Saucy Girl! by Amelia Tigertail

Forget Teflon. Ignore Calphalon. Overlook those fancy, French-made cheery Le Creuset pots lining your cabinets with red, white, and blue. Yes, delightul apron-wearer, ignore any modern, trinket-inspired cookware that began with the cherry-colored KitchenAid, and bring on the trusty cast iron!

New is kitsch. Old is sexy. Think aprons stained with pureed tomatoes, bacon grease, and the powdery flour marks left by hands pausing between kneading. Remember back to days of plain pancakes doused in butter, when chocolate chips reigned in the cookie world, and macadamia nuts hadn't been discovered. Think peanuts in the shell, not salted pistachios, frivolously warmed in the oven before being presented in a white ceramic fingerbowl. Herald the afternoons when summer meant preserved fruit, stirred with sugar and warmed to make marmalade, not food-color-flavored SnoCones that stain your tongue.

Think pink bubblegum, vanilla bean ice-cream, and tanned sun-kissed bodies, lips touched with gloss, hair parted down the middle, and floral skirts, scoop-neck dresses with ties in the back, and black patent Mary-Janes hiding lazy pink-hued toenails.

You get the idea. First, open every window in your kitchen, or at least let the light in through blinds or dusty curtains. Draw a bath, scrub your body, lighlty removing any particles of dust or traces of a day at the office. Allow your pores to breathe with the suds, drinking the water flowing down your back. Embrace the fresh scent of white Ivory soap, moisten your face with a light cream, and allow your hair to fall freely across your blush-sprinkled cheeks. Tie a pink ribbon around your ankle just because, and find a necklace that sings when you walk. White daisies on the table, pink candles dotting corners and coffeetables, and a frilly apron whimisically tied around your waist. Think bonnets and carefree Sundays, ignore telephones and answering machines, instead welcome all that lives in light and feeds from earth.

You're a girlie girl, demure but filled with wisdom, beautiful and unpredictable, sensuously young and fresh and filled with the clarity of summer's breeze. You sip wine by the stem and excuse yourself for a quick *nose powdering* (now really sweetness, what you do in the little girl's room for those precious few minutes is entirely up to you, but yes, there is always time to let your dress slip to the floor...).

And for dinner? A secret, slow-simmering seductive pasta sauce. The kind that lingers in your kitchen for days after, oregano and basil gracing your nooks and crannies like a lover who knows where to kiss and touch and caress. The ingredients are simple. But the pampering for you begins the moment the onion sizzles in the pot--because what follows are two, long, alone, possibility-filled hours, when anything goes....

Once you've got the mood and rosebud-like attitude down, pouted your lips and pranced in front of your full-length mirror, perfecting the lovely glide that begins at the hips and slides down to curved insoles, get out your basic, most natural utensils. Hardwood cutting board. Sensible, efficient knife, and well-seasoned cast iron pot, or your favorite deep-dish ovenrange cooking device. Begin sauteeing a diced onion and four cloves of garlic in olive oil--extra virgin if you're feeling particularly sassy.

When the white begins to turn deliciously golden, add about a pound of ground beef in batches, using a wooden fork or spatula to break into smaller pieces. Saute for a few minutes, moving your body along the front of the counter, stirring with one hand, exploring the curves of your womanly hips with the other. Add four diced carrots and three diced celery ribs, along with a can or two of crushed tomatoes. Simmer. Stir. Sprinkle generously with dried oregano and basil, rubbing the herbs between your fingertips, smelling the earth that made them and feeling the coarse grains break between your smooth hands. Toss in a crushed bay leaf, a generous cup of red wine, and allow the long-time simmering to begin.

Now you. You've got an hour and a half to yourself. No date in sight. No fax, no email, no television. Lounge. Recline on the couch. Smell your body, dip your finger in your glass of hearty Cabernet, and suck. Indulge in yourself, your scent, your curves, the way your legs smoothly glide against each other. You're a girl. Dreamy, delicous, and delightful. Play with your hair, spread your hands with lily or lemon or lime-studded lotion. Dance with your arms extended high above your head, inhale the aromas wafting from the kitchen, and do what nature whispers in your hair. You are alone. Time is yours and life is here.

Twenty minutes before your guest arrives, set a pot of water to boil, and cook a healthy serving of linguine according to package directions. Grate some Parmesan, warm a baguette, and set the table with heavy, large, rustic plates and princess-like dainty wineglasses. A fork and spoon. Forget the knives. No cutting tonight. Just twirling, sucking, licking, and devouring. Oh, and then there's the meal....