It All Started with a Cookbook

For as long as I can remember, love and food have been inseparable in my mind. There’s something so fundamentally romantic about crafting a meal for someone—like you’re serving a slice of your soul, garnished with care. Which is why, years ago, in my enthusiastic but wildly misplaced optimism, I decided to cook an elaborate four-course meal for a guy I was newly dating. Spoiler alert: It was an unmitigated disaster. A rom-com-level catastrophe, minus the happy tears at the end. But hey, it taught me some lasting lessons about love, humility, and why no one should ever underestimate the dangers of raw chicken.

The Setup: A Grand Gesture in the Kitchen

Let’s rewind to my mid-twenties. I had just moved back to Dallas, fresh from my MFA at UT Austin, and I was channeling my inner Sade: smooth operator with slightly wobbly confidence. I’d been seeing this guy, let’s call him Marcus, for a couple of months. Marcus was one of those effortlessly cool types—he knew a little bit about everything, had an immaculate sneaker collection, and made jazz playlists that could melt steel. Naturally, I wanted to impress him.

My plan? A top-tier, Food Network-worthy dinner. I’d seen a few cooking episodes, skimmed through Pinterest recipes—how hard could it be?

For the menu, I ambitiously decided on:
1. A caprese salad starter (simple enough, right?).
2. Garlic butter lobster tail (because nothing says “potential girlfriend material” like lobster).
3. Lemon-herb roasted chicken with honey-glazed carrots and rosemary potatoes (because why not throw poultry into the mix?).
4. A flourless chocolate cake I’d never tasted before but assumed had “seduction” written all over it.

Looking back, my hubris was astonishing—the kind you only possess when you’re too young to know better.

The Execution: Chaos in 375 Degrees

Things began to unravel almost immediately. It started with the lobster.

Despite watching at least three YouTube tutorials, I somehow miscalculated the cooking time, leaving the tails rubbery and suspiciously translucent. I Googled “what happens if you eat undercooked lobster” while nervously sipping wine like it was Gatorade during overtime. Convinced I wouldn’t inadvertently poison anyone, I moved on to the chicken.

Ah, the chicken. This was supposed to be the pièce de résistance. Instead, it became the meal’s undoing. In my haste, I forgot to defrost it properly. Determined to work with what I had, I threw the semi-frozen bird into the oven, hoping the heat gods would work magic. (Narrator: They did not.) Halfway through dinner, an acrid burning smell filled the kitchen as I realized I’d set the oven temperature too high. The chicken came out half-charred and half-pink on the inside—a truly horrifying contradiction that would haunt my culinary dreams for years.

The carrots, meanwhile, were still raw when Marcus arrived, and I somehow managed to split the chocolate cake batter all over myself while trying to blend it. If there was a dating deity monitoring the situation, they were undoubtedly belly-laughing.

The Date: Salvage Attempts and Subtle Disasters

Marcus, bless his heart, was gracious when he arrived. He sniffed the air—probably wondering why it smelled like equal parts campfire and crime scene—but said nothing, just offering his trademark cool smile. We sat down, and I tried to play it off like everything was fine.

The caprese salad was the only thing I truly nailed, but Marcus powered through the rest with visible effort. When he took a bite of the lobster, I nervously asked, “How is it?” He paused, long enough for me to panic internally, before replying, “It’s… different.”

By the time we got to the cake—the one element I thought was foolproof—we discovered it was somehow both overbaked and sinking in the middle. Marcus finally cracked a joke, something like, “This might be the first cake to double as modern art,” which broke the tension and made me laugh so hard I nearly spilled my glass of wine.

The Aftermath: Lessons in Love and Lobster

Naturally, I was mortified. I’d envisioned a perfect, intimate evening, only to give Marcus a front-row seat to my culinary implosion. When he left that night—sporting a polite but vague “thanks for dinner"—I buried my face in a pillow and vowed never to cook for anyone again.

But here’s the thing: I look back on that evening now, years later, and I’m kind of grateful. Sure, my chicken was inedible, and Marcus never called me again (yes, I’m serious), but that night taught me some valuable lessons about relationships, vulnerability, and knowing when to order takeout.

The Takeaways: What I Learned from My Misadventure

For those of you reading this, snickering at my expense, let me impart a few nuggets of wisdom to ensure your next romantic evening doesn’t resemble an episode of Kitchen Nightmares:

  1. Stick with What You Know
    This was my first and biggest mistake—trying to do way too much. In love (and life), there’s no shame in relying on your strengths. If scrambled eggs are your masterpiece, make those. Nobody falls in love over burnt poultry, trust me.

  2. Perfection Is Overrated
    I wanted everything to be flawless, but isn’t imperfection what makes connection feel real? Honesty and humor go a lot further than a Michelin-star meal.

  3. Beware the Pinterest Trap
    Doing something for the sake of how good it’ll look in theory (or on Instagram) rarely ever works out. Think practical, not perfect.

  4. Learn to Laugh at Yourself
    If Marcus taught me one thing, it’s that self-deprecation is a superpower. A good partner won’t care about your mistakes—they’ll laugh with you, not at you.

  5. Takeout Is a Love Language
    Had I just ordered food from a local Dallas barbecue joint, we might’ve actually gone on a second date. Homemade gestures are lovely, but sometimes delivery hits differently (and reliably).

The Silver Lining

Years later, I’m a much better cook, but I still think about what that night taught me about romance, authenticity, and the self-imposed pressure to perform. At its core, love isn’t about grand gestures or flawless execution. It’s about showing up as your unfiltered self, burnt chicken and all.

So, to anyone gearing up for a big romantic dinner: pace yourself, turn the oven down, and don’t forget to laugh. Love is messy, unpredictable, and sometimes completely ridiculous—which is exactly why it’s worth the effort.