Welcome to Carnal Cuisine.

I've always felt that people who regularly work with fire and knives are sexy and a little dangerous. By its nature, cooking takes the ordinary and elevates it into something that is at best sublime and at worst, at least sustenance. Like sex, food is one of our basic instincts. We need food to survive as individuals and sex to survive as a species.

And, like food, sex can become the physical equivalent of shoving a McBoring burger into your face day after day. There is a place for McBoring burgers and I'm not saying they should be outlawed. By the same token, in the right time and space, sex can be of the less than earth-moving variety and still serve its purpose.

But not here. Not with me. I'm here to bring you the polar opposite of McBoring (burgers or sex).

My books are romances about culinarians--the grand and the humble--in exotic locations with a no-holds-barred erotic punch. I've decided to bring my considerable food experience into erotic romance by including recipes published both with the books and extras ones here, on my blog. All the recipes are as original as it is possible to be and are mentioned or prepared in the books. I say as original as can be because, unless you are el Bulli or one of his disciples, there's nothing really new under the sun when it comes to food. Hell, when you think about it, people have been pretty much fucking the same way since time began as well.

But what I'm saying is that the recipes are mine, I made 'em and I wrote 'em.

The characters in my books cook the way they make love--sensually, passionately, adventurously, and with devotion to the task. If you are looking for "five easy dinners from one pot" don't look here. If you want your lovers to play with bits "down there" and the curtain to draw before they even get naked--not here either.

Enjoy, comment, review my books. With all the recipes mentioned in the books, there are plenty I don't write up. If there's something that you have an urge to make and I haven't told you how, email me at torridcooke@gmail.com and I will do my best to flesh out the recipe for you.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

The Condom Conundrum

I'm going to get this right out in the open from the start. I have seen, on Amazon reviews and other places, readers who take an erotica author to task for 'allowing' her characters to do the nasty without breaking out the raincoats. I am also guilty as charged. I want to respond, in advance, to that criticism.


Mine are works of fiction. They are flights of fancy. I require that my readers suspend their disbelief just as any many other audiences are asked to do. When a reader decides she is interested in the paranormal, shapeshifters, vampires, time-travel or any other fantasy, she allows herself to believe in the unbelievable. When theatergoers take in a Broadway play, they become the invisible 'fourth wall' in the action going on on stage. With rare exceptions (“Cats” is one and Shakespeare was fond of the device) actors and playwrights do not breach that wall. I am here to make the case that erotic romance writers deserve the same license.

I know what real life is like. I know how babies are made and how disease is spread. But in a world where a hero never has a beer-gut and his lady's boobs don't sag I reserve the right to go commando when it comes to sex. In romance novels no one wakes up with dragon-breath or farts under the covers. Likewise, I don't think the “crackle of the condom-wrapper” (I actually read this in some erotic tome!) is music to make love to. Personally, I find the rubber-clad penis to be always a little sad. I want my readers to focus on the passion and sensuality of the moment—permission not prevention. I prefer my sex raw, natural and the stuff of dreams.
                     
If you, dear reader, cannot bear the thought of our handsome hero and our lovely heroine going at it Trojan-less, feel free to add the following at the appropriate point in any of my sex scenes:

“He opened the Magnum wrapper with his teeth and sheathed himself with one hand, never missing a beat in pleasuring her. She shivered in anticipation as she realized the moment of completion was upon her."


Now that's what I call suspension of disbelief.

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