小编从小就娇生惯养、十指不沾阳春水，更不要说冒着变成“黄脸婆”的危险亲自下厨了，幸而我找了个甘愿做“黄脸公”的他。厨艺高超的他每次看着我狼吞虎咽他的劳动成果，总少不了给我做一番思想教育，如“要捉住男人的心，先要捉住他的胃”，还不时挑战味觉极限，逼着我煮几个菜。当我焦头烂额，挣扎着捧出几碟“生熟混合物”时，他还是毫无怨言地全部咽下去了。此情此景总让我如这篇文章的作者一样在心里感叹道：这个男人就是我的……“长期饭票”。
　　(Amelia)
　　
　　Brian and I were a few months into our relationship, and I still hadn’t cooked for him. He was a classically trained, professional 1)chef, and that 2)intimidated the hell out of me. I was an appreciative audience, though, and would try anything he prepared for me when he came to my house with his wok and knives and 3)saute pans to 4)seduce me with his cooking. But the thought of cooking for a chef terrified me. Mostly because the foods I knew how to make involved cans and 5)jars and pounds of meat, your choice, which you threw into one pot and called a meal. 6)Casserole. Or my roommate’s 7)specialty: pork 8)chops 9)smothered in cream of 10)mushroom soup. Standard fare from our southern 11)Ohio 12)upbringing. But definitely not something to serve to a California chef.
　　But I was beginning to feel guilty. So one Wednesday, after he had cooked one of his meals for me, I announced that I would make dinner for him Saturday night. He looked impressed and said that he would be over at seven o’clock.
　　I bought an Italian cookbook at the drugstore and found a 13)recipe that looked 14)doable: 15)Tortellini. 16)From scratch.
　　Saturday afternoon, I made the 17)filling. No problem. I made the 18)dough, starting with the egg in the well of flour, which magically transformed into a 19)mound of dough. I began to feel pretty confident, even 20)cocky, if truth be told.
　　“Keryn, where’s that 21)rolling pin?”I called out to my roommate, who had promised to disappear for the evening.
　　“What rolling pin?”she yelled from the living room.
　　“Wou know,”I said, “the wooden one.”
　　“We don’t have a rolling pin,”she called out.
　　Stopping to close my eyes, I remembered where that pin was. In my mother’s kitchen. 2000 miles away. And it was 6:30 p.m.
　　I glanced around the kitchen, 22)swearing under my breath. My eyes lit on the bottle of wine I had bought to go with dinner. Not as good as my mother’s rolling pin, since it had only one handle, but it would have to do. I rolled as best I could, breaking into a sweat even though the air conditioner was going. I then cut the dough with a water glass, and from there I seemed to be back on track. I covered a baking sheet with tortellini, properly filled and twisted into shape.
　　Just as I was finishing, the doorbell rang. I slammed the tray of 23)pasta into the fridge and greeted my dinner guest, flour dusting my clothes, my face shiny and flushed. He had brought along a bottle of 24)sparkling wine and a rose to celebrate the occasion.
　　A glass of 25)champagne later, I was 26)collected enough to begin cooking the tortellini. The pot of water began to boil. He watched with interest as I pulled the baking sheet out of the refrigerator, and his eyes 27)popped when he saw the rows of tiny twisted shapes. “You made that” By hand? I don’t even make that, and I have a pasta machine.”
　　


　　I dropped the pasta into the boiling water, then served them. They looked beautiful. We sat down, and I watched as he put one in his mouth and chewed. And chewed. And chewed. I tried one. They were as dense as a pencil eraser.
　　It was over. I knew it. I had had a good thing going and now he’d survive the meal, then 28)beg off early with a headache and disappear into the summer evening, his box of knives and pans never to spend the night in my apartment again.
　　But he ate them. Every last one of them, only admitting that, yes, there were a little thick, but really not bad. So I confessed the story of the rolling pin. He didn’t laugh. His look told me that this guy was the one.
　　When people ask us when we knew it was the real thing, Brian says, “The first time she cooked dinner for me. She made me tortellini from scratch.”And I say, “The first time I cooked for him, he ate my tortellini.”
　　


　　我和布赖恩谈恋爱已经有好几个月了，但我不曾弄过一顿饭给他吃。他是受过传统训练的专业厨师，这实在令我恐惧万分，羞于献丑。尽管我是一个有鉴赏能力的食客，但每当他带着炒菜锅、菜刀和煎锅来我家，以他的厨艺征服我时，我都会细细品尝他为我煮的每道菜。可是，每当我想到要为一个厨师弄一顿饭时，我便会胆颤心惊。主要原因是我会“烹调”的食物，只限于罐头食品，以及其它类型的速食。其实我也会弄一些肉，做法简单，是你的“不二之选”，那就是把所有东西放进一个锅子便大功告成——这便是所谓的“大杂烩”了。我也会弄我室友的“招牌菜”——奶油磨菇煨猪排。这是我们俄亥俄州南部的传统菜，但肯定不适用于款待一位来自加利福尼亚州的厨师。
　　但我开始感到有点内疚。因此，在一个星期三，在他又给我做了一顿饭后，我郑重宣布我将于星期六的晚上亲自为他下厨。他看来深受感动，并且说会在当天晚上七点钟来我家。
　　


　　我在一家杂货店内买了一本意大利食谱，并找到了一个切实可行的食谱——意大利饺子。它对我来说是新鲜的事物，所以我决定从头学起。
　　星期六下午，我先弄好肉馅，很顺利。然后，我开始揉面团，我把鸡蛋混在面粉里，面粉不可思议地被揉成了一垛面粉团。我开始满怀信心，老实说，甚至有点骄傲自满了。
　　我在厨房里呼唤我的室友：“克莉，擀面棍放在哪里？”克莉答应在晚上“消失”，让我们过二人世界。
　　“什么擀面棍？”她在客厅里嚷着回应道。
　　我说：“你知道的，就是那根木棍。”
　　她大喊说：“我们没有擀面棍。”
　　我放下手中的活，闭上眼睛细想，我想起来了，那根擀面棍在我妈妈的厨房里—2000英里远的地方，而现在却是晚上六点半了。
　　我环视厨房，低声地咒骂着。我的目光落在了一瓶酒上，这瓶酒是我买来准备晚餐时享用的。虽然没有妈妈那根擀面棍那么管用，因为它只有一只把手，但也只能凑合着用了。我尽力把面粉擀好，虽然开了空调，我还是弄得满头大汗。然后我用一只玻璃水杯当模具在面团上切出一些圆片作为饺子皮，这时，我似乎又回到正轨了。我把包好馅料、捏成形的饺子放满了整张烘焙纸。
　　我刚把一切弄好，门铃便响了，我匆匆把那盘饺子塞进冰箱，然后去迎接我的晚餐客人。虽然身上的衣服沾满了面粉，但我满面春风，容光焕发。他带了一瓶汽酒以及一枝玖瑰来赴这次重要的约会。
　　喝完一杯香槟酒后，我回过神来，开始烹煮那些意大利饺子。锅中的水开始沸腾。当我从冰箱拉出那张烘焙纸时，他很好奇地望着。当他看见那一排排小巧扭曲的饺子时，他的眼睛瞪得大大的：“是你做的？用手？虽然我有一部饺子机，但我从未做过饺子。”
　　我把饺子扔进沸水中，等煮好了便端上桌。饺子看起来很漂亮，我们坐下来享用。当他把一个饺子放进嘴里，然后咀嚼时，我目不转睛地望着他。他不断地咀嚼、咀嚼再咀嚼。我也把一只饺子送进嘴里。饺子皮厚得像橡皮擦一样。
　　我就知道一切都完了。这都是我干的好事，现在，他会从这顿难吃的饺子中幸存下来，然后以头痛为由提前离开，消失在夏日的夜色里，他那套包括菜刀和锅子在内的烹饪工具再也不会在我的寓所里出现了。
　　但是，他竟然吃完了，把余下的每一个饺子都吃掉，只是一边吃，一边承认，饺子皮确实有点厚，但并不算难吃。而我则向他坦白了有关擀面棍的事。他并没有取笑我。他的表情告诉我，这个男人就是我的真命天子了。
　　当别人问起我们什么时候认定对方就是真正的归属时，布赖恩说：“当她第一次为我做晚餐，为了我，她从头开始学做意大利饺子。”而我则说：“当我第一次为他下厨，他吃掉了我煮的所有意大利饺子。”