"The sensuality of her cooking did strange things to him. He couldn't stop thinking of the woman in the kitchen who wielded such power and magic. Did she possess the alchemy to distill brutal longing and infuse her food with it? Or did she serve forth undiluted desire disgused as nothing more alarming than a dish of creme caramel? ... When he ate, there was only the food. And there was only the cook."
- Sherry Thomas, Delicious
In my family, food has always meant love. The cups of cocoa my grandmother shared with me after school, the last cookie she'd save especially for me, were just as much expressions of her love as her hug at the door. My mother's special birthday dinners, holiday baking, my father's weekend pancakes-- all love, clearly spoken, even when the words themselves felt awkward to say aloud. "I care about you." "I want to see you happy." "I love you."