Even if I know there won’t be a second date, I typically try to give my full attention to each guy I go out with – and I expect the same in return.
Sounds fair, right?
But during the summer of 2021, aged 23, I had no other option but to talk to other people throughout an entire date with a professional chef. He spent the whole date in the kitchen, instead.
It was the middle of my first big dating spree after my first long-term relationship had ended a few months earlier. I took some time to let myself be single in New York City, though it didn’t take long before I created multiple dating profiles.
After a few failed dates with a British doctor, TikTok beatboxer, Yale graduate and rugby player, I thought I found a rare gem: a tall, dark and handsome professional chef.
After messaging back and forth for a couple weeks, he asked me out.
‘You could come to the restaurant where I work, have a drink and then I’ll give you delicious food,’ he told me.
I was intrigued. Besides a few home dinners here and there, I’ve never had a man cook me a multiple-course meal before.
I warned him that I wouldn’t be able to stay out very late as I had work early the next day.
My early bedtime didn’t seem to bother him as he said we could sit at the bar, have a drink, then try some of the restaurant’s dishes.
After a quick google search of the restaurant, I grew excited.
Not only was this a well-reviewed restaurant, it was created by a former Michelin-star winning chef. Safe to say, it was way out of my price range – so I was looking forward to a free meal with a good-looking man.
A fresh face of makeup and well-calculated outfit later, I made my way to the subway.
I’ve always loved taking the subway on my way to a date. There’s something about the combination of ABBA’s Voulez-Vous album blasting in my ears with the steady screech of the metal subway cars and the occasional break-dancer that helps distract the mind from any nerves.
I arrived at the restaurant at around 9pm. Several couples sat in window seats and corner tables, cheersing glasses of wine and whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.
Bar seats were empty, so I made my way in that direction, hoping to greet my date.
While he did come out to the dining area to say hello after I first arrived, wearing his chef whites, disapproving glances from the restaurant manager made it clear that he’d be staying in the kitchen.
I wished I’d brought a book to fill the awkward silence and I wondered if the chef had never invited a girl to the restaurant before, and hadn’t cleared it with his boss.
So, I started my unforeseen date with the bartenders.
One had been with the restaurant since the beginning, training new staff members about all the specialty cocktails and specific pours.
The other was working the gig part time as she trained to be a ballerina during the day.
During our conversations, I learned where they grew up and what drew them to the Big Apple as well as what it was about the ever-bustling city that was keeping them there.
They asked me if I had ever gone out with the chef before and were shocked he picked this as our first date.
Throughout the evening, my date came out from the kitchen once or twice to ask how the food was and if I wanted to go for a drink after he finished – presumably to make up the time he had already lost.
Part of me wanted to stay and keep talking with the bartenders who I’d been getting to know all night, sacking him off as he had with me. But, I felt bad. I didn’t want to seem like I was just taking advantage of a free dinner and drinks. So, I said yes.
After he wrapped up his shift around 10:30pm, we made our way to a bar down the street for a drink. Safe to say that I didn’t stay long.
Maybe it was the exhaustion from a long day, or the disappointment in how I barely spoke with my date all night, but I found myself wishing I was already in bed at home.
Looking back, I wish I had pressed him on why he would invite me out if he was going to stay in the kitchen all night, or at least made a joke. Instead, I smiled and nodded at his cooking stories, silently planning my exit.
I did thank him for a nice evening after I left, which is probably why he asked me out a couple more times in the weeks that followed. But I knew there wouldn’t be a second date.
His cooking was exceptional, don’t get me wrong, but it would have been nice to talk to him as he made it – instead of the people pouring my drinks.
So, How Did It Go?
So, How Did It Go? is a weekly Metro.co.uk series that will make you cringe with second-hand embarrassment or ooze with jealousy as people share their worst and best date stories.
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