Does anything say, ‘I love you, let’s ravage each other’, more than food-related erotica, vintage porn, and a sense of urgent panic?
Nope! That’s why yesterday (February 13) everyone’s favourite sex-writing chef, Slutty Cheff, spent the morning cycling to all four corners of London to hand-deliver her limited-edition porno mag — so that all the Valentine’s perverts wouldn’t have to turn up to their lover’s house empty handed on the big day (today!).
In case you don’t know the lore, Slutty Cheff is an anonymous writer and cook who has worked in kitchens for years (in photos, her face is always hidden by a burger emoji) who became an Instagram phenomenon after she shared a mocking post about TikTok chef Thomas Straker’s all-male, all-white line-up of kitchen staff.
Since then, her unique brand of sexy food writing has seen her become a social media darling, a columnist for Vogue, and an author. Her first book, Tart — which details her 20s navigating sex and romance while working in restaurants in London — is out in July this year.
The magazine — which was free for the taking, and sold out almost instantly — is called HOT FAT, and contains a collection of food-themed sex stories (or: food porn), an X-rated word search, a “brutal” horoscope, a “piss-take agony aunt column”, and a “chef 101 for manly men (mise-en-pussy: how to set up for sex)”.
Illustrated with archive porn photography and endorsed by the likes of ‘Gregg Wallarse’ and ‘Martha Stewarse’, it’s truly a thing to behold.
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“To source the pictures and get the tone right, I went on this crazy porn binge for like four hours,” she tells Cosmopolitan UK. “It really fucked me up. By the end of it, I was completely desensitised to all this crazy stuff. In the old days, the porn was so male gaze-y and really aggressive. But I was trying to find nice, intimate pictures, so that was pretty hard.”
Once the porn binge was over, though, the magazine was basically done. “I did it all in the space of like four hours, so there’s loads of spelling errors.”
Although she did have all our best V-Day interests at heart, Slutty Cheff says she made HOT FAT largely because she was “really fucking bored”. “I wanted to do something fun that wasn’t going to be edited,” she says. “Something not serious that also made people horny. It’ll either make people laugh or make them horny. Whatever, I don’t care. It’s kind of the same thing.”
So, why does she think her writing has connected with so many people? “I think initially you can’t look away,” she says. “From, like, the wording. Then when it gets past that point, I don’t know. Maybe it’s relatable… maybe it’s escapism.”
It could also be the timing: erotica is having a moment right now, especially among women. Just look at the popularity of fantasy erotic novels (popularised by young women on SmutTok), the boom in audio porn, and the frenzy around Gillian Anderson’s Want, a collection of anonymous women’s sexual fantasies.
And then there’s the fact that the connection between food and sex — although we’re all aware of it — is a relatively untapped market. In writing, at least. “It wasn’t an intentional thing, like, ‘Oh there’s a gap in the market’,” says Slutty Cheff.
“It’s just that I’m obsessed with food, dinner, and restaurants, and human connection, love, and sex. And there’s a really obvious overlap — they’re both about pleasure and basic human desire.”
Restaurants in particular are sexy places — whether you’re a customer or, maybe even more so, when you work there. “I think people in hospitality probably fuck better,” she adds. “[Working in restaurants has] taught me that London in the middle of the night is very sexy.”
“When you have to work in really close proximity with people, you learn an innate respect for people’s body language. When you learn how to use your body in a way that’s really efficient, it links directly to sex,” she continues.
“If you’re somebody that’s spending that much time on your feet and with your hands, preparing something for someone else, purely to give them pleasure, that’s a very romantic idea.”
In honour of restaurants’ sex appeal — where I’m sure a lot of you will be tonight — and for those who missed out on HOT FAT (which is most of us; there were only 70 copies), we asked Slutty Cheff to share a couple of sexy extracts.
If you’re lucky, she might put some more copies online. Watch this space!
NOSE TO TAIL, TITS TO ARSE
We headed back to mine and what happened next taught me a great life lesson. A man who eats all of an animal, eats all of a woman. That afternoon, Henwin dined on me with the same unabashed, unwavering commitment he did on lunch at St JOHN. He ate me like he would a pig, nose to tail, tits to arse.
First, the kissing. We started off slow and subtle, but soon he wanted more of me, more of my flesh. He took his fingers to my mouth and slowly drew apart my lips, then he poured saliva all over the place as if my tongue was that of an ox and he was using his own special spit as a brine.
Previously I might’ve thought all that tongue action was intense, but I was so into him, and so enticed by his hunger for me, that I wanted more.
He stroked the hair away from my face, away from my ears and turned my head so that my cheek was resting on the pillow. He kissed up my neck and then spearheaded his agile, athletic tongue right in my ear.
He went digging, sucking me up, as if he was scooping the last of the flavour from the bone marrow at lunch. No cartilage would stand in his way, he wanted all of my flavour. I wondered whether I might offer him some parsley and red onion to compliment the dish.
Next he travelled down south of my carcass and landed at my tits. With a wild look of desire in his eyes, he grabbed each one of them and marvelled at the squidgy texture. Then he sucked on them whole, just as he did when he was gobbling up the sweetbreads at lunch. I suppose when you think less about what sweetbreads actually are, the texture was quite a delight, really.
He went foraging further down my body; he took off my pants, pulled them all the way down to my feet and snapped them off my toes.
I expected him to crawl upwards and to focus somewhere in the centre of my body, perhaps on my prime cut, but he didn’t. He took one of my trotters in his hands, and ravished each of my toes, sliding his tongue all over the place.
This guy was hungrier than I thought. Lucky me. I’m a meaty happy pig.
PANNA COTTA TITTIES
As we walked into the kitchen, the woman turned to face me and I was taken aback by her, by them. They were absolutely enormous, otherworldly. I couldn’t avert my eyes. Two gigantic pale fleshy boulders sat (barely) within the thin lining of her green, floral dress.
The seam running across each breast looked like it was holding on for dear life via a single thread. The skin on these great big bulbs was so pale it was almost translucent. I wanted to get a close look. I forced my eyes to look away from her tits, and up at her face.
She had magnificent high cheekbones, flushed with pink heat from the warmth of her tavern. Her lips were plump and pink, her eyes green to match her dress and her hair luscious and gold like running golden syrup.
Holy fuck. Is it normal to be this mesmerised by a woman? I thought. I felt nervous, jittery, and something funny was going on in my knickers. I never felt this way about my boyfriend.
“I’m Paloma. Lovely to meet you darlin’. Today we will be making Panna Cotta,” she said. I inadvertently took another glance at her panna cotta titties. They moved completely independently to her body, they were out of control.
With every word she muttered, each tit echoed her voice with a wobble or two. I couldn’t keep my damn eyes off them.
“Am I the first student to arrive then?” I asked, slightly nervous to be around a woman holding such majestic power over my loins.
“Oh no darlin’, it’s just a one-to-one class. It’s just you and me,” she said, as she arranged the ingredients, the pots and pans.
Fuck. Okay then. I put down my bag and then went to take off my coat. Damn the kitchen was hot, it was practically a sauna.
“Here, let me take that for you,” she said. She lunged forward and helped remove each arm of my coat while facing me, her tits an inch from my face. Fucking hell. Her cleavage was like the bed section of John Lewis, warm and inviting, floral and powdery.
“Okay. Let’s get cracking!” she said, with a big clap that just about sent her colossal chest crashing through the ceiling. Jesus. How am I going to get through this evening without touching them? I thought, shocked at my desire for the female body.
“Right, first we are going to infuse some milk and cream with vanilla.” I was so entranced by her explosive assets, I almost forgot that I was there to cook. I instinctively followed Paloma around her steamy kitchen like she was my master, my maitre’d, my mommy.
As the milk, cream, and vanilla warmed up, the kitchen filled with a sweet, sticky aura. I felt safe in the hands of this woman, safe yet seduced.
As she stood over the hob and stirred the warming pot of cream, I noticed some pearls of sweat appear in the crevice of her creamy chest. It was so steamy over the hob that condensation was coating her tits like a car window.
I wanted to use my tongue as a window wiper and lick away all her sweat.
Tart: Misadventures of an Anonymous Chef by Slutty Cheff will be published via Bloomsbury on July 17. You can pre-order your copy here.
