I think you can see what I mean, psycat. Like all cats, you need me less than I need you. But it’s just that quality of indifference that makes me burn for you.
Threads like this are what makes this a better MB than all the others. No board shares love like our board shares love.
We went right out there and refused to do accoustical versions of the electrical songs that we had refused to record in the first place.
Go for it, Cheffy
Dear Ultress,
I remember the first time I saw you like it was yesterday. I was struggling up a mountain trail, my breath coming in short pants, when I saw you up ahead…also in short pants.
A lifetime of outdoor activities had sculpted your legs and buttocks into climbing machines, flexing and pumping, driving you up the trail at a pace I could never match. I tried anyway, increasing my stumbling gait and trying to keep you in sight. You soon disappeared around a curve and I sped up even more, ignoring the breath rasping in my throat and the alarming thwacking of my heart as I pushed it more than those marathon sessions of “Tomb Raider” ever had. (I KNEW I’d seen those glutes before…)
I knew a clearing lay just ahead, and figured I’d rest there, but I began to feel light-headed and black spots swam before my eyes…I’d seriously overdone it. I felt my knees buckling and fought to stay upright; then I felt you take my arm in an iron-hard grip and help me over to your tent just as I passed out.
I came to and found that you’d undressed me and were lying beside me. “Next time save your strength,” you said. Then you showed me a better way to get my heart-rate up.
I bet people wonder what’s up with the silly grin when they ask me if I like the outdoors…
Ah, Opal…
For so long I worshiped you from afar, delighting in your tireless work for your fellow Dopers’ amusement and hoping for another spicy shot from the OpalCam every time I logged on…wondering, every time MrDopey showed disturbing signs of sentience, if you were pulling his strings.
Then, I was in D.C. for a computer convention, and I was using the free computer kiosk in the exhibit hall to look at amateur porn sites. I clicked over to one young lovely’s site, and muttered to myself, “She’s built, but this Web site is built even better!” From right behind me came a throaty voice, saying “Thank you…”
I spun around and there you were. Smaller than I expected but unquestioningly OpalCat. The penetrating stare, the sardonic mouth, the exotic hair…in person, your personality hit me with the force of a physical blow. I stammered out who I was and tried to psychically will you to invite me home, hoping I was in for an afternoon that included sighs and anxious whispers, that included nips, nibbles and fingertip touches, that included April showers of soft kisses that made May flowers of desire blossom…in short, an afternoon that included you. I had to concentrate on keeping my feet from floating off the floor as we walked to the exit…
they say that it’s bad luck for anyone not born in October to wear an opal. I’m willing to chance it; I’ll wear you in my heart forever.
mmmm mmmmmm. My compliments to the Chef.
Delicious and satisfying.
Thanks Cheffie!! xoxo
Madness takes it’s toll… So does New Jersey.