Zibby Mag

By Erika Montgomery

If you were to ask me which room provides the best setting for a love scene, my answer might surprise you.

No, it’s not the bedroom. It’s actually the kitchen.

As a romance writer and a hopeless foodie, I always find a way to get my burgeoning lovers around a stove or a countertop—especially when they are just getting to know one another. They don’t have to be five-star chefs (although two of my most recent lovebirds are); they just have to be hungry (for food and each other). From Laura Esquivel’s Like Water for Chocolate to Yaffa S. Santos’s A Taste of Sage, the connection between food prep and foreplay in literature is everywhere. But what is it about cooking that makes it the perfect pairing for blossoming love? After three decades of reading romance—and almost half as long writing it—I’ve narrowed it down to a few reasons why food prep and courtship naturally go hand-in-hand.

Do you smell something burning (up)?

At its core, sexual attraction is a sensory experience. When we’re near someone we’re attracted to, our senses are heightened. Ever notice how a character can detect the smell of the object of her affection when he’s near, down to the exact brand of soap? Cooking draws on those same elevated senses: the full, grassy scent of freshly diced herbs; the silky texture of kneaded dough; the crackle of oil poured into a warm pan. It’s no surprise that if you get too close to my romantic leads, you’ll likely get a dizzying whiff of freshly diced garlic and smoked fish. Is it any wonder I fell hard for Elin Hilderbrand’s mouth-watering The Blue Bistro?

On your mark, get set, GO!

If you’ve ever worked in a commercial kitchen, or even glanced into one, you know it’s like watching synchronized swimming on land. Cooking is active. It requires focus and timing—read Stephanie Danler’s delicious Sweetbitter if you need proof—so when forbidden attraction renders two of the main characters in my new novel speechless, my heroine lets the symphony of her cooking fill the heated silence instead: the sizzle of melted butter, the purr of a whisk, the even rhythm of a knife over fresh herbs. But sometimes if my characters want to get a little cozier than a big, bustling kitchen allows, then…

Come closer, darling.

For forced proximity—one of my favorite literary tropes—there’s nothing better than a small space. While many home renovators dream of sprawling kitchens with acres of uninterrupted stainless steel, there’s a lot to be said for snug kitchens—especially when you’re cooking up romance. In my previous book, my lovers courted on a sailboat, and it doesn’t get much smaller—or closer—than a galley. (Fun fact: they were even shucking oysters, so check off two sexy boxes.) This time around in Our Place on the Island, I placed two of my leads in the tight quarters of a post-war kitchen remodel. Who knew spice drawers could be so…spicy?

You wash, I’ll dry.

There’s a give-and-take when two people cook together, or—as in Melissa Senate’s The Love Goddess’ Cooking School and Erica Bauermeister’s The School of Essential Ingredients—learn to cook together. It requires an attention to detail and, equally important, the ability to listen to your partner’s needs. In other words, to avoid broken sauces and burned bread, cooking is a partnership that depends on strong communication to ensure a well-cooked dish. Tell me that isn’t a recipe for a successful relationship?

It’s worth the wait.

Romance is all about the anticipation—and so is cooking. Like a labored-over dish, we want to know how a romance will turn out. Will our lovers end up well-matched, their simmering attraction resulting in a satisfying kiss (or more)? Or will the end result, like an undercooked soufflé, fall flat? As anyone who has watched a cooking competition show knows, the expectation of that first bite is (almost) as suspenseful as that first kiss. Tell me “Will this dish taste as good as it looks?” isn’t a close cousin of “Will he be as good of a kisser as he looks?” If you’re hungry for a rom-com with a cooking TV show backdrop, get a taste of Sonali Dev’s Recipe for Persuasion or Lucy Parker’s Battle Royal.

Finally, cooking is HOT.

Okay, Captain Obvious. But seriously, where there’s fire, there’s heat—and if our lovebirds are using gas burners, there are real flames to complement their rising body temperatures. Bite into Erin La Rosa’s steamy For Butter or Worse if you don’t believe me! Maybe our lovers are carefully stirring a roux or sliding around a panful of plump scallops to keep them from overcooking. Are those flushed cheeks from standing over an open flame—or maybe from a look that lasts just a beat too long? Who can be sure? One thing is certain: those heavy canvas aprons aren’t the only layer that could stand to come off.

Now is it just me—or is anyone else suddenly ravenous?

For a good book, of course.

What did you think I meant?

Erika Montgomery lives with her family in the Mid-Atlantic where she teaches creative writing and watches an unspeakable amount of old movies. She is the author of A Summer to Remember and Our Place on the Island.