Cookin' Up Love | Issue 3

Cookin' Up Love | Issue 3

Each week, we lure two singletons to The Captain Cook Hotel, give them food and drink, then wait for their reports to arrive in our inbox. If this sounds like you, email But be warned--if you dine on the free food and dash without sending us a writeup, a Critic writer will write one under your name. And that won’t end well for you.


When I got the email from Critic saying that I was selected for the Blind Date, my heart started to race, but I didn’t hesitate; I emailed back saying that I was keen and free to do it. As Eminem said: “You only get one shot and one opportunity,” and as Alexander Hamilton said: “I am not going to throw away my shot”. Well, as you can imagine, I was super nervous about who I could meet, so to calm my nerves on my walk to the Cook, I played and sung along to songs from Oscar Best Picture (for 8 seconds) La La Land. When I got there, I sat down in the booth and waited for what seemed like forever and I started to get worried as it was almost 7:30 and she hadn’t turned up. I had my phone on silent and in my pocket as to not have people messaging me distracting me.  Then, as soon as I thought that she had stood me up, this Gorgeous Women (who was a 10) stepped into the booth and sat down opposite me and I knew that the date had started. We got our first drink and started chatting about what we do, our likes and interests, all the usual conversation topics. Our food turned up and I let her steal some of my chips. I couldn’t help letting my mind drift and I found myself wanting to ask for her number because I started thinking that I really liked this girl and wanted to ask her for a second date, but then my shyness hit everytime and I talked myself out of it. Then the time came for her to leave, as she wanted to get up early to go to the gym, and keep her gorgeous body in shape. In my mind I wanted to wrap her in a hug and walk her to her flat and possibly end the date with a kiss and maybe wake up in the morning beside her. But none of that happened. All that happened was a handshake and I was left sitting at the booth cursing my shyness and left with major regrets about not getting her number. But now I just have to hope that I see her again, a time in which I won’t be shy and actually ask her for her number. Cheers for the date Critic, I just wish I wasn’t a shy fool.


Two hours before my blind date I found myself fretting about what I was going to wear and nervously sinking long whites. Rocking up fashionably late, as is the tradition for these things, I arrived to hear from the bartender that my date was already waiting for me. Worried about the impeccably timed man, the bartender led me over to my booth, where I was surprised to a see well presented, older man.

My date couldn’t keep his eyes off me as I slipped into my seat. He did not have the looks I was seeking and nor did he have the chat. One way conversation isn’t something I drive on, and we seemed to lack anything in common, expect our meal choices - thanks to the Cook for the meal, it was bloody fantastic. Realising the yarns weren’t spinning as well as I had hoped they would, the bartender hooked me up with a few extra drinks to try make something of the night. Turns out that alcohol only improves your own chat - not the people who you have to talk to. The chat continued to struggle, but luckily for me I got to polish off his plate for him (nervous fella lost his appetite).

This article first appeared in Issue 3, 2017.
Posted 3:20pm Sunday 12th March 2017 by Lovebirds.