Kitchen Romance Quotes

“He drained and sugared the frozen cherries, put them on the stove over medium heat until their juice warmed, thick syrup, sweet-tart and perfectly balanced.
"That smells like Heaven."
"Taste it." He fished a spoonful of soft, warm fruit from the saucepan and fed it to her.
"Marry me."
"We gotta seal these first.”
― Daria Lavelle, Aftertaste

“You know what? You're kind of growing on me too."
"Like mold?" I ask.
"No, you smell too good," he says, turning his back to me. "I know your kitchen is well equipped. I hope you have a rice steamer."
"Duh," I say, mentally kicking myself for my unprofessional response. "Of course I do."
I walk over to the cabinet and step up onto my toes, but I can't reach the damn contraption. Charles steps up behind me, reaches over my head, and grabs it before it tumbles on my head. For two brief seconds, his body presses into mine, his hands steadying my waist. I swear he's breathing me in. And I'm doing the same. He grabs the steamer, sets it on the counter. But he only shifts slightly, and there's clearly something wrong with my legs; they won't budge. I think I may be paralyzed.
"Did my mother make you the perfume you're wearing?" he asks, his breath on my neck.
"Uh, yeah, she did."
"The base notes smell delicious on you," he says, his voice husky and hot.
My spine tingles. A drop of perspiration beads on my forehead. I clamp my lips together before I tell him he smells delicious too and that he's invaded my thoughts ever since I first met him on the street.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“One of his hands run up my neck and through my hair, the other supporting my waist. I'm held up by a dizzying suspension, feeling like I could sprout wings and fly. Time stands still and the only thing I can think about is the taste of his mouth, his tongue, spicy and sweet from the saffron, and how I hunger for more. His hand cups my ass, and he leans into me, kissing my neck. My hips grind into him. This kiss, this moment, really proves I'd never experienced passion like this before. It's more than a connection between bodies; it's like a recipe with the perfect balance of ingredients.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“Charles walks behind me and grasps my waist. "Somebody is crushing hard on somebody."
I turn to face him. "We need to crush other things," I say, pressing my body into his.
He wiggles his brows. "Oh, yeah?"
"Garlic," I say, pulling away and entering the restaurant.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“Maura was so still he could barely hear her breathe.
He spooned whipped cream into her mouth, a cherry varenyk, another sprinkle of salt. He watched the flavors marry as she chewed, saw that smile, spread across her face.
He wanted to kiss her, to taste what she tasted.
"There it is," she whispered.
Fleur de sel," he said, holding up the little jar.
"Flowers of salt." She opened her eyes. "That's beautiful."
"You're beautiful. It's just salt." He felt his face burn as soon as he said it. He wasn't good at this part. "And I, apparently, am mostly cheese."
"I like cheese.”
― Daria Lavelle, Aftertaste

“Some salt gets mined out of the ground, every crystal perfect, its flavor so predictable it graces every kitchen. But other salt comes out of marshes, gets harvested by hand, tastes like the journey it took to find you, including the wrong turns. I love you more because of where I've been, and I'd stay Hungry forever if it would make you believe that loving you was never about not feeling empty. It was about the chance to feel this full.”
― Daria Lavelle, Aftertaste

“I am watching his every move. I can see where this is going. I am motionless like the cheese before the mouse strikes. The deer before the headlights hit. The mouth before the lips kiss. He has me up on that butcher block and splayed like a slab of meat before I know what hits me.”
― Ellen Marie Francisco, Catastrophic Expectations: Sex, Love, and the Pursuit of Marriage

“His smile becomes wider, and he takes a step closer, eyes me up and down, and then he whispers in my ear, his voice low and so sexy. "What if I tell you that I think you're pretty cute when you're flustered?"
Wait. Does he like me? I must be dreaming. I want to squeal, but instead, I blush and rely on humor to hide my true feelings. "I'm definitely going to have to talk to the owner about that one. We have policies in place regarding sexual harassment, you know."
"We could break them."
"What are you saying?"
"I think you had me that first day I walked into the kitchen. I've been dreaming about seeing you in those shorts again.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“After Charles rinses and scrubs the mussels, side by side, we prepare the meal. While I slice the galanga, Charles braises the shallots, ginger, and fennel, adding in the lemongrass. I'm in a trance, now in Thailand. With him. We're floating in a pond filled with lotus flowers, the water warm, and I'm getting ready for a spiritual awakening---
"The galanga," says Charles, and our hands touch as I pass it over. He adds it to the pan and a moment later, after adding in the coconut milk and squeezing the lime juice, he holds out a spoon. "Taste this."
The flavor is warm, with a little heat and sweetness, infused with the citrusy lemongrass, ginger, and garlic. I let out a soft moan.
"What do you think?"
"I think you're incredible," I say, quickly recovering. "Um, this sauce is heaven on my tongue. My palate is awake." I will my legs to stop quivering.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“We're going to cook our hearts out." He whispers. "Kate, you already have mine. Just don't serve it up on a platter."
I can't bring myself to look at Charles because when I do, he smiles and all I can think about is kissing him. As we make a homemade Mexican-inspired chocolate sauce for the vanilla ice cream, our arms brush together as I hand over the urfa biber flakes. He stirs the pot, the aromas mingling together, all sweet and spicy, and now, thanks to his recording in the vent and the words I'd heard, I'm imagining us together.
"Kate, taste this," says Charles, snapping me out of my fantasy. He holds out a spoon laden with sauce, I take a tiny mouthful, and then lick my lips. Charles flashes a sexy smile. "Almost better than sex, huh?"
He has to be a mind reader.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“Needing to shake off the negative energy, I decide to prepare one of the desserts---something sweet to take away the sour taste of fear infiltrating my mouth. I'm going to tackle the strawberry and lavender sorbet---the herb from Garrance's rooftop garden, the strawberries sweet and juicy. Thankfully, the recipe is easy---especially when you have three Thermomix machines at your disposal.
After commandeering most of the ingredients, I smell the lavender Garrance had bestowed upon us and another fantasy sets in. Charles and I are running through a field bursting with purple flowers in the South of France, smiling and laughing. We're kissing, softly at first, and then we're naked, exploring each other's bodies, his rippled stomach, and floating on a cloud made from the fragrance of the lavender---sweet and woodsy---
"Kate, where'd you go? You look all dreamy," says Charles.
"Nowhere. Just thinking," I say.
"You're sexy as hell when you think. You bite those full lips of yours and it's kind of distracting when I'm trying to work.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“I'm showered and now wearing the dress Caro brought over---a peacock-blue chiffon number from this season's Madeleine Bouchard collection. Again, it's like it's made for me---a perfect fit. When I enter the kitchen, Charles is still in a foul mood, barking out orders to the staff.
"Charles," I say. "Can you tone down the anger in your voice? We're all working together. Aren't we?"
"We are," says Charles, looking up and taking in my presence. His hands fly to his heart. "Whoa, ooh-la-la. You look amazing. That shade of blue really brings out the color in your eyes.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“A few weeks past and it's the middle of July. Bistro Exotique is still as full as my heart, Charles and I now not only business partners with the restaurant but also in bed. Don't worry: one can still eat at Bistro Exotique without fear of our sexcapades, his kitchen our new playground where we re-create the bread-and-butter scene from 9 1/2 Weeks---often.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“Maybe there is something special about my mother's spices---"
Do I tell him about all my fantasies? Nah, I'm living them now. I smile and get back to chopping up the tarragon, inhaling the sweet, grassy aroma. I let myself fall in love. I let myself float into bliss. I have my dream and it came with more happiness than I had ever imagined.
"Or maybe we just have the perfect chemistry," I say.
Through it all, Charles and I learned that letting go of negativity leads to happier futures (and better food and sex). As for Garrance, her work is complete; she's found happiness for Charles and me, her and my mother's plan all along. Magic? Some may say. But love is the greatest magic of all---and a required ingredient for everyone.”
― Samantha Verant, The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique

“God, you're beautiful," he said, unleashing the adjective Ronny had never used to describe me.
"Ha, come on, I'm still a mess from the kitchen," I said.
"I don't see anything messy. I smell dinner, and you're making me hungry," he said, moving closer.
God, this was heating up quickly. "You don't smell all the garlic, onions, and fryer oil?" I said, giggling and feeling shy.
"I love fried food, Maggie." He inhaled deeply, and we both laughed.”
― Victoria Benton Frank, My Magnolia Summer

“Alexander may or may not have peeked out of the kitchen office to make sure Eden actually ate the rest of her Asian fusion abomination. Her delicious Asian fusion abomination.
As much as it bothers him to admit, Alexander has never tasted anything so amazing before. The sauce was tangy, notes of lime coming to the forefront without being overpowering.
The mini pita shells she'd used had been warmed on the skillet, offering a lovely crunchy texture to offset the softness of the Pad Thai.”
― Katrina Kwan, Knives, Seasoning, & A Dash of Love

“This time, it's some kind of dessert. Eden's always had a sweet tooth, and it shows. She moans, willingly drowning in the rich cocoa powder, icing sugar, and savoring the sourness of the raspberries baked in.
"Wow, that's good," she mumbles. She helps herself to a larger spoonful and sighs. "Mm, fuck me. More of where that came from, please."
She swears she sees the tips of his ears turn red. He shifts in his seat. Her breath hitches when her eyes flit down towards the growing tent in his pants.
Oh?”
― Katrina Kwan, Knives, Seasoning, & A Dash of Love

“Welcome to the world of haute cuisine, sweetheart."
Her breath catches in her throat.
Sweetheart.
She knows he's being sarcastic, but the word echoes around inside her skull and makes her feel so terribly strange. Tingly. Oddly warm. Her heart picks up in pace and her skin burns like soft fire. A tiny voice in the back of her head craves to hear him say it again.
Alexander leans forward, officially leaving no space between them. They're so close that all it would take is for Eden to tilt her chin up just so for their lips to touch.
"Here's what's going to happen," he says, tone low and smooth. He smells like peppermint toothpaste and clean laundry, hints of hazelnuts and vanilla lingering just beneath the surface.
"Chef?" she mumbles, mesmerized by the warmth radiating off of his body.”
― Katrina Kwan, Knives, Seasoning, & A Dash of Love

“I want to take you into the kitchen and ravish you."
"Where all the best love affairs begin," I say, turning and jumping up and wrapping my legs around his waist as he kisses me and leads me, slowly and deliberately, to the kitchen.”
― Lizzy Dent, Just One Taste

“He dug his thumbnail into the blushing peel and pulled until the dark red fruit appeared, spraying citrus oil everywhere. As he pulled the fruit into its sections, it glowed like rubies. It made the fruit I'd bought at the supermarket for our ill-fated experiment look dry and stale in comparison.
"Why do you have to show me now?"
I stopped cold, because he'd grabbed my chin. His fingers were soft, insistent.
"Because I want to. Open," he said. He was smiling, but there was something in his eyes I hadn't seen before. Determination?
When I gaped at him, he popped the orange segment in my mouth.
I bit down, and my eyes fluttered shut. Sweet-sour fireworks exploded across my tongue, and I couldn't help but moan a little bit. I tasted orange, of course, but there were raspberries and a little bit of rose petal, too.
"That's incredible," I said once I'd swallowed. "Like eating a sunset."
When I opened my eyes, he was staring at my mouth. I felt fireworks again, this time in my stomach. But a second later, he smiled big and said, "I was going to say a party in my mouth, but I guess that's why you're the writer.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“Once my plate landed on the table, I couldn't help eating the hash like I was starving. He'd added a little sautéed garlic and parsley at the end, and the fragrance against the crispy potatoes made me hum with happiness.
I was about to pick up my plate and his to wash them when he said, "I could make amazing fries if you wanted."
I shook my head. "They wouldn't work for the book. People think deep-frying at home is incredibly messy, and the low-fat and low-carb lobbies finished the job."
He laced his fingers behind behind his head. "That's a shame. But I didn't mean for the book."
I stared at him. "You'd make fries just for me?"
His cheeks went a little pink.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“It was like a hand had turned the volume way down on the hum of anxiety that always buzzed in my head. He was all calm competence. He knew what to do, and he'd tell me how in that dark-brown-sugar voice, and I could just be.
I slowly followed his instructions. He leaned in and I got a whiff of white soap and pine forest. "Closer," he said softly. "Cut closer."
He could whisper in my ear, he was that near. His scarred lower lip so close to my skin.”
― Sarah Chamberlain, The Slowest Burn

“He battered and fried catfish nuggets and made red rice with sausage. Finally, he started a she-crab chowder, and I knew he was showing off. Crab chowder was my favorite thing. I watched as he added the butter and flour for the roux and then expertly added the cream and milk and broth and other ingredients. The kitchen had been smelling good for hours, but once he added the crab roe and crab meat, it produced a heavenly fragrance.”
― Rhonda McKnight, Bitter and Sweet

“Together, we construct the sandwiches, using a blend of muenster, because it was what her mother favored, and provolone, because Delilah thinks it adds a deeper flavor--- and liberally buttering the bread because, Delilah informs me, it's all about the butter.
"Now," she says, laying two sandwiches on the hot pan. "Here is where you learn that cooking involves all the senses. Taste, yes. But also sound. Listen. The butter is sizzling. No sound means it's not cooking the right way. The pan is either too low or too hot."
We listen to the sizzle.
"Sight," she says. "We need to see that beautiful butter hopping and bubbling around the edges of the pan."
Dutifully, I watch. How can I not? She is in total command.
"Smell." She wafts her hand over the pan, letting the warm scent of browning butter and bread wash over us. "This is more important when you're adding herbs and spices. Does the dish smell as it should? It's something you learn on the way. Flip the sandwiches."
I take the spatula from her and do as asked. The bread is perfectly browned.
"Feeling. You have to feel how the food is behaving. The texture of it. Now, with grilled cheese, you don't want to cook it too fast, or the cheese won't melt. Hear how the sound has dimmed?"
I nod.
"We need to add more butter; turn the heat down just a bit."
She walks me through the entire process, teaching me to control the heat, baby the sandwiches to get them how I want. All the time our shoulders are brushing, our moves in coordination for a common goal. A sense of calm spreads over me. I'm not thinking about work or the outside world. I'm not angry or empty. I'm filled up. I'm here, with her.
We get the sandwiches on plates, and she hands me a knife.
"The best part. Cutting it open." Her brow wings up in warning. "Only cut on the diagonal. Down the middle is a sin against grilled cheese."
"Please," I say, with feeling. "As if I'd sink so low." I make the first cut and am rewarded with a fine crunch of sound, followed by the ooze of gooey cheese. Perfection.
"Taste. Take a bite," Delilah urges with childlike excitement.
I take a bite.
"Close your eyes," she says. "Tell me what you think when you taste it."
You.
Me.
Delilah wearing braces, her thick hair pulled back in a tight ponytail that highlights the roundness of her face. Her gold eyes glaring at me from opposite her mother's kitchen table.
Home.
Safety.”
― Kristen Callihan, Dear Enemy

“Claire looked again at the ingredients Mrs. Clyde had brought, finally realizing it was only sugar, a torch, and a variety of topping choices. Not the ingredients to make a dessert, but to finish a dessert.
Which meant this treat had been planned out ahead of time, regardless of where the evening would have taken place.
No matter what the dessert actually tasted like, this was already the most deliciously sweet thing that had ever happened to her.”
― Rebecca Connolly, The Crime Brûlée Bake Off