The last time we rode the train together, we kissed so fiercely that I elicited applause from the other passengers when he exited. We had sat close to one another, my feet tucked underneath my thighs, my knees resting on his legs. We spoke in excited whispers, our faces inches apart and our voices dripping with [read more ...]
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Sometimes, this is what it feels like when I cook in culinary school:
Okay, what am I making today? Poulet Roti Grand-mere. Roast chicken, grandmother style. Oh god. Not again. I’ve made this six times already. It. Is. So. Boring. And long. And involved. And all of that stupid garniture. Garni-churrrr. I want to go home. [read more ...]
We’re talking about food as we eat it. I love doing that.
There are three macarons to be had, and I suggest we start with vanilla because comparatively, it’s the most boring.
It’s simple, but not boring. He takes the first bite, then turns the cookie around and guides it into my mouth. The first thing I [read more ...]
The kitchen was busy, bustling with activity and sweating students, but I was in a tranquil state as I worked on my grenobloise. I was calmly segmenting a lemon across the island from Derek when I felt something soft hit my rear end with a WHUMP.
Before I could turn around, I heard a distinctly French [read more ...]