Theory suggests that chemicals in certain foods stimulate signals in your brain that RSVP to a party in your pants. Aphrodisiacs can help the body produce hormones including dopamine and testosterone that tend to cause a ‘stir down thir.’
Even though there is some science behind claims that natural chemicals in food can benefit one in the sack, there has also been sufficient evidence to suggest that most of it is bollocks – or just shaped that way. Some foods have gained their aphrodisiac reputation purely due to their erotic resemblance.
The avocado conveniently grows in pairs, which of course left it subject to Mayan ridicule as they nicknamed it the “testicle tree”. Aztec children can be cruel.
The same goes for the banana for obvious reasons, and oysters supposedly are uncannily similar to a lady’s unmentionables.
However, oysters are loaded with zinc and are rich in amino acids which help increase levels of sex hormones. Casanova must have had a deal between him and his fishmonger, as it is said that he used to knock back 50 oysters every morning to make sure he was ready for the 122 women his little black book tells he seduced.
The chilli pepper is also rumoured to make us want to take our clothes off – not only because it can make one sweat profusely. It also increases our heart rate and does wonders for our circulation, emulating how our bodies react when things get hot and and spicy in the boudoir. But stay away from those lazy chillies in a jar – that says a lot about a person – lazy cook, lazy… Just wash your hands before touching anything.
An after dinner espresso can turn into a very public display of affection that may be deemed inappropriate in Pizza Express. Coffee can prove to be a stimulant needed in areas other than the office, creating an increase in blood flow which puts a whole different spin on ordering a very hot and very wet Americano in Starbucks.
So how can we test this awfully dubious theory that sucking on a piece of asparagus can make you do things you regret in the morning? You could make an elegant four course meal that you can feed each other across the table, but why would you do that when you could stick as many aphrodisiacs as you can in a hot, sexy gumbo pot and then sit in front of Dangerous Liaisons, or another film you find moderately erotic. Is gumbo pot a euphemism? It is now.
These days we’re all leading a pretty busy lifestyle which doesn’t spare much time for romance. In fact I do most of my spooning during my morning commute with a complete stranger: are those your house keys in your pocket or did you just wake up? But instead of shoving as many aphrodisiacs as you can into a blender and gagging over a sexually infused smoothie, I invented an equally quick and easy gumbo that anyone can knock together without getting in a flap. Unless you’ve got mutual consent and tonight’s the night.
Of course, I wouldn’t suggest you slurp at anything I haven’t subjected myself to first, which is why I made the go hard or go home gumbo, cramming in exactly 16 aphrodisiac ingredients (shellfish and phallic vegetables included) to pack the strongest pleasure punch possible.
A quick internet search provided me with basic gumbo guidance from Martha Stewart which I twisted and tweaked for my housemate and her boyfriend who were none the wiser to my experiment. It was merely by chance that I had more than enough for little old me – in fact, I probably would’ve had enough to fuel the aching appetites of everyone in Casanova’s memoirs, but I could always freeze the rest for potential Tinder dates. Presumptuous?
Naturally, they were more than happy to oblige to a free meal, so I ladled in the liquid libido to fill three bowls full. Stood up, sipping quietly at mine with a soup spoon, I observed the couple for signs of chemistry with wide dilated eyes and a beating heart. But maybe that was the espresso I’d had earlier.
Ten minutes later, their bowls half drained and I scooping the rest in with an oyster shell, there seemed to be sufficient hair-flipping and licking of lips going on but no tearing off of clothes. Cursing my hesitance of putting in too much chilli (non-lazy), I figured Mr White could shimmy the process along – Barry, not Walter. ‘Say my name.’ Ok, maybe Walter.
After playing all the Barry and Marvin Spotify had to offer to no avail, including a few ill-timed adverts for Imodium in-between, I’ve concluded that perhaps the effects of aphrodisiacs are often the result of the placebo effect. You hear something enough times…
Now excuse me while I have a cold shower.
Photos courtesy of: Mary Clarke