He tipped the chef’s hat and grinned. “Dinners, Drive-Ins, and…”

“Say it!” The anticipation was delicious. My body quivered.

“Dives!” He buried his face in my blossoming frittata of love.

She was slathered, head to toe, in Russian dressing, and I was ready to eat at Moscow’s most exclusive restaurant: Flavortown.


His arms grasped me with the strength of Mexican street taco chili powder. He consumed me like a hungry tourist eats a Mexican street taco. The urgency was profound, like the need for a bathroom a tourist experiences after eating a Mexican street taco. Soon, sour cream was everywhere—like a Mexican street taco covered in sour cream.

He pulled out a bottle of Cholula hot sauce, and said, “Why don’t we spice things up a bit…”

That was the only thing he pulled out.

The bacon grease popped and landed on her exposed drumsticks. I sopped it up with my love-biscuit. I put it in my mouth and the juices flowed. We got to baking. It was messy and I should’ve worn an apron.

I exploded like an old school glass ketchup bottle tapped just right.

“U up?” the text read. It was 3 am on a work night. I had to be up early for filming. In the morning, I was jetting up to New York to cover the best $1 pizza spots in the city. I couldn’t sleep. All I could think about was Linda. Her meaty curves. Her kielbasa lips. What I would give for another moment alone with her.

Then, her next message came through.

It was a picture of Linda sexily eating chicken wings, red sauce dripping onto flour-tortilla-white skin.

“What would you do if I was there?” she asked.

I responded with a picture of my salami and cheddar. “I’d give you my stiffest charcuterie.”

I was sitting on the toilet thinking about life, when it occurred to me: I should trademark this #FoodPorn thing. Who the hell is gonna stop me?

That was the beginning of my all-you-can-eat erotic buffet franchise.

Most people remember where they are when they have their first foodgasm, I’ll never forget mine. 1982. Denver, Co. I was diving into a juicy burger, loaded with crispy onions and fries, when my taste buds detonated; and so did I.

The hotel room was a disaster. Hamburger Helper sauce was everywhere: the walls, the sheets, the carpet, my pubic region.

Linda giggled. “I never knew that playing with your food could be so fun.”

I winked. “Just wait until we make salad. I prefer mine tossed.”

“You want me to do what with the Slim Jim?”