So we had a fancy work lunch at a fancy upscale Halifax restaurant. And, yes, this is what the fancy dessert was called. “Seks in pan”. Obviously thought up by some clever-clogs young man, who had never had bad seks.
We were four ladies, oops women- my feminist supervisor told me to stop using the word ladies – and what we ordered was a study in social psychology itself. Our age range was mid-twenties to late fifties. The youngest of us ordered pizza (which was also the priciest item on our bill. Expensive pizza, right?). The next youngest -thenewcomer herself- ordered Beef Stroganoff, which turned out quite different from the imitation Beef Stroganoffs knocked off by herself and her mother, imitating Farid restaurant in downtown Tehran. For one thing, there was no huge piles of French fries covering the meat, just some plain boiled pasta on the side. For another, there were other kinds of vegetables (courgettes and peppers) mixed up with the meat-base, not just onions and mushrooms. It was actually quite nice.
Moving up the age range, there was spinach salad with some grilled chicken, and the eldest woman had tomato and cucumber salad, called Caprichoso (or something like that) with scallops. Very healthy.
Then we moved on to the dessert. We wanted Seks in a Pan. But we were too paranoid about our figures and our health and our mentality to say so. So the twenty-something woman ordered it for us- One Seks in a Pan for three, she said, looking at the handsome server straight in the eye, with no giggles, like a good feminist should. (The eldest woman declined- she wanted orange sorbet.)
Once it came, it was quite disappointing – rather likes its namesake. A triangle of yellow sweet cheescake, on a walnut base, covered with whipped cream and three sliced strawberries. We poked at it with our spoons. It was not like having seks in a pan. Whatever that is like.