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A Tale of Love and Garlic

A Tale of Love and Garlic

It’s lunchtime and all the ladies on my floor have scrunched into one room, digging into salads, which doesn’t mean we won’t be pouncing on the apple cake someone has so thoughtlessly brought in and put enticingly on the table.

We will. If only because we don’t want to hurt her feelings.

As the room fills with chatter, I’m somewhere else.

A certain someone is coming over for dinner and I have no idea what to make.

“It’s got to be vegetarian,” I say, which upsets the crowd.

But not nearly as upset as when they hear it has to be kosher.

Welcome to Israel.

I decide to throw out a few ideas.

“I’m thinking tortillas with black beans and…”

“No beans!” is the resounding response.

“Oh…” I say, suddenly picking up on the implications.

I figure dairy’s probably out, too, in case the guy’s lactose intolerant, which, considering he’s no wan, pale, sensitive-stomached Ashkenazi, I assume he isn’t. Still, to be on the safe side, maybe I should forgo the cheese.

“And no garlic either!” someone else offers.

" I got it: Parsley!” I say since everyone knows that parsley is a natural breath freshener just as everyone knows that a third date that goes well usually ends with a kiss, especially a third date with a certain very cute someone who is coming over for an intimate dinner for two. Or three, if you count Trevor Dog.

But the parsley gets nixed, too.

“It might get stuck in his teeth!” someone says.

I sigh. All that’s left is water, possibly even with a slice of lemon, but I’m afraid to throw that out to the crowd lest that, too, gets vetoed.

So what’s a gal to do?

In the end, I decide to make something yummy, stink factor be damned. So it is that we sit down to pasta with a tomato sauce and goat cheese, homemade guacamole (with garlic), garlic bread and an Israeli salad with mint (nana).

And guess what?

A good time was had by all. With no garlic breath in sight.

Not that I know this personally. A little bird just happened to mention this to me and I always believe little birds, especially when they’re flying around my apartment, witnessing me and a certain very cute someone during an intimate dinner for two.

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