Let's Lunch: A Stew for Seduction

When I joined the crew of bloggers that calls themselves Let's Lunch (we coordinate monthly posts) and heard that my first assignment would be on the topic of seduction food, my immediate response was relief, because I might, shock of all shocks, actually have an upcoming date -- and therefore an opportunity to seduce.

The thing is, as I write in the coda to my cookbook, "Serve Yourself: Nightly Adventures in Cooking for One," most of my attempts at seduction cooking over the years haven't gone anything like the way they do in the movies or novels. Remember when the heroine in "Like Water for Chocolate" literally ignites the fires of passion with her cooking? For me, not so much.

Sure, there was that time in college when the shrimp something or other I was making for a date with a bank-teller coworker went south 20 minutes before he arrived because the two kittens who ruled the group house in Austin chewed up the shrimp when I wasn't looking. I rushed out to get more, and threw the rest of the dish together, but honestly I needn't have sweated it all that much, because my date and I were twentysomething men. At that age, seduction happens in a heartbeat. We didn't even make it to the main course.

And there was that time that a Latino guy I had seen a few times came over, announced he had already eaten, and chuckled at the chaotic kitchen -- particularly the stain-splattered copy of the "Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook" I had propped open. "Oh, how cute," he said in his thick accent. "You have to use the cooking book!" We didn't make it to the main course, either -- because I threw him out.

And, finally, there was the time an Italian guy in Boston with whom I had a, well, contentious relationship tried to turn the tables on me, telling me I should take my dog out for an hour or so while he cooked dinner for us in my kitchen. When I returned, I heard no clanging of pots, and no rich smells wafted through the air. He brought me a romaine salad with thick rings of red onions and pepperoncini, then a stuffed beef roulade, with slightly wrinkled green beans (or maybe it was slightly wrinkled new potatoes) on the side. He grinned the whole time, and I suspected something was amiss, especially since he never cooked (he had his mother to do that for him). And then it dawned on me that, true to form, he was probably trying to prove a point.

"So," he asked. "What did you think? I did a pretty good job, didn't I? Maybe I can make something that's good enough even for you, right? And in only an hour!"

"I think you did an excellent job," I said. "Of buying and reheating prepared food you got at Costco."

Things were already shaky, and they went quickly downhill.

Here in DC, my connections with men over a home-cooked meal have been strained, at best. One announced, "This is way too much food!" before I even put it on his plate, and another proclaimed that he simply doesn't "do" dessert, even though I had made it from scratch. Deal breakers, both.

Recently, I met a very sweet man at my gym. My trainer introduced us, and we had a couple of fun dates at restaurants: the new Pearl Dive Oyster Palace on 14th Street, and Bibiana downtown. I wondered how much we might be able to bond over food, since he is focused on healthy eating after a large weight loss. (He eats seafood and poultry but no red meat or pork, and doesn't drink alcohol.) But he enjoys good food, and I try to eat on the lighter side, too, so I knew I'd make that a focus of a dinner I'd make for him. The complicating factor: I had a packed day of cooking samples and preparing for a stage demonstration and then book signing at the Metropolitan Cooking and Entertaining Show, so I'd have only a couple hours after getting home to whip something up.

I knew immediately what it would be: Domenica Marchetti's overnight-marinated swordfish stew, a recipe from her book "The Glorious Soups and Stews of Italy" (Chronicle, 2006) that I've made so many times I don't even have to look at the recipe anymore. (No "cooking book" required!) It could hardly be easier, and it's hearty without being too filling -- a prime consideration when romance is in the offing. Nobody wants to make out with a bloated stomach, right? Anyway, I put the swordfish in my trusty Le Creuset pot, seasoned it with salt, chopped up some onions and cherry tomatoes, threw in olives, bay leaves and oregano, drizzled over a good dose of olive oil, and put the thing in the fridge on Friday night. 

When I got home from the show at about 6 on Saturday, I took it out to come to room temperature, cleaned up the place, and then put it over very low heat on the stovetop by 7. Then I roasted some romanesco cauliflower (you know, that variety that looks like another planet) and thick broccoli pieces for a side dish. The stew was a hit, as it always is: The juices from the fish and the tomatoes combine with the olive oil to make a shallow, light broth, and the olives and onions and herbs and garlic season the whole shebang perfectly. It projects that casual vibe I was going for: Oh, this old thing? Just threw it together, you know. My date was just as impressed by the vegetables: crisp and browned on the outside, creamy within. I believe his words were something like, "I never thought broccoli could taste like this." Score.

In keeping with the lightness theme, I skipped dessert entirely but had some farmers market apples and Greek-style yogurt on hand, just in case we made it that far.

We didn't.

Overnight-Marinated Swordfish Stew

Serve with bread, if desired. Adapted from Domenica Marchetti's "The Glorious Soups and Stews of Italy" (Chronicle Books, 2006).

Makes 4 servings

2 pounds swordfish steak, preferably in one piece

Kosher or sea salt

Freshly ground black pepper

1 large yellow onion, halved and thinly sliced

1 pint (12 ounces) cherry tomatoes, cut in half

5 medium cloves garlic, lightly crushed

1 cup pitted Gaeta or kalamata olives

5 fresh bay leaves

1 tablespoon minced oregano

1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Place the swordfish in a Dutch oven or other heavy-bottomed pot with a lid; it should fit comfortably but snugly. Season the fish generously on all sides with salt and pepper to taste. Cover the fish with the onion, tomatoes, garlic, olives, bay leaves and oregano. Drizzle the olive oil over everything; cover and refrigerate for 24 to 48 hours.

Remove the pot from the refrigerator and let it stand at room temperature for 45 minutes to 1 hour. Place the pot on the stovetop over low heat and cook, covered, without stirring, for about 1 hour or slightly longer, until the fish is just cooked through. Check by inserting a knife into the fish and looking at the interior flesh.

Remove the pot from the heat and let it sit for about 30 minutes. It should be warm but not piping hot at serving time. Discard the bay leaves.

This post is part of Let’s Lunch – a virtual lunchdate with food bloggers around the globe. Want to join us in the kitchen? Comment on this post or tweet using the hashtag #LetsLunch. 

Read more posts on the seduction theme from the Let's Lunch Crew:

Linda Shiue (Spicebox Travels)'s West African Groundnut Stew. 

Leigh Nannini Rivas (His With Hers)'s Baked Apple Cider Doughnuts. 

Grace Hwang Lynch (HapaMama)'s Pasta Puttanesca. 

Rashda Khan (Hot Curries and Cold Beer)'s Seafood Soup.


(More links to come, so check back.)