Foodgasm Quotes

“Then it's time for our first complete bites after we mix the gnocchi and sauce together with a sprinkling of parmesan over the top. Spearing one of the little potato pillows with my fork, I drag it through some extra sauce before popping it into my mouth. The flavors explode on my tongue, my taste buds experiencing something akin to euphoria as the fresh tomatoes and garlic and herbs and salt all meld around a light, fluffy center. I fight the urge to moan aloud, because oh. My. Pasta-loving stars.
I thought I loved pasta before. But then I met this gnocchi, which Benny says isn't even technically pasta, and all I know is that it tastes like my every good Italian restaurant and home-cooked comfort food memory rolled into one and amplified. I feel like I'm about to melt to the floor, literally light-headed from this rapturous food experience. The dish is savory and hearty and warms me from the inside out.”
― Kaitlyn Hill, Love from Scratch

“Back in the kitchen, we tested her idea with the cocoa-balsamic drizzle. When I bit into the fig, a sweetness should have hit my tongue first, followed by the heat of the chipotle pepper... It should've been sweet and hot. Sour and bitter. The flavors combined like a Kama Sutra of great sex.”
― Samantha Verant, Sophie Valroux's Paris Stars

“The restaurant owner brought them wine, pale and golden and cool. There were just four oysters each, and when they were all gone they turned their attention to the cecinella. After the soft shapeless texture of the oysters these were almost the opposite: hard, crunchy skeletons whose flavor was all on the outside, a crisp bite of garlic and peperone that dissolved to nothing in your mouth. The ricci, or sea urchins, were another taste again, salty and exotic and rich. It was hard to believe that he had once thought they could be an austerity measure. After that they were brought without being asked a dish of baby octopus, cooked with tomatoes and wine mixed with the rich, gamey ink of a squid.
For dessert the owner brought them two peaches. Their skins were wrinkled and almost bruised, but the flesh, when James cut into it with his knife, was unspoiled and perfectly ripe, so dark it was almost black. He was about to put a slice into his mouth when Livia stopped him.
"Not like that. This is how we eat peaches here."
She cut a chunk from the peach into her wine, then held the glass to his lips. He took it, tipping the wine and fruit together into his mouth. It was a delicious, sensual cascade of sensations, the sweet wine and the sweet peach rolling around his mouth before finally, he had to bite it, releasing the fruit's sugary juices. It was like the oyster all over again, a completely undreamt-of experience, and one that he found stirringly sexual, in some strange way that he couldn't have defined.”
― Anthony Capella, The Wedding Officer

“He orders an expensive bottle of Rioja and we begin our tapas extravaganza with plates of dates wrapped in bacon, langoustines in garlic and butter, chorizo in a tomatoey sauce, and a miniature Spanish tortilla (potato, egg, and onion). Our medium-rare steaks are set before us along with a basket of thinly sliced, golden crisped fries. I'm happy to see that Frank enjoys food- with no mention of any weird hang-ups or allergies.
"I was hoping they'd have sweetbreads on the menu," Frank says.
"You like sweetbreads?" I ask, my heart expanding at the mention of calf thymus.
"I'm an organ man," Frank says, taking a sip of wine.
"I know a place where they make great sautéed sweetbreads," I say.
"You?" he asks, a look of pleased astonishment spreading across his face.
"Love 'em," I say. This mutual infatuation with organs bodes well.
Cutting into the steaks with sharp knives, we put morsels in our mouths, close our eyes as if we've died and gone to heaven, chew, and groan, the salty, bloody juices trickling down the backs of our throats.”
― Hannah Mccouch, Girl Cook: A Novel

“Callum takes a gigantic bite of his sandwich. I finally dig into mine and moan at the burst of flavor. It's the perfect bite of ham, malt vinegar mayo, fried egg, shoestring fries, and focaccia bread.”
― Sarah Smith, Simmer Down

“Inside was a golden-yellow tart, its custard so smooth and glossy it shone in the kitchen light like a little sun. A tiny whipped-cream heart sat in the center of the tart with a single rosemary leaf spearing the delicate center.
Delighted, I took the tart out and set it on a plate. It was almost too pretty to eat, and my diet certainly didn't need more sweets in it, but I remembered the rich caramel-and-cream delight of the afternoon's treats and couldn't resist.
The custard cleanly parted for my spoon, the crust crumbling just a little. Closing my eyes, I pushed the spoon past my lips and groaned. Tart-sweet lemon, bright as the dawn, played with delicate cream and a butter-rich crust. Perfectly balanced, it slid over my tongue like a kiss, played along the sides in an elusive tease, prompting me to take another bite.
Hovered over the countertop, I ate that tart with my eyes closed, bite after luscious bite. Letting it fill my senses.
It wasn't normal, getting emotional about dessert, but I found myself tearing up. It tasted oddly like hope, that tart. Like maybe everything would be okay if things like this existed in the world.
Someone put all their skill and care into something that wasn't meant to last but was to be enjoyed in the moment. In return, I felt cared for too.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“She didn't know that the brioches in her breakfast basket had been formed by my hand. She didn't know the macarons----two each night, sent in a small box----were mine. But I did.
In moments of weakness, I'd close my eyes and try to imagine her soft lips parting over jewel-bright confections, pink tongue tasting the flavors of me----achieved by the strange alchemy of whipping egg whites, infusing creams, and straining ripe fruits, all melded together into an intense burst of flavor.
Had she preferred the inky-black chicory chocolate, the butter-rich caramel and burnt pear? Or did she moan for the juicy brightness of the grapefruit honey or blood orange and rose?
It was enough to make a man hard.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“I know you don't like mangoes." A faint curl of humor danced on his lips.
"You know?" How? How did he know this?
"I've been feeding you this whole time, remember?" With his hot buttered voice, it sounded dirty, illicit.
"I remember." I sounded far too breathless.
He clearly noticed, that small private smile moved to his eyes. "You never eat the mango slices when I put them in any meals."
Understanding hit me, and I recalled that while I'd had breakfast fruit trays with mangoes, they'd stopped being included after the second time. Wide eyed, I silently gaped back at him.
Lucian's long clever fingers delicately picked up a cream puff. "Which is why I made some of these with vanilla-ginger cream."
Had I been gaping before? My mouth fell wide open. Behind me, I heard Dougal sigh, as if impressed. But I could only stare at Lucian, who looked smug but oddly shy as well.
"You did that for me?" I croaked.
His broad shoulder moved under his jacket. "That, and the combination of vanilla, ginger, and mango mirrored what Delilah and Saint had wanted in their original cake."
I could fall for this man. Fall hard. Maybe I already had, because my heart was too big, beating too fast. He gave me another small, barely there smile, his pale eyes gleaming with something soft and intent.
"Come now, honeybee," he murmured. "Try my cream."
I sputtered out a shocked laugh, and my face flamed, but as he'd commanded, I opened my mouth.
Lucian's nostrils flared. His hand shook a little as he lifted the cream puff and placed it one the edge of my lips. I opened my mouth wider, my tongue flicking out for that first sweet taste.
Rich, almost nutty caramel, the gentle crust of pastry, a burst of smooth light cream with a hint of vanilla and ginger spice. Slowly, I chewed, my eyes locked with his, my body tight, and my mouth in heaven. He stayed with me, feeding me another bite, cream getting on his thumb.
My tongue slipped over the blunt end, and he grunted. Hard.”
― Kristen Callihan, Make It Sweet

“Knives sliced cleanly through the salmon, pink flesh flaking on either side, the crust giving way with a satisfying crunch. Lenore and Maz were eating, too, but I kept my eyes fixed on Luke's fork. He tried a bite of the salmon plain first, chewing thoughtfully, then swept up some of my rice porridge with the seaweed-pickled vegetables, then returned for a bite of everything together, pink salmon and white porridge and pops of green and red all entering his parted lips.
He closed his eyes as he tasted my food. He didn't open them again until he swallowed. "The salmon is perfect," he said. "Flaky and tender, with just the right amount of smoke, and the crunch of that crust is just..." He paused, those bottomless eyes on mine. The tip of his tongue darted over his lower lip. "Incredible."
I didn't mean to smile, just nod appreciatively at any praise, but I felt it curl over my lips anyway. "Thank you."
"I agree," said Lenore. "The salmon is something quite special. Is the crust rice alone?"
"No," I said. "It's ground rice with some panko and a little nori."
She nodded with approval. "And these seaweed-pickled vegetables are stellar. Bright and tangy, a lovely pop of acid against the richness of the salmon and the porridge.”
― Amanda Elliot, Sadie on a Plate

“Freddie's short ribs were just how I like them, tender and smoky." Nina's eyes closed, as if she were savoring the dish all over again.
Leo swallowed. Had the words tender and smoky ever sounded so... explicit?
When she opened her eyes, he realized he'd been staring. He cleared his throat and looked away.
"Well..." He searched for a question that didn't involve asking her to repeat smoky on a loop. Seriously, why had that sounded so hot?”
― Erin La Rosa, For Butter or Worse

“He set a raspberry cheese slice wrapped in parchment paper on the counter and she slid it off, biting off the corner with an "mmm." Her eyes closed as she chewed and swallowed, taking another large bite with an even more audible sigh.
"That is indecent," Steph said. He wished he could figure out the rest of their names, but at least time was on his side again.
"It is indecent in the very best way," she said. "Everything tastes ten times better than it ever did before." She held out the pastry to each of her friends so they could taste, all nodding in agreement. Most patrons didn't eat their treats while still in the building, and it was wildly satisfying to witness her enjoyment, titillating even. Parts of him tightened that hadn't tightened in response to another person in much too long. One of the friends pointed out the fleck of glaze perched on her lip and she licked it into her mouth. Talk about indecent. He placed both of his hands on top of the pastry case to steady himself, his knees suddenly unstable like he'd spent a morning moving bags of flour from the kitchen to the cellar. He was grateful the apron covered the front of him.”
― Amy E. Reichert, Once Upon a December