My boyfriend, Sam, is a chef. People are always asking me what it’s like living with someone who makes incredible food all the time. I tell them, “It’s great!” but the answer is actually more complicated than that. Sometimes it’s like this: I’m sitting in my office, working, minding my own business, and he bursts in with a hog tongue waggling out of his mouth.
And yes, other times it’s different – he makes incredible food all the time, despite the fact that he’s in school 30 hours a week and working 40+ hours a week. He makes me breakfast and lunch and dinner – not usually on the same day, but whenever he’s home, and yes, it’s incredible. He makes food that makes me happy and food that he loves and food that I love. He is not a guy who cooks for a living – he’s a guy that cooks because he loves it and because he’s really fucking good at it. In my 36 years of living I’ve never met a person who works as hard as he does. He inspires me and impresses me and loves me, and yes, it is lovely.
But sometimes, sometimes – well, the hog tongue.