Clairgustant Quotes

“Some people are highly empathic, some people are telempathic, or telepathic, some are clairempathic, while others are claircognizant, clairvoyant, clairaliant, clairaudient, clairgustant, clairsentient; and a very few are all of the above. The great amount of confusion and inner strife that accompanies one or more of these conditions, can be calmed and soothed first by acceptance, second by the humility to be okay with the fact that you are stuck with it forever, and third by honing these conditions to their best possible uses and most polished states.”
― C. JoyBell C.

“I'm Ukrainian, actually. And I'm making my signature dish," he said slowly, meeting Ibáñez's stare. "More shocking than Rocky Mountain oysters." He nodded to Volière. "Rarer than ortolan. Maybe just as taboo, though." He turned to Katsuki. "And it does more than just dance around death. It reverses it."
There was silence in the kitchen as they waited for the punch line, anxious to learn if the things they'd heard through the grapevine were true.
"Well?" Volière prompted. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
"I don't know." Kostya shrugged. "The Dead haven't fed it to me yet.”
― Daria Lavelle, Aftertaste

“Taste is one of the Psychic Clairs."
"The who?"
She smiled. "It's shorthand for the psychic senses. Everyone's heard of clairvoyance, but that's just seeing. Some spiritualists can smell or touch or hear from the other side. Tasting's called clairgustance.”
― Daria Lavelle, Aftertaste

“When his spirited guests showed up, he'd be their gracious host, their fearless leader. Their P.T. Barnum, full coat and tails and freaky pyrotechnics. Their Virgil, a voice of calm as they navigated the unknowable. Their Pac-Man, drawing them stealthily out of the maze with delicious fruits and no whammies. He'd be the maker of their dreams, the miner of their memories, the mouthpiece for their taste buds and tongues and every gut feeling.
Their Chef d'Esprit.”
― Daria Lavelle, Aftertaste

“Sweet, tart, tangy soup. Slim strips of boiled cabbage. Carrot. Potato. Cubed and stewed. A single chunk of beef chuck, boiled so long it dissolved in the broth. Beet, cubed and blanched till its color faded to pink and dyed everything else in the pot maroon. Something zesty, below and above--- tomato paste? Pizza sauce? Oh, gross--- ketchup (?!!!) and a swirl of (blasphemy!) Miracle Whip. Borscht. With unorthodox trimmings.
"Who puts ketchup in borscht?" Kostya wondered aloud. "Or Miracle Whip?"
The petite brunette gasped.
"Babushka Fira! But how did you---" she began, though Kostya wasn't listening.
The kitchen seemed to go dim, everything muted but Viktor's face across the island, stunned surprise registered in his raised brows, a smirk.
"Now we're in business," Kostya said.”
― Daria Lavelle, Aftertaste