Foodie Quotes

When you're missing a peice of yourself, aching, gut wrenching emptiness begins to take over. Until you find the link that completes your very soul, the feeling will never go away. Most people find a way to fill this void, material possessions, a string of relationships, affairs, food...I bare my soul, with words, for all to see.

I hate people who are not serious about meals. It is so shallow of them.

She was a pistol wrapped up in silk. She was a blade disguised as a girl.

Sometimes we're not who we want to be because we're supposed to be something else.

People do not play this game to win, my dear. They play this game not to lose.

location matters more than you think when it comes to any kind of food business.

All worries are less with wine.

Hunger gives flavour to the food.

When they figure out how to bottle up orgasms and sell them as a food additive, I'll be first in line.

Footsteps thudded down the stairs, and the flickering figure of Hendry Lowe appeared outside Alistair’s prison bars. “You’re too late,” Alistair told him. “I’ve long descended into madness.” “It’s been fourteen hours.

A little chocolate a day keeps the doctor at bay

Monsters couldn’t harm you if you were a monster, too.

Food is a product of supply and demand, so try to figure out where the supplies are fresh, the suppliers are creative, and the demanders are informed.

What is happily ever after to the child is a nightmare to the monster.

You want to know something funny?' he asked. "In a choice between staying here or going home, I'd still choose here. With you.

Are you a pearl, or are you a bullet?

She was the girl who’d come afraid to the city that could smell your fear. She’d faced the witch. She’d poisoned the wolf. She’d strolled into the land of death with her head held high and left it a lord. She was an impossible player in a fixed game, the only person not playing to win.

High magick fell from the stars, and when we found it, we did what humans always do. We decided it was ours to claim.

Buccal list: A list of food a person has never tried before but wants to taste during their lifetime.

I think deep down, some people don't want their stories yo have happy endings.

Because the hero of one story is the villain of someone else's. It's all just a matter of who wins.

The Grieves had raised Gavin to die. The Lowes had raised Alistair to kill. Both of them deserved a better story.

But what I was really thinking was that you talk about him like...like you talk about a piece of decadent chocolate cake.

It didn't matter whether she decked herself in knives or pearls. The world would always demand that a girl apologize for herself, but she would apologize for nothing.

Some people when they see cheese, chocolate or cake they don't think of calories.

And he would tell her that, even after losing everything he'd ever wanted, he still desperately wanted her.

Once upon a time, we were burned to the ground. But we did not die. Instead we kept burning, kept moving, kept growing. The smoke surrounds us, even if we no longer burn.

The nightmares had not taught him to fear the dark. The nightmares had taught him to become it.

Heroes are just villains with worse survival instincts and moral superiority complexes.

Love is in the sensual details.

In this story, the princess slayed the dragon.

...he was fascinated by the mid-western/middle American phenomenon of recombinant cuisine. Rice Krispie Treats being a prototypical example in that they were made by repurposing other foods that had already been prepared (to wit, breakfast cereal and marshmallows). And of course, any recipe that called for a can of cream of mushroom soup fell into the same category. The unifying principle behind all recombinant cuisine seemed to be indifference, if not outright hostility, to the use of anything that a coastal foodie would define as an ingredient.

Psycholinguists argue about whether language reflects our perception of reality or helps create them. I am in the latter camp. Take the names we give the animals we eat. The Patagonian toothfish is a prehistoric-looking creature with teeth like needles and bulging yellowish eyes that lives in deep waters off the coast of South America. It did not catch on with sophisticated foodies until an enterprising Los Angeles importer renamed it the considerably more palatable "Chilean sea bass.

Her touch was cold, but his was colder

He squeezed the iron arm of the bench in his fist, hard enough to make it bend. She smacked him. “Stop destroying property with your toxic masculinity.

I think it takes more strength to be vulnerable than it does to appear invincible.

For some people quitting foods, say chocolate, can be as hard as kicking heroin is for a junkie. Food hooks people by triggering the exact chemical reactions triggered in the brain by hard drugs. Or nicotine. Or alcohol. Or shopping. Or sex.

Of course what happens to you matters. Because it matters to you. Because you feel something, right now. That's enough, isn't it? Doesn't that make it mean something?

Survival could make villains of any of us.

Foodies intimidate and terrify me. But when I imagine what a life based around a truffle-oil obsession must be like, I laugh. So dumb.

Chinese food in Texas is the best Chinese food in the United States except Boston.

There is nothing in the world that good food cannot fix.

They say pressure can turn even a grain of sand into a pearl under the right circumstances.

You’ll be a weapon to whoever owns you.” “I’m just a girl,” Enne countered. “And no one owns me.

TV cookery is very like internet porn - the overwhelming majority of its audience will never ever get to act out what's happening on screen.

And no tale was ever heard of him again.

If I'm going to die either way, I'd rather be a casualty in a good story than a terrible one. And that's what I want for you, too. A good story.

Now, as she held her breath and desperately searched the faces of strangers around her, she felt that she was more broken than not. One exhale, one sob, and all her pieces would shatter.

Without love, life is nothing but work and sleep.

But that was what this alliance led up to. Not a kiss stolen in the dark, or a priceless gift given without being asked. A duel.

All of these people thought she’d failed, but really, her story had been stolen from her. And she had no idea how to get it back.

Killing is easy,” Alistair murmured. “It’s the afterward that’s harder.

My gosh, I love food. If I wasn’t an actor, I could be a completely different body shape right now.

Never underestimate the power of good food. Eating delicious food can be a life-changing experience.

Gavin had glared at Alastair Lowe and his brother from the back of the pub and wondered what it would be like to have someone in his life like that. Someone who knew him. Someone who saw him. Someone who would celebrate when, not if, he came home.

If God had created celery, it would only have two stalks, because that's the most that almost any recipe ever calls for.

Turns out there’s no way of dying that’s romantic. Turns out tragedy is always tragic.

My family is proof that even depressing stories need a punchline

The plum-colored night sky was shifting to pink to make room for the day, which looked as though it might turn out “glorious and whimsical,” as the Key West Citizen had promised.

Once you're using sides and sauces you're on the right track and you're also following the general principles about how to eat well in the United States.

Cooking is not a science but an art, mistakes are okay, messes are fine—the pleasure is in the creating and the sharing of the result.

Lollypop ...the passion contained merely kisses placed upon lips, neck and cheek these young lovers of the castle of which our fairytale speaks...

Forgiveness is not sought - it’s built, stone by stone, over whatever it is you’ve broken.

f you want something, you should let yourself have it.

It is by aligning with our own sensuality that we can find true fulfillment in our relationships. Love works when sensuality works.

Vegans have a way of circling every conversation back to food, much like born-again Christians have a way of returning every conversation to the scripture.

His chest ached, as if his very heart had turned to stone and weighed down upon his lungs and bones. He didn’t remember the last time he’d cried. But after a night miserably hoping this was one final, heartless test, he wasn’t in the mood to shed tears. He was in the mood to spill blood.

There are some things that don't change much. I find the smell of a dish, or the way a certain spice is crushed, or just a quick look at the way something has been put on a plate, can pull me back to another place and time. I love those memories that seem so far away, yet you can hold them and carry them with you, even forget them, and then, with a single taste or hint or a smell, be chaperoned back to a beautiful moment.

No matter our age, everyone in our household knows that cooking and eating together is where the fun is

That was the problem with loving someone. Once you let someone into your heart, they could take a sledgehammer to it.

It didn’t matter what cards you were dealt. The City of Sin was a game, and the only way to win was to stack the cards in your favor.

There's more to every tournament than just who wins... Every champion has a reason to compete, and they deserve to win. Even if they they don't make it out alive

My philosophy is if living 'the good life' or 'sensually nourishing life' is not at the top of your priority list, you are letting your life pass you by.

Everyone is in such a good mood when they've eaten well.

Love always carved the deepest wounds.

It was never your responsibility to save him.

I think, deep down, some people don't want their stories to have happy endings.

The three most powerful seasonings are hunger, variety, and gratitude.

Wars do not combust without warning. They begin as little fires over the horizon. Wars approach. A wise man watches for the smoke, and prepares to vacate the neighborhood just like Ayrs and Jocasta. My worry is that the next war will be so big, nowhere with a decent restaurant will be left untouched.

Gavin had once agonized over whether the real Alistair Lowe was more boy or monster, but now he understood that Alistair was both. And even though neither canceled the other out, he didn’t think that made Alistair beyond redemption.

Even if Alistair was sick of twisting himself into something cruel, he didn’t know who he was otherwise. Goodness served no purpose in the tournament. And no matter what he felt for Isobel, she was still an opponent. And it wasn’t as though Isobel actually returned those feelings, anyway.

My favorite thing about the human body is that we're all basically doughnuts.

Sometimes we’re not who we want to be because we’re supposed to be something else,

The less we cement ourselves to our certainties, the fuller our lives can be.

Why wouldn’t she just make it herself?” “It’s just a test. It’s always a test,” Alistair answered. “And I keep failing.

By the end of the morning, his hand was stained white with sins and red with blood.

Now, she was poisoning him for the girls who hadn’t known better. For all the girls fed to the wolves.

Desire fame, and the city will make you a tragedy.

I had a lump in my throat the size of a bundt cake pan.

Luck was a mechanism to be devised, and luck and destiny were merely two sides of the same coin.

When the fairy tales spoke of butterflies, I didn't anticipate it feeling more like hornets.

Every single day is tzimmes Happiness and grief, always in season Never just one way, but tzimmes I will tell you why, one simple reason... Whether your tzimmes is sweet or savory, simple or complex, I hope you learn to love it ... there is strength in the tzimmes pot.

His guilt told him to let Isobel go free. His grief told him it was a blessing he had someone here, that he’d never done well alone. And his heart warned him the only one of them in true danger of being hurt was him.

Hainanese chicken rice, which could arguably be considered the national dish of Singapore. (And yes, Eleanor is ready for foodie bloggers to start attacking her restaurant choice. She chose Wee Nam Kee specifically because the United Square location is only five minutes from the Bao condo, and parking there is $2.00 after 6:00 p.m. If she took him to Chatterbox, which she personally prefers, parking at Mandarin Hotel would have been a nightmare and she would have had to valet her Jaguar for $15. Which she would RATHER DIE than do.)

Baking calms me; it's stabilizing. It's what I do when I don't want to think about anything hard. It is an activity that requires very little from you- you just follow the directions, and then at the end you have created something. From ingredients to an actual dessert. It's like magic. Poof, deliciousness.

In the window I smelled all the food of San Francisco. There were seafood places out there where the buns were hot, and the baskets were good enough to eat too; where the menus themselves were soft with foody esculence as though dipped in hot broths and roasted dry and good enough to eat too. Just show me the bluefish spangle on a seafood menu and I’d eat it; let me smell the drawn butter and lobster claws. There were places where they specialized in thick and red roast beef au jus, or roast chicken basted in wine. There were places where hamburgs sizzled on grills and the coffee was only a nickel. And oh, that pan-fried chow mein flavored air that blew into my room from Chinatown, vying with the spaghetti sauces of North Beach, the soft-shell crab of Fisherman’s Wharf — nay, the ribs of Fillmore turning on spits! Throw in the Market Street chili beans, redhot, and french-fried potatoes of the Embarcadero wino night, and steamed clams from Sausalito across the bay, and that’s my ah-dream of San Francisco…

After dessert we sipped on strong cups of tea, one of the luxuries we can afford to take for granted here in the trade routes. "Delightful," she said. "If only for a little cream." "Don't speak to me of cream, Captain. I dream about milk at least twice a week. I run naked with milk running in rivulets from the corners of my mouth. I even miss humble parsley--zounds, how I've taken that weed for granted! And butter, I'll not describe my butter dreams, they're too depraved." Mabbot chuckled. "We must leave something for dreams.

Nim unwrapped a loaf of fresh dilled rye bread and opened a crock of trout mousse. He slathered up a big slice and handed it to me. [...] We had thinly sliced veal smothered in kumquat sauce, fresh spinach with pine nuts, and fat red beefsteak tomatoes (impossibly rare at this time of year) broiled and stuffed with lemon apple sauce. The wide, fan-shaped mushrooms were sauteed lightly and served as a side dish. The main course was followed by a salad of red and green baby lettuce with dandelion greens and toasted hazelnuts.

She gasped when she exposed the wound, his flesh split open and brimming with blood. Swallowing her dread, she pressed her hand to it and in her other, she squeezed a Healer’s Touch spellstone. She cast it once, twice, three times, until all it’s magick had depleted. The blood stopped flowing. Still, the wound didn’t close. She moved on to the next stone. And the next one. “Come on, Al.” And the next. And the next. Finally the wound closed, and his broken patella was mostly set, but she exhausted the stones and Alistair hadn’t opened his eyes. Clutching his hand, Isobel rested her cheek against his chest, listening for a pulse. At first, all she heard was the noise of the forest crickets and owls. Then she finally made out his heartbeat—faint but there—and far beyond, the sound of approaching footsteps. Probably Finley and Elinor returning to finish her, too. “Seven letters,” she whispered to Alistair. “To endure.” “Survive,” she heard him rasp. She almost thought she’d imagined it at first, but then she lifted her head and realized his eyes were open, watching her. He let out a wheezy breath, then smiled. She realized she’d never seen Alistair smile in a way that wasn’t meant to be a threat. “Hello, rival,” he whispered.

What happened?” she asked quietly. He shuddered. “I had to fight off Thorburn and the Blair for it. But I won.” “Are they…?” Her heart clenched, thinking of Briony. She didn’t even realize Briony was working with Finley now, though she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Alistair shook his head. “No. I didn’t kill them.” But he looked shaken, and he’d clearly been hurt. For her sake. “Why did you do it?” Because no matter how hard she tried, Isobel couldn’t reconcile the image of Alistair, wounded and shivering, with the one who had almost murdered her hours before. “Because I hate the way you look at me,” he spat. “Like I’m a monster.” “Aren’t you?” Isobel had learned that Alistair wasn’t invulnerable, but the role of the dragon was one he’d fashioned for himself. One he wanted. “Obviously, I’m not a very good monster.