Well, yinz might as well get acquainted with a feeling of how this blog is going to be. Sure, there will be posts about food and recipes, but let’s start with some of the other types of posts. I bring you Man on a Hott Tin Roof—a series of posts where I find an image of some attractive man cooking on the internet and critique it according to my poor knowledge of men and cooking.
For our first specimen, I don’t care enough about him to research a name, and my male gayze certainly doesn’t require that I know his.
Stunning, I know. I mean, look at that man. Say it with me, “DAAAMMMMNNNNNNN.” And, like, keep saying it while I lose myself in those eyes. Swoon. He can help me cook any day. I could grate cheeses on those abs (hard cheeses, obvi) and maybe suffocate in that beard—what? Oh yeah, cooking. Right. Cooooking. I’m cooking with him. Definitely cooking.
Now, what is this swoon-worthy, you-text-him-back-before-your-phone-can-say-text-received man cooking today? Well, if we zoom up, pay close attention, and remove our eyes from his pecs, we see…
Water? He’s boiling water. With a fork.
Oh boi. Looks like this boy can serve cake, but only from the supermarket. Reality begins to set in. This boy is no Scott Conant look-alike on fire island—he’s more the Chopped contestant you cheer for until he opens his mouth. Sources say he is most likely named Benji and his super power is being utterly useless in the kitchen and anywhere there’s low lighting. Plus, he’ll probably tell you that he’s in touch with his feminine side (because of that one time he went to a poetry reading in college) and that he just loves a night in with wine.
But you know what’s worse? That’s an electric kettle beside him on the counter, and he definitely can’t figure it out—leaving him with a small pot of water, a fork, and that look of “Is that a camera? I can never tell.” But dammit, Benji is trying. He just isn’t cut out for a smart life. Oops, I mean a smart technology life. I think.
Those tattoos don’t do him any justice either. Okay, sure, those inked biceps could cause a traffic jam on a hot July day. But you know he didn’t spell-check that rib tattoo of a spiritual mantra he pieced together from Pinterest quotes and Panda Express fortunes. I bet those women started out as smiling tattoos until they saw him post “I’m not a feminist because I support an EQUALTIY of genders! #makeamericagrateagain” on his Facebook.
Then, there’s his taste in accessories. You know he thinks those silicone bracelets are still a thing. Sorry, sweet boy, those went the way of slap bracelets and toe rings. (Dear Lorde, let flat-brimmed baseball caps be next. In your infinite queer wisdom, amen.)
I’m sorry, Benji. I just don’t think you’re cut out for my kitchen. I could certainly relocate you to other rooms in my house, but, for now, finish that personal trainer certification, chase those dreams of starting an online pocket watch store, and never stop accidentally tweeting out your passwords. Your “candid,” caption-less photos brighten up our Monday mornings, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
No really, please don’t try writing anything. *Places finger on your lips and whispers* “You’ll ruin it.”
Hott Level: 9 out of 9 brunch stares after bottomless mimosas
Cooking Skill: 26 years of burnt pancakes for that special someone
Likelihood of Remembering His Name Tomorrow: “Shit, was that supposed to be a teaspoon or tablespoon?”
Kitchen Safety: Some scarring on hands, but utter lack of cooking ambition means he probably hasn’t lost a finger yet.
Answers Before Your Questions: Audre Lorde, obvi.