Queering Aphrodisiacs + A Recipe for Sapphrodisiac Shrimp Carbonara
aphrodisiacs are gay now
My Voluptuous Readers,
I beg a thousand pardons for missing the past few month’s newsletters. I recently began a new job where I get to work with community and food in a much more wholesome capacity than this newsletter might imply. It’s been a very important and happy change for me (is it annoying for me to say that happiness is the best aphrodisiac? yes!) Anyway, the adjustment means that I’ve had less time and space for exploring the sensuous world of Wet Appetites.
But never fear: I’m back to contemplating the aphrodisiac — and how to define something as intangible as sexiness. A vibe! A mood! A je ne sais quoi!
While aphrodisiacs are meant to be substances that increase sexual desire, the definition feels a little too simplistic. If the second you ate an oyster or a peach, your loins were set ablaze, life would be chaos. Isabel Allende, in her book Aphrodite: A Memoir of the Senses muses on a more nuanced understanding: “Aphrodisiacs are the bridge between gluttony and lust...some have a scientific basis, but most are activated by the imagination.”
But in researching famous aphrodisiacs like chocolate covered strawberries, asparagus and oysters, it was imagination that seemed lacking. I mean, on the one hand, who am I to talk? I wrote about oysters and their mysterious mollusked existence last time and had an erotic ball. But still, the whole thing began to feel like a stale trope — like rose petals in the shape of a heart on a bed.
I started to notice that every listicle, article and book on aphrodisiacs sounded straight out of Cosmo — 101 Ways to Pleasure Your Man Using Only ROOT VEGETABLES (fortunately/unfortunately not a real article or you know I’d link it). Many of them are also written in a way that makes me feel like the author is trying shoot me a knowing wink, which maybe in some contexts is something I’d enjoy, but here? It’s a no.
Certainly some aphrodisiacs are left gender neutral (chocolate, for example, boosts serotonin, and therefore, increases sex drive… what did I tell you about happiness being the best aphrodisiac). But in general, scholars of sexy foods unsurprisingly center foods that increase “sperm strength,” “boost fertility,” “enhance male libido,” and revel in the precursors to modern-day Viagra. Again not shockingly, a quick google search of the term “sexy food” will lead you to an array of oddly sterile stock photos — women’s mouths eating spaghetti, slices of pizza clamped over breasts. It becomes increasingly hard to tell — is the cherry itself actually sexy? Or is it just that this woman is intimating a blowie?
Yes, aphrodisiac lit is tragically hetero. While some sources manage to acknowledge that perhaps, gay people didn’t NOT use aphrodisiacs………….., most writings ignore queer identities altogether, and focus solely on virility, fertility, semen, etc. etc. and YES OF COURSE (some) queer people want kids too. But is the biological need to reproduce really behind all things erotic? Obviously not.
It’s really not that I mean to give you all a Media Literacy 101 lesson. Many of us in the Year of Our Lord 2021 are already aware how the (white, straight, cis) male gaze has infested every corner of our collective psyche. Yawn, you say! But in writing this, something occurred to me:
If the whole discussion of aphrodisiacs is like everything else in this straight and male-oriented world, then what would it look like to queer aphrodisiacs?
Just like queer people have existed forever, so has the association between food and sex. Ancient cultures from India to Egypt to China to the pre-Columbian Americas had aphrodisiacal culture. It was the Greeks that invented the term “aphrodisiac” that we now use in English. And yet there’s scant evidence of how queer people have interacted with edible aphrodisiacs over the years. More than that, the mainstream discussion of aphrodisiacs all feels very prescriptive, like a plug-and-play system of arousal, with no room for personality, pleasure, or creativity; in short, sexiness. This is where queer food, and therefore queer aphrodisiacs, offer us... another way. And even if you’re not queer, surely, an escape from the roteness of whipped cream and raspberries must appeal.
But how just DOES one queer aphrodisiacs? Should they include camp, or bisexual lighting? Are we, god forbid, talking about rainbow oysters here? (no)
For me the answer is murky, much like the discussion of what makes food “queer food” to begin with. In the Eater article “Queer Food is Hiding in Plain Sight,” Kyle Fitzpatrick says, “Of course, queer soup and transgender sandwiches don’t exist. No flourish of sauce makes a dish bisexual, nor does flambé make your duck or ice cream “homosexual”: these are terms applied to people, and ones that don’t transfer to food, even if an LGBTQ someone ignited that dish.”
Queer food, and therefore queer aphrodisiacs, are not simply food prepared by a queer person. It’s more about a certain sensibility — the environment in which the food is made and eaten, and of course the meaning cooked into the dish, if you’ll allow me the pun. In his 2014 breakthrough Lucky Peach article, “America, Your Food Is So Gay,” John Birdsall argued that gay food writers James Beard, Richard Olney, Craig Claibourne brought“food that takes pleasure seriously, as an end in itself” to mainstream American food culture.
Pleasure!!! In food! What if we applied that to sex, too? Imagine….
Other queer chefs and other such ~food people~ have added while pleasure is part of the picture, the perspective on queer food offered by Birdsall is still focused mainly on gay men and doesn’t necessarily encompass all that queer food can be, nor who queer food is by and for. It can also be a subversion of expectations and a rejection of the status quo. It can be a form of self-expression. It can address isolation and life at the margins. It can be a vehicle through which community is formed and fostered. It can be weird. It can be fun!!! And it will always depend on the identities and vision of the person experiencing them.
Of course, when we start to apply all of this to the world of aphrodisiacs, it can all start feeling quite… conceptual. But a cut and dry definition for queer aphrodisiacs would be tacky, and likely, impossible. Ultimately I think they would be playful, mutually pleasurable, subversive — and highly personal. If you’re queer, I’d love to hear from you: what would you consider to be an aphrodisiac meal? Comment, DM, email me, whatever. I want to know.
For now, here’s mine:
Sapphrodisiac Shrimp Carbonara + Femme Fall Salad
Dedicated to my girlfriend who came up with the term sapphrodisiac and whose obsession with shrimp knows no bounds.
Most of the ingredients in this dish are considered classic aphrodisiacs -- egg, shrimp, saffron, chili pepper, pomegranate in the salad. But this carbonara isn’t your average straightforward pasta (am I making myself clear yet).
Adapted from a few recipes which I’ll link here and here.
Sapphrodisiac Shrimp Carbonara
1 pound pappardelle
1 lb shrimp
1/2 cup chicken stock
¼ teaspoon saffron (2 pinches)
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 cloves garlic, crushed
3 egg yolks
2/3 cup grated parmesan or pecorino cheese, plus more to pass around the table
Aleppo pepper
In a frying pan, heat the olive oil. Cook garlic in oil for 1 minute, careful not to burn it. Remove garlic.
Add the shrimp to the pan and cook for 5-6 minutes until pink and slightly crisp. Remove the shrimp and place to the side.
Boil large pot of salted water. Add pappardelle and cook until al dente. Drain, reserving a ladleful of pasta cooking water.
In a small saucepan, bring the chicken stock and saffron to a boil over medium-high heat. Lower the heat and simmer until reduced.
Beat the egg yolks with the reserved pasta cooking water. Add the pasta to the skillet. Pour in the saffron stock and toss; season with pepper. Turn off the heat and stir in the egg yolks, cheese, and shrimp.
Sprinkle with Aleppo pepper and more cheese at the table!
Femme Fall Salad
1 head radicchio
1 bunch frisée
1 Fuyu persimmon
1/2 cup pomegranate seeds
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1/4 teaspoon dijon mustard
Edible flowers
Salt and pepper
1. Wash radicchio and frisée. Chop radicchio into strips; place both in large bowl.
2. Slice persimmons into thin slices. Place in bowl.
3. Make dressing — whisk mustard and balsamic vinegar until emulsified. Add oil. Whisk or shake until completely mixed.
4. Toss everything in bowl — top with edible flowers. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
PS: If you are interested in collaborating through a feature or interview, please get in touch! I am looking to profile chefs/artists/food creatives who want to share their perspective on the ~sensuality of food.