Kitchen Witch Quotes

“She held up the book so Everly could see it. “It says it belongs to Erin Early.”
Everly’s eyes softened. “Erin Early was my grandmother. Those are all her recipes.”
Rowan felt a buzz filter through her, felt the electric charge shooting through her sister. Caraline flipped through the first few loose pages. “Potato soup. Soda bread. Hand pies. Dublin Coddle—"
“What’s Dublin Coddle?” Rowan asked.
Caraline skimmed the recipe, her brow furrowing. “It’s sort of like a stew, I think? Potatoes, onions, bacon, sausages, and beer slow-cooked together.”
― Ivy Cassidy, House of Spells and Secrets

“The smell of butter hugs me the moment I slide into the peace of the kitchen. I inhale, nostrils greedy. Our neighbors and customers are important, sure. Our town has relied on the Frost family’s food and baking magic for decades, ever since the Holler was no more than a whisper. And a Farewitch is nothing without a town, without the folks who depend on her culinary cures.
But the kitchen… I might not be the Farewitch my mom is, but the kitchen is home.”
― Ellen Pauley Goff, The Farewitch of Foxe Holler

“Weisenberger stone-ground yellow grits. Burners click to life. Water boils. Shrimp dance in a sauté pan on the stove. I stir my grits until they bite back like al dente pasta, and then fold in cream, cheddar cheese, and butter, of course. Buttermilk and paprika, freshly cracked black pepper, too. No bland grits in this house. The soundtrack at my fingertips is always the best way to channel the angry thrum under my pulse, the growl in my stomach.
As I stand over the hot stove, temples sweating, my mind fogs for a second, but then the dizzy sensation is gone. Maybe I'm hungrier than I realized. But that doesn't mean the Warlock is right.
Finishing touch: I add molasses to the sizzling sauce. The salty bite of the grits will wear it well. Everything sharp needs a little sweet.
In under an hour, I've rage-cooked something gorgeous. Sautéed butter shrimp with Southern cheddar grits. How a person can create something from nothing and have immediate, delicious evidence to prove it— this is the real magic in the world.
I plate the plump shrimp onto a pillow of grits, ley lines of butter creating a glorious foundation. Then I plop down at the kitchen table and eat every. Last. Shrimp. The grits, too, for good measure.”
― Ellen Pauley Goff, The Farewitch of Foxe Holler