Be Shellfish by Amelia Tigertail

I am a freak.

But at least I can put together a steamed lobster meal, complete with melted butter, a heated French baguette, lemon wedges for garnish, and a Swedish Caesar salad.

And now, dear culinary sex fiend, I am here to tell you why you should try the same.

Here's the bottom line: cook a divine meal for the sexual focal point of your life, and ye shall reap the rewards. My delicious counterpart lives for lobster. Am I exaggerating? Perhaps. But I cannot tell you the complete turn-on it is for me, to watch his lips begin to quiver and form that seductive smile, his mind begin spinning those lovely words of adulation, and his body language send me suggestive waves of welcome to devour all that is him. Provided, of course, that we start the evening off with lobster.

The way to the heart really is through the stomach. (Unless of course, you possess that magical Richard Fish touch that somehow brings to life the nerve that resides behind the knee and that sends jolting waves of come through your veins only by the mere hint of lips touching that sacred spot. I apologize. I'm off on a tangent--albeit a sexual one--when all I want to do is encourage everything that is simple and animalistic within you to come forth.)

We begin with the animal: in this case, the lively lobster. Limbs running in all directions, body squirming beneath the touch, and eyes following every move of

your hands. If you're lucky, you've got a completely luxurious grocery store or seafood market nearby that steams your sea creature, packs it in ice, and hands it over the counter in a plastic bag, ready for immediate home consumption--or at least once you've donned the appropriate attire.

If this is the case, simply make the trek home, plop a few sticks of butter in a sauce pan, begin the sexual melting process, and open your bottle of Merlot (or Zinfandel) in the meanwhile. If your seafood market leaves the preparation to you, never fear. It's easy.

With this fancy, pampering-filled meal, I suggest a Caesar salad--delightfully simple to prepare, yet miraculously one of the most lovely green-worshipping dishes our culture has yet embraced. Add several rinsed, chopped romaine lettuce leaves to a bowl, and let them rest in the refrigerator. Think cool, crisp, clean leaves, awaiting your consumption, while retaining their innocent freshness in the seclusion of your ice-inspired, temperature-controlled, large kitchen appliance.

Toss your bread in a warm oven to heat it up while you're building the salad.

For the dressing--or if you would, the sexy sauce--boil a pot of water. Add an egg and boil for exactly two minutes, then crack it into a bowl. It will still be runny. With a fork, blend in a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar, a tablespoon of Dijon mustard, salt and pepper, and three well-mashed anchovy fillets. Grab a fork, and mash the tiny fishes together with the egg mixture. Inhale the ocean-loving, friendly aroma.

Should you encounter an album by Julio Iglesias (or that hunk of a son of his Enrique) in your collection, go ahead and play it. Softly. It's all about the mood, baby.

Next, add a couple tablespoons of olive oil, a crushed garlic clove or two--if you're in the adventurous mood--and fresh Parmesan. Immediately before serving, if you're looking for that look of delicious admiration from your dining partner, make a batch of fresh croutons for a warm, crunchy salad topping. You could also cheat and heat up a pan of fancy, store-bought croutons in the oven. Toss dressing and croutons with Romaine and serve immediately with cooked lobster, melted butter, and lemon wedges. Don't forget the bread warming in the oven, and have plenty of napkins--lobster is delightfully messy eating.

As for clothes, I suggest tossing aside that nice dress or any other stuff you wear that is a must at restaurants...strip down to your bra and sexy panties and make him wear only his briefs--that way once the juices start to fly you'll be better dressed for the occasion. The idea is to delight in the food, drink loads of wine, and finally realize, as your skimpy panties glide toward the floor, that yes, the way to your lover's heart is through their stomach.

What are you waiting for?