by Leonard Gill
Science
can't prove it, but try telling Montezuma, Hippocrates, St. Jerome, Casanova,
Dr. John Harvey Kellogg, and now Martha Hopkins and Randall Lockridge that
aphrodisiacs don't exist. Those names out of history, however, have only
popular belief to back them up; Hopkins and Lockridge have the recipes --
plus the testimony of contemporary taste-testers -- in InterCourses:
an aphrodisiac cookbook (Terrace Publishing, 144 pp., $24.95, photos
by Ben Fink).
Oysters, of course, are on the authors' list, as are chocolate, chiles, grapes, honey, and figs. But there are surprises here too. Who'd have thought the pine nut, the black bean, and rosemary were libido-enhancers? Hopkins and Lockridge, that's who, though they drew the line at Spanish fly and powdered rhino horn. Where they didn't draw the line are the recipes, which are no joke: Black Russian Cake, Asparagus-Prosciutto Rolls, Grilled Scallops with Basil and Lavender Essence, French Toast in Honey-Pecan Sauce, Baked Artichoke and Crab Dip, Spiked Chocolate Mint Espresso, Ravioli of Fresh Flowers, Avocado Chutney, and something called Chocolate Fig Bundles.
These and recipes for dozens more in InterCourses sound seductive enough, but you can believe in them all you want as aphrodisiacs as well. Why argue, though, whether it's a good meal or "magic" that makes the heart grow fonder? As Hopkins writes in her introduction, "The act of preparing food for another (or with another) speaks louder and clearer than most words. It says, with no exceptions, I love you. I want you. I care for you. You are worth the effort."
Worth the effort too has been Hopkins and Lockridge's collaboration. They began work on the book just over a year ago -- Hopkins, who is 25, in charge of the text in Memphis; Lockridge, 26, in charge of the design in Waco, Texas -- and self-published InterCourses in time for the book to reach stores by Valentine's Day, 1997. The reception to the book has, in Hopkins' words, already been "unbelievable."
"It
was never supposed to turn into this," she says. "We're really
glad that it did, but never in our wildest dreams did I think, `Oh, I'm
going to be calling my friends from the Green Room of the Leeza show,
that eight different countries would call about the foreign rights.' That
wasn't supposed to happen. But we'll take it."
The initial idea, according to Hopkins, was simply "to get a life" as opposed to a career. She started out as an editor, then tester and production coordinator for Wimmer Companies, the local cookbook publisher, where she still works in distribution. ("It's been really hard, but you have to pay the rent.") Lockridge, a college buddy from their days at Baylor, works as a graphic designer in Waco. As Hopkins recalls, however, "It didn't look like our careers were really going the way we wanted them to. We went over a whole bunch of ideas and settled on this one because it combined our talents the best. We had the same vision." Did they have the time? "We've been speed demons," she says. "Lots of nights up until 3 or 4 a.m. on the phone, or e-mailing, or faxing. If we didn't have the Kinko's on Union, where would we be?"
Not, apparently, traveling up and down the West Coast, stopping off in Memphis this week for a couple of signings, or heading soon to New York for another round of the same.
It's a fulfillment for Hopkins and Lockridge that only came, in Hopkins' words, after "wearing every single hat" one can think of: "the hat of the author, the hat of the publisher, the hat of the shipper, the hat of the `go-for,' the hat of the everything," with hats off only to the printer in Hong Kong and the photographer, Memphian Ben Fink.
Fink, whose work can be seen regularly in Memphis magazine and such national publications as Saveur and Fine Cooking, was, in Hopkins' opinion, the ideal man for the job when it came to getting 17 shots over the course of six 16-hour days. Fink is a proven hand at photographing food and his own artwork testifies to his handling of the human figure, but in the case of InterCourses, it was the erotic possibilities when those subjects are combined that created the special challenge for him and for his clients.
Hopkins recalls: "Randall and I spent many hours on the phone saying, `Asparagus. Asparagus. What can we do with asparagus?'" (The answer? A topless female model in a hip-hugging micro-mini of asparagus stalks.) For the lead image illustrating chocolate, "the idea was to drizzle chocolate all over the model, but when we did that it looked like we'd stabbed him. So somebody said, `Hey, let's smear it on him.' So we hand-smeared it."
"A rough life" is how Hopkins jokingly describes that particular shot, but in truth, she says, "We worked our butts off. We were delirious, but so excited it didn't matter. We knew what the shots were going to be. It was just a matter of making them happen."
Did
the cast of nonprofessional models appear to mind holding a pose for hours
dressed only in pine nuts or belly-up in black beans? "Oh my God, they
were great," Hopkins says. "There were no prima donnas. I can't
stress how great they were to work with and how fun." The fact that
they even showed up at Fink's studio, and on time, stills seems to strike
Hopkins as the greatest good fortune.
Good fortune, however, was not at first what Hopkins thought she had in a newspaper editor in southern California, who pronounced her recipe for Cornish Hens with Strawberry Glaze "a disaster." Seems that while the chicken was still on the grill, some of the chemicals -- aphrodisiacs, if you will -- from the previous courses he was testing out of InterCourses suddenly kicked in. "Basically, the couple `threw down' for a while," the author says, "and when they got back up, the chicken was charred. I'll take disasters like that. And I bet that editor will too." (She cautions, though, against a whole dinner of aphrodisiac-rich recipes: "It's too stressful. If you're not an experienced cook, you're going to wear yourself out and not even be able to kiss somebody.")
Martha Hopkins and Randall Lockridge more than welcome other such field reports on the efficacy of their recipes. You can enter your comments at www.intercourses.com, but be sure you type in that extra "s." Otherwise, as one confused reader learned, you end up at a Web site where pleasures may be the topic, but they won't be of the table.
(InterCourses: an aphrodisiac cookbook is available at local bookstores or can be ordered by calling 1-800-372-2311.)
PHOTOS BY BEN FINK. FROM INTERCOURSES. COURTESY TERRACE PUBLISHING
ASIDE FROM LOADING THE COFFEE-MAKER AND HEATING
up the occasional bowl of oatmeal, I don't, won't cook. But I have plenty
of friends who do and will when it comes to trying out a recipe. Here's
one morning-after report on the Honey-Peppered Salmon from Martha Hopkins
and Randall Lockridge's InterCourses: an aphrodisiac cookbook. I'll
vouch for the cook's judgment; you judge the outcome. It was a recipe he
assured me was "simple to prepare."
For the salmon steak called for he substituted a fillet to avoid any bones
and marinated it in one tablespoon honey (the gift of an East Parkway beekeeper
but storebought will do), a quarter cup olive oil from a 15th-century mill
in Provence, 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard (preferably produced using silex
grindstones), 2 teaspoons cayenne, a half teaspoon ground coriander, some
minced garlic, lemon juice, and salt to taste. While the fish baked at 350
degrees (6 minutes per side), he mashed some potatoes cooked in home-made
chicken broth, threw in some dried rosemary from his "war-torn"
garden, and added generous amounts of Molly McButter Fat-Free Natural Butter
Flavor Sprinkles (real butter, though, will do). A bunch of blanched asparagus
he pretty much left on its own.
The cook pronounced the dinner delicious, but as to its possible aphrodisiacal
effects? According to his report, visions of Elizabeth Taylor in her prime
and in a fitted slip sprang to mind minutes after eating. None of my business
to inquire whether it was the actress herself or her waist size in Cat
on a Hot Tin Roof that satisfied his heart's desire. -- LG