Grill Apron Quotes

I'm a man. Men cook outside. That outdoor grilling is a manly pursuit has long been beyond question. If this wasn't understood, you'd never get grown men to put on those aprons with pictures of dancing weenies on the front, and messages like 'Come 'n' Get It!

I grabbed a handful of tarragon and closed my eyes, inhaling its sweet fragrance. I could almost feel my grandmother next to me, smell the aromas embedded into her poppy-print apron, taste her creamy veloutés. Thanks to her, my skills in the kitchen started developing from the age of seven. I'd learned how to chop, slice, and dice without cutting my fingers, to sauté, fry, and grill, pairing flavors and taming them into submission. Just as I'd experienced with my grandmother's meals, when people ate my creations, I wanted them to think "now this is love"- while engaging all of the five senses. For me, cooking was the way I expressed myself, each dish a balance of flavors and ingredients representing my emotions- sweet, sour, salty, smoky, spicy-hot, and even bitter. My inspiration as a chef was to give people sensorial experiences, to bring them back to times of happiness, to let them relive their youth, or to awaken their minds.

While Nicole drove off in search of recipes for fish hash, clam fritters, and salmon quiche, Charlotte settled in the Chowder House with Dorey Jewett, who, well beyond the assortment of chowders she always brought to Bailey's Brunch, would be as important a figure in the book as any. They sat in the kitchen, though Dorey did little actual sitting. Looking her chef-self in T-shirt, shorts, and apron, if she wasn't dicing veggies, she was clarifying butter or supervising a young boy who was shucking clams dug from the flats hours before. Even this early, the kitchen smelled of chowder bubbling in huge steel pots. Much as Anna Cabot had done for the island in general, Dorey gave a history of restaurants on Quinnipeague, from the first fish stand at the pier, to a primitive burger hut on the bluff, to a short-lived diner on Main Street, to the current Grill and Cafe. Naturally, she spoke at greatest length about the evolution of the Chowder House, whose success she credited to her father, though the man had been dead for nearly twenty years. Everyone knew Dorey was the one who had brought the place into the twenty-first century, but her family loyalty was endearing.

She gave Cooper a quick nod, indicating she was going out the back, and didn’t wait around to see if he understood her meaning. She pushed through the swinging doors to the small kitchen in the back, snagged the keys to her truck from the hook, and replaced them with her apron. She gave a quick glance to the grill, making sure Sandy hadn’t left anything to burn on it when he’d been pulled out front, but everything looked in order. Stop stalling. She sighed, shook her head, but the rueful smile that accompanied the movement was fleeting. For what might be the first time in her life, she had absolutely no idea how she was going to handle what came next. “Only one way to find out,” she murmured. Tightening her grip on her keys, if not her emotions, she let herself out the back door of the pub and found herself staring straight up into the crystalline blue eyes of Cooper Jax.

Mom sprinted down the driveway and hugged Myron as though he'd just been released by Hamas terrorists. She also hugged Brenda. So did everyone else. Dad was in the back at the barbecue. A gas grill now, thank goodness, so Dad could stop loading on the lighter fluid with a hose. He wore a chef's hat somewhat taller than a control tower and an apron that read REFORMED VEGETARIAN.

You are going to cook?" Maybe he has found my aprons. "No, woman. A man doesn't cook, he grills," he states quite adamant. Still, he can wear an apron.

Soon, Kate and Nick were in the kitchen, aprons on, knives in hand. She was slicing tomatoes, and he was chopping onions. Bacon was sizzling under the broiler, and chicken was cooking on the stovetop grill. A pot of pasta water was heating on one burner, a stainless steel pan was warming on another, and in a saucepan, butter was melting. “What are we making, exactly?” Nick asked. “Cheesy pasta with onion, bacon, tomato, spinach, and chicken,” she said. “Comfort food. I thought we could both use a dose of it. My own famous recipe. Here, hand me those onions, will you? And get the milk out of the fridge?” As the pasta bubbled in the water, Kate began sautéing the onions. “This’ll be your job,” she said to Nick, handing him the spatula and stepping away from her post in front of the pan. “Caramelize. Don’t burn. And then add the tomatoes and, last, the spinach.” “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled. While he was doing that, Kate added a few tablespoons of flour to the melted butter in the saucepan and stirred to make a roux. To that, she added the milk and the shredded cheese. Ten minutes later, they were back at their table with heaping bowls of pasta in front of them.