You're single. You're dating. How many four-course, four-hour meals have you endured, thinking, 'Jeez, look at those nostrils! You could park a Humvee in there,' or, 'If she laughs like a hyena one more time I'm going to stuff a napkin in that trap...'? What a waste - of time, money, energy and calories - to wade through yet another endless supper with yet another hopeless case.
New Yorkers, probably the most professional daters on earth, have come up with a more efficient alternative: the dessert date. Share a souffle or brulee with a prospective new lover. If your insides go gooey as he cracks open a chocolate pud or your defences melt as she launches herself into a passion-fruit granita, well, you're in for second helpings. But if the crepes suzette are more of a damp squib, you can bail before coffee and still have time to catch a film.
In Manhattan, several key establishments have opened 'dessert lounges', designed to give time-strapped New Yorkers one of these taster dates. At Daniel's - a sophisticated French restaurant on East 65th - prospective lovers can get down to business with an upside-down chocolate souffle, $30 per couple, served on silver platters. There's even a dedicated 'dessert bar' in the East Village - ChikaLicious, which specialises in 12-buck pudding plates.
It all sounds very practical: a brisk once-over, a brief chat, a spoonful of pavlova and a decision about whether you could have children together. The problem is that, when it comes to choosing a partner, eating - prolonged, sociable eating like the Italians do - is an exceedingly useful way of sorting out the good eggs from the bad apples. Rather than just share a souffle, I suggest you work your way through all the meal options before committing to anything as serious as breakfast. Do sushi. Do squid. Do high tea and hot dogs, picnics and pickles. Before so much as a first kiss, consider the six unbreakable rules to eating and dating:
1. Watch them eat an egg-mayonnaise sandwich while driving on the motorway, with a packet of cheese'n'onion wedged between their legs. Still attracted?
2. Look in his fridge. Harrissa? Hummus? Lemon grass? All good. This man can cook. Tupperware containing cold spaghetti and meatballs? Bad. His mother still cooks for him. My husband once shared a flat with a bloke who kept brains on a side-plate in the fridge. Thankfully, they were the brains of little lambs or baby calves, rather than the full Lecter smorgasbord, but even so, it was revolting to find as you rooted around for the milk first thing in the morning.
3. Dip into his kitchen cupboards. A friend of mine, let's call him Heinz, keeps tins of sweetcorn, tomatoes and baked beans lined up in serried ranks, each label turned to precisely the 'correct' angle, as if in a Warhol screen print. This is obsessive compulsive and should be given a wide berth.
4. If he likes Fondant Fancies, he is definitely not boyfriend material. (Unless your name is Colin.)
5. Never date a man who licks his plate. Or his knife. Or fingers. Or lips, in a rude and lascivious fashion. Personally, I'm wary of people who push their fork around a plate like a Hoover, squashing a bit of this, a bit of that onto an overloaded implement. Equally suspect are those who eat each element of a meal independently - the potatoes first, followed by the spinach and then the sausages. This is only acceptable if he works for Nasa.
6. How do they manage their knife and fork? Is this really something you want to witness on a daily basis? Does he use them like a chimpanzee? Is she confounded by cutlery, like a Japanese tourist? While we're at it, does he tuck a napkin into his shirt front? This is a bib substitute, and suggests he will want to call you mummy. Does she put her knife and fork at 10 o'clock (rather than midnight) when she's finished eating? This is common as in universal, but also common as in vulgar.
You see? Mealtimes are loaded with messages, subliminal and explicit, to warn you off or turn you on. To ascertain your compatibility with a new squeeze, you really need to consume more than a quick cheesecake. Just one more thing. If your potential new partner orders snails, roll-mops, phal, 'some gravy with those chips', a pickled egg or 'nothing with wheat or dairy' on a first date, make your excuses and run like the wind.