I'll see you in the check-out line

I have a confession to make.
I have a dark, dirty, now-not-so-secret fascination with the ※missed connections§ listings on craigslist. It＊s not that I go there expecting to find a message left expressly for me, although I suppose it wouldn＊t be entirely out of the question to see ※Hottie buying Chocolove 77% at Whole Foods - m4w 每 28,§ or perhaps ※Saturday Pilates vixen in black ninja outfit 每 m4w 每 26.§ No, mine is, as you might expect, a curiosity vaguely informed by anthropology. After all, it is springtime, and true to our most basic animal instincts, humans everywhere〞but especially on craigslist〞are on the hunt for a mate. It＊s very entertaining to watch and read, and cheaper even than a trashy romance novel. And anyway, sometimes anthropology is nothing more than glorified voyeurism.

Although this is not exactly the kind of study that will help me to finish my thesis, it does get me thinking. In springtime, any space with or without four walls starts to look like a bedroom, from buses to bus stops, elevators, and entire streets〞not to mention my personal weakness, the grocery store, where the term ※check-out line§ takes on a whole new meaning. At this time of year, everything is an aphrodisiac, from ginger to gas fumes. And though we seem to be feeling unusually hopeful and open-minded about the sexy possibilities around the next corner, I＊d like to point out one that you might not have dared to consider: beets.

Beets aren＊t your typical erotic fare, I know. But given the proper context and care, they〞like so many others who are rough, misunderstood, and given to spending lots of time underground〞can be transformed into something surprisingly luscious. Take, for instance, a beet-feta tart.

I first tasted this tart at a loosely aphrodisiacs-themed dinner party back in late February. For the occasion, Kate had roasted a chicken and served it on a platter of red rose petals, with handcuffs around its legs and a thin black satin ribbon tied around one of its wings. Margot and Todd arrived with a perky green salad served in a bowl looped with a danger-sexy spike-studded belt, and for my part, I whipped up a rum cream pie topped with chopped pistachios and shaved chocolate, banking on the age-old formula of booze plus whipped cream. There were also, of course, the standbys: oysters, strawberries, wine, melted chocolate, and so on. But the vedette of the evening was the beet-feta tart brought by a friend of a friend whose name I can no longer remember. I didn't, however, forget the important details: the tart looked like a sheet of hot-pink satin overlaid with off-white lace, and it was blush-inducingly delicious. It brought together the dark, earthy flavor of beets〞sweet and rich, with a welcome bitter edge〞and the salty tang of feta, binding them in a smooth, eggy custard.

The party didn＊t exactly turn into a display of our most basic animal instincts, but the tart was plenty satisfying. And now that the season is optimal for both beets and bedrooms, it could only get better. I＊m sure I'll see you in the check-out line.