So, my hub and I were watching one of the food network channels, as we enjoy trying new recipes together. However what I saw on one of our favorites quite dismayed me.

The chef being interviewed and displaying his culinary skills was mixing pizza dough with his bare hands. His entire forearm was immersed in a huge vat of the dough, which completely turned me off.

“What if some of his arms hairs get into the dough?” I asked Joe. “I much rather eat a restaurant where I’m pretty certain the cooks wear gloves - preferably the kind that go up to their elbows.”

Joe patted my butt fondly. “You are way too concerned with sanitary conditions and that sort of stuff,” he said. “The majority of the population who eat at fine restaurants don’t complain because they find arm hairs in their meal.”

“Well, how do you know?” I replied. “Just look at that guy, whipping around the dough mix with his entire arm.” Then I tried another tact. “Look at your own arm - see all those soft looking hairs on your forearm? Did you want to have some of those included on your next pizza, along with the pepperoni?”

Joe inspected his arm. “Nah, I guess not. Does that mean I don’t have to take you out for dinner anymore?”

I sent him a sly grin. “No. It just means I won’t be dining at any of those places you keep making notes about when we travel the country in our RV. I’ll bring an Ellio’s from the grocery.”

Speaking of restaurants and chefs, please allow me to introduce you to my newest WIP - My Sexy Chef.

A Note From Malibu O’Hare – In retrospect: 
“Once in a life time and if you’re lucky, a Coup de Foudre will strike…this is what happened to me the first time I set eyes on Mark Bouchard.”