She came highly recommended – like a great book, a fine restaurant, or a good plastic surgeon. Her name was Delilah, and our mutual friend, Nina, wanted to hook us up.
She described Delilah as a great beauty, with intellect and insight.
“She’s your muse,” said Nina.
I wasn’t falling for the hype. I didn’t want to go on a blind date. But Nina wouldn’t let up. She was sure that Delilah and I were perfect for each other.
I sighed and told her I’d think about it.
“Don’t think about it. Call her,” she insisted. “Fate doesn’t wait.”
My grandma's favorite gift was a box of chocolate covered cherries. I can still see her biting into the first one she picked from the box my uncle would bring her from Walgreen's Drugstore in Chicago. The liquid insides would ooze out and drip down her chin. She'd smile and her eyes would sparkle with delight. I never did grow fond of the chocolate-cherry treats that would bring her such glee. Even as a child, they were just too sweet for my liking.
I have two boys. At the ages of eleven and one that's moments away from turning thirteen, it's getting harder and harder to impress them. Or maybe it's better to say, it's getting harder and harder to do things together they think are cool.
Sharing things is always dicey, and dicing while cooking together is definitely no exception. The kitchen can morph into a metallic boxing ring. One of you is the wild, inventive cook and the other is the chop-a-holic, compulsive one. But one thing I’ve realized after decades of co-cooking is that both co-chef-partners are actually doing the same things, just at different moments. 
Reasons why you must absolutely make this salad for your honey on Valentine's Day (what you didn't learn in sex ed) and why you must not let your young teenagers have even a bite of this fruit and veggie mix, which is more of a love potion than an actual salad. Whew, got all that?