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“...you should be the heroine of your own life....”
― Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink
― Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink
“I didn't know if I believed in 'happily ever after' anymore. I mean, I didn't know what would happen tomorrow, let alone for forever and ever after. But I did know that I was happy, right there, right then, with him.
And that was all I needed to know.”
― Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink
And that was all I needed to know.”
― Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink
“You boys may be gentlemen," Dusty said. "But I'm about to shoot like a lady. You ready, baby?”
― Prince in Disguise
― Prince in Disguise
“... there's no way I would have gotten it even if I did apply! Not all of us benefit from the holy grail of diversity known as being perhaps the only gay Indian high schooler in like all of Minnesota.”
― Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink
― Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink
“You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”
― Love à la Mode
― Love à la Mode
“Chèvre cheesecake with honey-rosemary poached pears and pistachio sablé crust. Who do I think I am? I'm not chèvre and rosemary. I'm chocolate chip cookies. I'm butterscotch pudding. I'm brownies. I'm basic.”
― Love à la Mode
― Love à la Mode
“I didn't like the feeling that Hutch has a place that's different from my place.”
― It's Not Me, It's You
― It's Not Me, It's You
“Unlike her older sister, Kim, Olivia did not believe you were forced by destiny to fall in love with someone just because they happened to come next to you in the alphabet.”
― That's Not What I Heard
― That's Not What I Heard
“Even if something just happened, it can still be history”
― It's Not Me, It's You
― It's Not Me, It's You
“Please remind me again why you're going to pilgrim camp.”
― Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink
― Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink
“Hoping to ground herself, Rosie closed her eyes and thought of butter, the way other people probably pictured relaxing tropical idylls. Her favorite thing in the world was creaming butter and sugar, watching the way two disparate ingredients come together to form something new. She could picture it in her mind, back in the kitchen at home: the soft pale yellow of the butter, the old wooden spoon, and the cracked brown mixing bowl. Butter was magic. The starting point for cookies and cake and pie and muffins and everything good.”
― Love à la Mode
― Love à la Mode
“At least Avery was keeping things in perspective. Imagine if she'd overreacted.”
― It's Not Me, It's You
― It's Not Me, It's You
“Is it weird that I am an expert on all of Avery's boyfriends? I feel like it's weird.”
― It's Not Me, It's You
― It's Not Me, It's You
“Saying sorry for saying sorry is like that snake eating its tail. You can’t get out of it. It’s linguistic quicksand.”
― Love à la Mode
― Love à la Mode
“I’m about to change your life,” Marquis said. “Is that Hamilton?” Yumi asked, consternation evident on her face. “Are you Elizabeth Schuyler?”
― Love à la Mode
― Love à la Mode
“I don't want to give up my prime position over here by the cookies," she shouted back.
"Are they good? The cookies?"
"They're great!" This was the loudest conversation Rosie had ever had about cookies. "Really good, tight crumb structure. You can tell the butter is high quality. And each cookie is so consistent. And the piping!" She picked up another one, aware that she'd already eaten way too many of them but was probably about to eat another. "The piping on the front is beautiful, but the frosting still tastes good."
"Thank you." He grinned.
"Did you make these?" Rosie asked, surprised.
"Yeah! I love Halloween."
"You love Halloween."
Rosie couldn't believe he'd made all of these. Firstly, they were so identical, they looked like they'd been made by a machine. But what she really couldn't believe was that Bodie Tal was exhibiting the same level of Halloween enthusiasm that Owen had abandoned several years ago because he'd decided he was too old for it.
"Halloween is the best holiday ever. Costumes? Sugar? The sick orange-and-black color scheme? What's not to like?"
Rosie laughed as he reached over her to grab a cookie and took a bite. She could smell his aftershave, again. She took half a step back.
"Do you think they're too salty?" he asked, chewing.
"No, the salt cuts the butter. You need it to balance the richness. You did it perfectly, actually.”
― Love à la Mode
"Are they good? The cookies?"
"They're great!" This was the loudest conversation Rosie had ever had about cookies. "Really good, tight crumb structure. You can tell the butter is high quality. And each cookie is so consistent. And the piping!" She picked up another one, aware that she'd already eaten way too many of them but was probably about to eat another. "The piping on the front is beautiful, but the frosting still tastes good."
"Thank you." He grinned.
"Did you make these?" Rosie asked, surprised.
"Yeah! I love Halloween."
"You love Halloween."
Rosie couldn't believe he'd made all of these. Firstly, they were so identical, they looked like they'd been made by a machine. But what she really couldn't believe was that Bodie Tal was exhibiting the same level of Halloween enthusiasm that Owen had abandoned several years ago because he'd decided he was too old for it.
"Halloween is the best holiday ever. Costumes? Sugar? The sick orange-and-black color scheme? What's not to like?"
Rosie laughed as he reached over her to grab a cookie and took a bite. She could smell his aftershave, again. She took half a step back.
"Do you think they're too salty?" he asked, chewing.
"No, the salt cuts the butter. You need it to balance the richness. You did it perfectly, actually.”
― Love à la Mode
“She could picture it now, a huge stack of fluffy pumpkin waffles with maple syrup and spiced cinnamon butter, the perfect breakfast for fall. Something that tasted like crisp, cool air and golden-orange leaves and bundling up in her favorite sweater. Something that tasted like home.”
― Love à la Mode
― Love à la Mode
“Like, I'm not saying that if Avery Dennis wore army pants and flip-flops, I'd wear army pants and flip-flops, but everybody knows who Avery Dennis is”
― It's Not Me, It's You
― It's Not Me, It's You
“Libby, not all the gays have an encyclopedic knowledge of the American musical theater. It's not like they hand you a DVD box set of of the Rodgers and Hammerstein Collection in a Liza Minnelli souvenir tote bag when you come out.'
'Well, they should. I'd totally be gay for a Liza Minnelli tote bag.”
― Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink
'Well, they should. I'd totally be gay for a Liza Minnelli tote bag.”
― Pilgrims Don't Wear Pink
“I had a feeling that when I got back to Tupelo, none of this would seem real. I would miss Jamie a lot, but with the same ache of sadness that I’d felt when I’d never gotten my Hogwarts letter. That peculiar grief that comes from missing something that you knew you couldn’t have. The end was approaching, and its inexorable pull was palpable.”
― Prince in Disguise
― Prince in Disguise
“It was quite a cake. Three layers of cake interspersed with layers of jam and frosting- no, not frosting, lemon cheesecake, according to the caption- and topped with pickled strawberry icing and a ring of what looked like crumbled cookies.
"It's- it's Christina Tosi, isn't it?" she asked shyly. "The exposed sides of the cake. That's her thing. And the milk crumbs on top. I recognize them, from the Momofuku Milk Bar cookbook."
Henry looked closer- she was right. They weren't cookies.
"Milk crumbs?" he asked, trying to imagine what a milk crumb could be.
"They're made with milk powder and white chocolate. Really good. You're not supposed to eat them on their own, I don't think, they mostly go in or on other things, but they're so good I always save a few to snack on. What flavor's the cake?"
"Strawberry lemon.”
― Love à la Mode
"It's- it's Christina Tosi, isn't it?" she asked shyly. "The exposed sides of the cake. That's her thing. And the milk crumbs on top. I recognize them, from the Momofuku Milk Bar cookbook."
Henry looked closer- she was right. They weren't cookies.
"Milk crumbs?" he asked, trying to imagine what a milk crumb could be.
"They're made with milk powder and white chocolate. Really good. You're not supposed to eat them on their own, I don't think, they mostly go in or on other things, but they're so good I always save a few to snack on. What flavor's the cake?"
"Strawberry lemon.”
― Love à la Mode
“My favorites (movies)? Pacific Rim, Princess Bride, and Hook. In that order.
Editor's Note: Actually a totally respectable list! Then again, it is inconceivable that anyone wouldn't like Princess Bride.”
― It's Not Me, It's You
Editor's Note: Actually a totally respectable list! Then again, it is inconceivable that anyone wouldn't like Princess Bride.”
― It's Not Me, It's You
“For our first course, we have Italian beef mandu," Henry said, gesturing to the plate with the two little dumplings and the dipping sauce. Boy, now he really felt like he was on Top Chef, explaining his menu to a panel of judges. He half expected to look past Chef Laurent to see Tom and Padma. "Mandu is a traditional Korean dumpling. I wanted to make a dish that reflected my Korean heritage and the place I'm from- Chicago."
"Chicago!" Chef Laurent exclaimed. "Excellent food city. You get your deep-dish at Lou Malnati's, I hope?"
"Yes, Chef," Henry said. Obviously. "I incorporated the traditional flavors of an Italian beef sandwich into the meat in the dumpling filling and made a giardiniera dipping sauce. Giardiniera is a Chicago thing- pickled vegetables," he said quickly, answering Chef Martinet's confused expression.”
― Love à la Mode
"Chicago!" Chef Laurent exclaimed. "Excellent food city. You get your deep-dish at Lou Malnati's, I hope?"
"Yes, Chef," Henry said. Obviously. "I incorporated the traditional flavors of an Italian beef sandwich into the meat in the dumpling filling and made a giardiniera dipping sauce. Giardiniera is a Chicago thing- pickled vegetables," he said quickly, answering Chef Martinet's confused expression.”
― Love à la Mode
“Up next," Henry said, "we have a play on steak-frites. Steak-frites was the first French food I ever had, at a restaurant down the block from ours, back home in Chicago. My dad took me there." Henry remembered the first time he'd been there, squeezing into the tiny tables, the rare steak and the crisp fries, the smell of garlic and butter, the sense that food could transport you far from Damien Avenue. "I've put my own spin on it by using a bulgogi marinade and kimchi butter on the steak, and instead of fries, those are deep-fried batons of garlic mashed potatoes."
This was one of his favorite kinds of dishes. From the outside, it looked like a traditional steak-frites, with its melting pat of butter on top, and fries that were thicker than usual but still shaped like fries. But then you started eating, and the flavors were different, and the fries were a totally different texture than what you were expecting.”
― Love à la Mode
This was one of his favorite kinds of dishes. From the outside, it looked like a traditional steak-frites, with its melting pat of butter on top, and fries that were thicker than usual but still shaped like fries. But then you started eating, and the flavors were different, and the fries were a totally different texture than what you were expecting.”
― Love à la Mode
“As Rosie expected, Chef Petit said they were starting with pâtisserie. Specifically, with classic French tarts, and today, with the tart shells. With the three most widely used different kinds of crust.
Finally, something Rosie knew! Her hand shot in the air, and Rosie noticed that the only other person in the room with his hand in the air was Bodie Tal. But Chef Petit must have recognized her, too, because he called on her, not Bodie. And she felt like Hermione, rattling off the differences between pâté brisée, a standard, unsweetened dough for sweet or savory fillings; pâté sucrée, a sugared dough achieved by creaming the butter and sugar; and pâté sablée, a crumbly, delicate, almost cookielike dough, sometimes enriched with almond flour. Ten points to Rosie! She felt flush with triumph. Finally, she wasn't an idiot.
"Excellent," Chef Petit said genially, and he began two expound further upon what Rosie said.
"What a bloody showoff," Priya said, teasing. Rosie bumped her with her shoulder.
Chef Petit wrote the ingredients for pâté brisée on the whiteboard, informing them that they'd be making all three doughs today, then setting them in the fridge to chill until tomorrow- all crust, no matter what you did with it, was improved by a good chilling. Tomorrow, they'd do quiche, and tarte au citron, and a fresh fruit tart with crème pâtissière, and they'd move on to puff pastry and tarte tatin, and Rosie could barely restrain the shout of joy that threatened to erupt from her chest. But she restrained it, and moved through the kitchen as sedately as possible, collecting her ingredients and measuring cups.”
― Love à la Mode
Finally, something Rosie knew! Her hand shot in the air, and Rosie noticed that the only other person in the room with his hand in the air was Bodie Tal. But Chef Petit must have recognized her, too, because he called on her, not Bodie. And she felt like Hermione, rattling off the differences between pâté brisée, a standard, unsweetened dough for sweet or savory fillings; pâté sucrée, a sugared dough achieved by creaming the butter and sugar; and pâté sablée, a crumbly, delicate, almost cookielike dough, sometimes enriched with almond flour. Ten points to Rosie! She felt flush with triumph. Finally, she wasn't an idiot.
"Excellent," Chef Petit said genially, and he began two expound further upon what Rosie said.
"What a bloody showoff," Priya said, teasing. Rosie bumped her with her shoulder.
Chef Petit wrote the ingredients for pâté brisée on the whiteboard, informing them that they'd be making all three doughs today, then setting them in the fridge to chill until tomorrow- all crust, no matter what you did with it, was improved by a good chilling. Tomorrow, they'd do quiche, and tarte au citron, and a fresh fruit tart with crème pâtissière, and they'd move on to puff pastry and tarte tatin, and Rosie could barely restrain the shout of joy that threatened to erupt from her chest. But she restrained it, and moved through the kitchen as sedately as possible, collecting her ingredients and measuring cups.”
― Love à la Mode
“My mom hates to cook," Rosie said. "But every time she's had to go to a potluck, she brings one thing. A trifle she makes, with brownies and pudding and candy and whipped cream." Rosie had plated her dessert into two glasses- she was pretty sure they were champagne coupes- and the two chefs poised their spoons at the rim of the glasses. "This is my version of my mom's trifle. Made with moelleux au chocolat, chocolate mousse, vanilla whipped cream, and chocolate feuilletine between each layer."
Rosie loved moelleux au chocolat. The internet seemed to translate it as molten chocolate cake, but every moelleux au chocolat Rosie had had in Paris wasn't like a molten chocolate cake at all, but like the richest, fudgiest brownie on the planet. Which made it the perfect base for her trifle. And then the feuilletine, Rosie thought, would give the same crunch as a Kit Kat.”
― Love à la Mode
Rosie loved moelleux au chocolat. The internet seemed to translate it as molten chocolate cake, but every moelleux au chocolat Rosie had had in Paris wasn't like a molten chocolate cake at all, but like the richest, fudgiest brownie on the planet. Which made it the perfect base for her trifle. And then the feuilletine, Rosie thought, would give the same crunch as a Kit Kat.”
― Love à la Mode
“Everyone’s snogging in the City of Love and it’s so cliché I want to wallop all of you with a baguette.”
― Love à la Mode
― Love à la Mode
“Tränen strömten über mein Gesicht, während ich mich durch den Schmerz kämpfte.”
― Prince in Disguise
― Prince in Disguise
“He opened the small brown bag and held it toward her, and she could smell the butter. Notably, though, there was no grease soaking the bottom of the bag, like when Mom brought home donuts. She peered in.
"I think it's a croissant. And a chocolate croissant. And some kind of roll. And some other thing I didn't know what it was."
"Chausson aux pommes," Rosie said, pulling it from the bag. She was pretty sure anyway- it had the distinctive half-moon shape, and the slashes on top let her see a peek of what looked like apple filling.
"What's that?"
Rosie stilled as Henry shifted closer to her. He was just looking at the pastry, and she knew that, but still. He was close, and he smelled warm, and sleepy. And male.
"It's kind of like an apple croissant," she said, ignoring the rapid rise of her heartbeat. "Or an apple strudel. An apple turnover, I guess."
"Try it."
"You should have the first bite. You got it."
"I insist," Henry said, and he wouldn't take it from her. So she bit in, and the pastry flaked instantly, then yielded into sweet, soft cinnamon apples. It was so good that she had to imagine this would be the best thing she'd try today. But then Henry was grinning, chocolate smeared on his face, and he passed her the pain au chocolat, and she thought that had to be the best thing. But then the classic croissant was so perfect, each layer of lamination distinct, and then the brioche was dangerously rich, yet so light at the same time, and the éclair's filling was perfectly smooth, and the baguette made Rosie rethink what, exactly, the stuff she'd been eating for the last sixteen years was, because it couldn't possibly be bread, not like this...”
― Love à la Mode
"I think it's a croissant. And a chocolate croissant. And some kind of roll. And some other thing I didn't know what it was."
"Chausson aux pommes," Rosie said, pulling it from the bag. She was pretty sure anyway- it had the distinctive half-moon shape, and the slashes on top let her see a peek of what looked like apple filling.
"What's that?"
Rosie stilled as Henry shifted closer to her. He was just looking at the pastry, and she knew that, but still. He was close, and he smelled warm, and sleepy. And male.
"It's kind of like an apple croissant," she said, ignoring the rapid rise of her heartbeat. "Or an apple strudel. An apple turnover, I guess."
"Try it."
"You should have the first bite. You got it."
"I insist," Henry said, and he wouldn't take it from her. So she bit in, and the pastry flaked instantly, then yielded into sweet, soft cinnamon apples. It was so good that she had to imagine this would be the best thing she'd try today. But then Henry was grinning, chocolate smeared on his face, and he passed her the pain au chocolat, and she thought that had to be the best thing. But then the classic croissant was so perfect, each layer of lamination distinct, and then the brioche was dangerously rich, yet so light at the same time, and the éclair's filling was perfectly smooth, and the baguette made Rosie rethink what, exactly, the stuff she'd been eating for the last sixteen years was, because it couldn't possibly be bread, not like this...”
― Love à la Mode
“We're making profiteroles."
Profiteroles. Little cream puffs filled with vanilla ice cream and drowned in thick chocolate sauce.
"Ha! I knew it!" he said triumphantly. "You already look ten times better. There is nothing as satisfying as making choux pastry."
It was exactly what she was thinking. Choux pastry was literally one of her favorite things to make in the whole world. But she didn't tell him that. Instead, she grabbed an apron from a hook on the wall and tied it on.
Together, they melted the butter with water in a saucepan, then added the flour, stirring with a wooden spoon until it pulled away from the sides and formed a ball- that was Rosie's favorite part, the way it came together like that. There was something so satisfying about it. Then they scooped the choux into bags and piped them into little circles on a baking sheet, competing to see who could do it better- Bodie was faster, but Rosie was neater.”
― Love à la Mode
Profiteroles. Little cream puffs filled with vanilla ice cream and drowned in thick chocolate sauce.
"Ha! I knew it!" he said triumphantly. "You already look ten times better. There is nothing as satisfying as making choux pastry."
It was exactly what she was thinking. Choux pastry was literally one of her favorite things to make in the whole world. But she didn't tell him that. Instead, she grabbed an apron from a hook on the wall and tied it on.
Together, they melted the butter with water in a saucepan, then added the flour, stirring with a wooden spoon until it pulled away from the sides and formed a ball- that was Rosie's favorite part, the way it came together like that. There was something so satisfying about it. Then they scooped the choux into bags and piped them into little circles on a baking sheet, competing to see who could do it better- Bodie was faster, but Rosie was neater.”
― Love à la Mode
