Thursday, February 22, 2018

FOODFIC: Please Welcome David Hogan, Author of The Last Island

Modern Greeks start discussing dinner after the first bite of lunch and start discussing the next day’s lunch at dinner. For the unwitting visitor or in-law, like myself, there is a single escape from this circle of culinary obsession: breakfast. In the morning, you’ll find yourself on your own, consuming some undiscussed but tasty yogurt, granola or figs.

This preoccupation with food separates modern Greeks from their ancient counterparts -- by very little. The works of classical Greece are teeming with meals, menus, and recipes. Here’s Antiphanes (408-334 B.C.) on how to prepare some choice dishes:

“Sea bass?”
“Bake whole.”
“Boil with fresh chopped herbs.”
“Salt, oregano, water.”
“A slice of tuna?”
“Bake it.”

What if you haven’t acquired the ingredients? What if you have to boldly venture to the agora in order to acquire them? In that case, Lynkeus of Samos (early 300s B.C) is your man; he tells you all you need to know in his aptly titled masterpiece, Shopping for Fish. (Spoiler alert: scorn the desired fish and fishmonger so contemptuously that you frighten off all the other buyers and then start bargaining.)

Fortunately for the Boston fireman who relocates to the poor and remote Greek Island in The Last Island, the people he encounters are overwhelmingly kind and generous, and he has no need to insult fish or fishermen. He’s offered syrupy cookies by a widow on the day he arrives and soon after learns how to ‘sun the octopus.’ With his stomach full, it’s his heart and conscience that need repair. That’s when he meets, Kerryn, an animal rights activist, who believes dolphins possess consciousness, intelligence and souls. But as his relationship with Kerryn deepens, her passion and convictions lead her to make a fatal decision that changes the island and both their lives forever.

The island will indeed change, as Greece itself is now changing. What will remain is the food, the delicious and simple meals of fish, vegetables, olive oil and wine that Homer, Aristotle, Antiphanes, and Lynkeus enjoyed, and which a lonely Boston fireman and you and I can still enjoy, and which for thousands of years have filled body and soul.

Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, David!

You can find David here:

David Hogan is the award-winning author of screen and stage plays as well as a novel.  His stage plays include the NPI award-winning Capital, Samoan America, and No Sit – No Stand – No Lie, which opened the ‘Resilience of the Spirit’ Human Rights Festival.  His screenplays include The Tractor King, Free Radical (with Frank D’Angeli) and Stranded (with Frank D’Angeli).

His debut novel, The Last Island, published by Betimes Books, was a Finalist in the 2014 San Diego Book Awards, an Amazon Contemporary & Literary Bestseller in the U.K. and reached #1 in Fiction at Amazon Australia.  Click here to order.

Friday, February 16, 2018

FOODFIC: Please Welcome Brittany Hawes, Author of WICKED

In the land of Esperance lived a Cursed Three:
A princess, a misfit, and Death’s small prodigy.

Though some have perished in this cherished land,
Awaiting final judgment, the Three are forced to stand.
Yet Esperance’s gnarled and withering hands
Still shall welcome you within.

To the Underworld’s depths we first must descend,
Plunge into liquid darkness at life’s end,
To find the little girl that Death has claimed,
Zenobia, princess of nothing, is now her given name.

Pulsating in the pitch black, her heart fights to beat,
Golden marionette strings tugging at her bare feet.
Follow after her to Death’s grand dining hall.
This is where we’ll witness Zenobia’s daily meal.

Picked by two guards made from yellowing bone,
Succulent berries rest on plates of precious stones.
Shimmering goblets of crystal are filled to the brim;
White wine aged for eons glistens by the rim.

Delicate pieces of meat jut up from a dish,
Picked clean of bones by bones sits the fish.
“These are the things on which a human must dine.”
Death’s orders must be dutifully followed by the line.

Now we go to a home coated by sugar and fear;
A home approached by none privy of who truly lives here.
Colorful gumdrops dot the brown wafer roof.
A sugary mansion calls to all with a sweet tooth.

Smooth licorice twists around pillars of fudge,
Taffy mortar makes sure that the house won’t budge.
Behind the rock candy sheets that are window panes
Lies a pair of great eyes wanting you to remain.

With nails and hair that all drip to the floor,
The Witch of the Woods hopes you’ll step through her door.
The price you must pay for a bite of her lair?
A trip to her cauldron after days of despair.

But if you are lucky and don’t see her house,
You still might be met by a girl like a mouse.
“Come see the treats that I have in store.”
If you follow, you’ll be seen nevermore.

So instead come with me to the castle of Livor.
Mind your step for there’s blood on the floor.
Chandeliers overhead and executions down below.
While their people run dry, the royals overflow.

Rounding a corner, we see a fine spread
On the long table surrounded by heads.
Here is where Princess Ruta and her father sit,
Picking away at the fallen, bit by bit.

Roasted pheasant and platters of spiced capercaillie,
Hot beef paired with mustard, butter, and honey,
Red wine spilling and surrounding the feast,
Bloodstained fingers maneuver with ease.

As you and the Wicked enjoy your grand meal,
Mind your manners lest you catch her steel.
The blade of the guillotine beckons from outside,
So be polite and open wide.

Finally, our frightening journey has come to an end.
Esperance bids you farewell—won’t you visit again?

Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Brittany!

You can find Brittany here:

Thursday, February 8, 2018

FOODFIC: Please Welcome Holly Jacobs, Author of STEAMED

Thanks so much for the invitation, Shelley!  I always love talking about books…and food!

I once had an editor tell me that my characters spent too much time eating.  As someone who enjoys cooking—and eating—I told her I didn’t think that was possible. 

Every book I write is a bit autobiographical.  I might not ever have run away from the world like my heroine in Just One Thing, but I have experienced loss.  I might not have ever given a child up for adoption like Pip in Carry Her Heart and Hold Her Heart, but I have discovered family I’d never met.  And I have never accidentally cleaned a murder scene, like Quincy in my Maid in LA Mysteries series (Steamed, Dusted, Spruced Up, Swept Up and this summer’s 5th book, Polished Off), but I do relate to her love of food.  And while I enjoy cooking, like Quincy I love having other people cook for me. 

I took a bite of the salad.
 “Wow,” I managed as I chewed.  This wasn’t head lettuce cut up in a bowl and slathered with ranch dressing.  This had greens, nuts and dried fruit, with some light dressing on it.
 Cal forked up his salad and didn’t seem overly appreciative as he chewed it, then asked, “What I want you to do is try to remember everything you cleaned, touched or moved at Banning’s house.”
 So, I tried to remember every step.  It was easier because I’d started going over all this for myself and my file.  I thought about telling him that.  After all, he’d made it clear he didn’t consider me a serious suspect.  But I still wasn’t positive I could trust him, so I simply worked at recreating the list, from picking panties off the ceiling fan, to steam cleaning footprints off the carpet.  When I mentioned the Mortie, Cal perked up.  “What was on it?”
 I shrugged as I swallowed another bite of the salad.  “No idea.  It was sticky and a sort of rusty brown color.  It was all over the base of it.”
 “I don’t think so, though I’ve never seen dried blood on a Mortie before, much less cleaned it off.  I polished the award, and then I put it on the mantle.  It was on the couch when I came in,” I added.
 Cal made a groaning sound and made a call on his cell.  “Test the Mortie for trace evidence of blood.”
 He waited and I ate undisturbed.  
 I’d moved from my salad to a plate of pasta that Big G brought back.  It was just as good.  I was trying to decide what all was in the simple red sauce when Cal’s phone rang.
 He picked it up, listened and said, “Okay.”  Then he clicked the button and set his phone down.
 He turned to me.  “It’s official.  You cleaned the murder weapon.”
 All I could think of was a wrinkled unicorn tattoo.

Poor Quincy.  She spends the first book, Steamed, in the (soon-to-be) five book series worrying she’s going to go to prison for accidentally cleaning a murder scene.  She’s worried that she’ll have to get a prison tattoo and realizes tattoos don’t always age well…which explains that wrinkled unicorn tattoo comment.  But she does meet Cal, who despite his frustration finds Quincy as intriguing as she finds him.  And she does visit her friend Honey (whose daughter is named Trixie…and all you Trixie Belden fans will recognize the pair) who’s also a cook, and is introduced to Big G and goes to Pattycake’s Pancake House.

So maybe that editor was right…there’s a lot of food in my books.  But there’s a lot of food in my life as well!  I just did a new Cooks and Books video.  It’s an ongoing, sporadic series I post online.  The newest one is about my easy-peasy Mexican Lasagna ( and how I tricked my young hockey-fan dinner guests into eating it.

Yes, I do the Cooks and Books videos because for me, food and books go together! Quincy feels the same way!

Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Holly!

You can find Holly here:

Friday, February 2, 2018

FOODFIC: Please Welcome Cathryn Hein, Author of The Country Girl

Have you ever fallen down the rabbit hole that is food blogging on the internet? It’s a marvellous place, filled with stunning pictures of mouth-watering recipes, and clever people creating new dishes or adding interesting twists to old favourites, who usually have much tidier kitchens than mine.

The heroine of my latest release The Country Girl is one of these people, but Tash is a born and bred Australian farm lass. She doesn’t go in for over-styled food or ingredients no one has ever heard of. Her recipes are wholesome and hearty, and loaded with comfort. Which is just as well, because The Country Girl’s hero Patrick is a man loaded with heartache. He needs every ounce of comfort she can give, and give is what Tash does.

As she says to Patrick, “Cooking for other people makes me feel good. And here at The Urban Ranger we smother goodness like we smother butter – thick and with great pleasure.”

Tash has returned home to the family farm to write a cookbook and take her blog in a new direction, showing off not just new recipes but where the produce comes from. At first Patrick thinks it’s a bit of a joke, but he soon learns Tash’s business is serious. Especially when he begins to try her dishes.

There are curries and crème brulees, tarts and terrines, pies and pastries, salads and soups, and all cooked with great gusto by Tash because cooking is her passion and her life’s philosophy:

There are those who believe it’s just something we need to live, and that’s true, but food is more than a necessity. I truly believe food—the preparation of it, the sharing, the way it brings people together—can be a powerful symbol of compassion and love.

One of the first dishes of Tash’s that Patrick tries is a mini ricotta cheesecake with currants soaked in sherry. For a bit of fun, I’ve shared the recipe in this video. Enjoy!

Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Cathryn!

You can find Cathryn here:

Friday, January 26, 2018

FOODFIC: Please Welcome Steve DeWinter, Author of Forgotten Girl

I want each of you to take a deep breath and savor it. The atmosphere inside this gondola is the last breath of free air you will ever taste.

As soon as this airship departs the station you will never set foot on civilized land again, not that any of you deserve it.

There are two indisputable facts about the Outcast Zone. Number one, it is the most inhospitable place you will ever visit. And number two, it will be the place where you will die.

My lieutenant is handing out burlap sacks. This is the only assistance we will provide to you to help you adjust to life inside the Outcast Zone. In it you will find a loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. 

Now, you can eat the bread and cheese which should allow you to survive for a few days.

Or, you can use what we have provided you to lure in rats, which are an excellent source of protein and are quite abundant. That should give you about a month before your bait runs out.

Or, you could use the rats you trap to attracting larger prey who, while they may put up a bigger fight, just may give you enough to live on and possibly even trade with your new neighbors.

How long you survive is entirely up to you and the decisions you make.

But then again, your decisions up till this point brought you here, so I would not wager on any of you surviving for very long.

Hi, I am Steve DeWinter, the author of the eight book Steampunk OZ series, starting with the #1 Amazon Steampunk Bestseller, Forgotten Girl.

What you just experienced was the warden's introductory speech given to incoming inmates right before they were sent into the Outcast Zone. It is into this kind of place Dorothy willingly goes in search of her father with nothing more than a garbled radio message as proof that he may be somewhere in OZ, a continent-sized prison with but one purpose.

No one gets out alive.

Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Steve!

You can find Steve here:

About Steve DeWinter: I am a #1 Bestselling Amazon Action & Adventure Sci-Fi Author who also co-authored two fantasy novels with Charles Dickens.Yes! That Charles Dickens. My books hit #1 on the Amazon Children’s Action & Adventure Sci-Fi Bestseller list, #1 on the Amazon Steampunk Bestseller list, and my adult thrillers reached as high as lucky #13 on the Amazon Action & Adventure Bestseller list. I can also boast the unique distinction of  having 9 books in the Top 20 of the Amazon Children’s Action & Adventure Sci-Fi Bestseller list all at the same time.

I love writing fiction and with 40+ books (and even some short stories) published to date, my total published word count is well beyond the million-word-mark with some of my more popular books translated into languages other than English. I also wrote/directed a 90-minute direct-to-video action-thriller movie and wrote/directed a full-cast radio play podcast that has been downloaded nearly 70,000 times – not that I’m bragging ;-)

Thursday, January 18, 2018

FOODFIC: Please Welcome Ellis Shuman, Author of The Burgas Affair

When Detective Boyko Stanchev of the Bulgarian State Agency for National Security sits down for lunch at a roadside cafe, he is furious that his partner is an inexperienced data analyst from Israel. Ayala Navon has just flown in from Tel Aviv to join the investigation of a bombing at Burgas Airport which took the lives of five Israelis and their Bulgarian bus driver. Ayala has never previously been to Bulgaria and Boyko feels she will interfere with his work on the case.

The waiter brings their lunch:

There is the ubiquitous shopska salad—finely cut wedges of tomatoes and cucumbers topped with grated salty white cheese. Next to it were small ceramic bowls of potato salad and the so-called Russian salad, which was nearly the same, except for the addition of carrots and peas. A colorful tomato salad and one made from peppers were also quite appealing; they were served on traditional Bulgarian plates. Off to the side was a bowl of yogurt spotted with drops of green.

“Snezhanka salata,” Ayala said, dipping in her spoon to help herself.

“How do you know its name?”

“It’s because,” she began, but then she shrugged, smiling to herself. She recalled the occasions during her childhood when her father had asked to include Bulgarian dishes in their meals, a request stated so frequently that her mother had given in to his tastes, despite their being so different from the cuisine with which she was familiar.

“Because?” he asked, waiting for an answer.

“I just know the name.”

“Was it part of your research for coming to Bulgaria? Is this what the Mossad teaches you—the names of local food so that you can fit right in with the population and not stick out?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” she said, glaring at him.

When there is no progress in the joint Bulgarian-Israeli investigation of the bombing, Ayala is reassigned to a desk job in Tel Aviv. To her surprise, Boyko arrives in Israel. “Detective Stanchev will serve as liaison to our intelligence-gathering efforts. The Bulgarians, like us, have a very keen interest in getting to the bottom of the Burgas bombing,” her boss informs her. And then he asks Ayala to arrange home hospitality for their Bulgarian guest. Reluctantly, Ayala brings Boyko to her parents’ home for a home-cooked Shabbat meal.

After her father recites the traditional blessing over the wine, Ayala blesses the challah and serves a piece of the braided bread to Boyko. Ayala’s mother rose from the table to serve the soup. She ladled out four bowls and placed the first one in front of their guest:

“Chicken soup, with a bit of lemon squeezed in, like the Bulgarian custom.”

The Burgas Affair, a crime fiction thriller set in both Bulgaria and Israel, is based on a very real terrorist attack. On July 18, 2012, a deadly explosive rocked a tourist bus at Burgas Airport, killing five Israelis and their Bulgarian bus driver. The terrorists responsible for this murderous attack have never been brought to justice.

Teamed up together, Boyko and Ayala should be conducting a routine investigation, but shadows of the past keep interfering.

Boyko’s interactions with a crime boss pursuing a vendetta against him threaten to throw him off track. Ayala’s pursuit of the terrorists and their accomplices brings up painful memories of a family tragedy.

Boyko and Ayala form a shaky alliance, one that evolves into growing cooperation and affection as they desperately race against time to uncover who was behind the Burgas bombing.

Suspense and procedural detective work aside, The Burgas Affair also portrays the cultural differences, and similarities, between Bulgaria and Israel. Unlike many other novels in the genre, the characters in the book are portrayed as real, flawed individuals. Despite the urgency of their investigation, they still must take breaks to eat. They go to sleep at night and yes, they even need to use the rest room from time to time as well.

When Boyko joins Ayala in Tel Aviv, she regards him with a curious look in her eyes:

Here he was—the officer with whom she had spent many hours driving around the Bulgarian countryside as they investigated various aspects of the case. They had argued, nearly bickering as they discussed suspects and leads. They had joked; they had laughed. They had eaten together, drinking rakia as he told her tales of his country. He had charmed her unexpectedly to the point that she had seriously considered inviting him into her hotel room. Here he was, present in Tel Aviv, again assigned to work with her. She didn’t know exactly how she would handle this unforeseen change in circumstances.

“Shall we get started?” Boyko said, a wide smile on his face.

Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Ellis!

You can find Ellis here:

Ellis Shuman is an American-born, Israeli author, travel writer, and book reviewer. He served in the Israeli army; was a founding member of a kibbutz; and has worked in the hotel industry and online marketing. His writing has appeared in The Times of Israel, The Huffington Post, The Jerusalem Post, The Oslo Times, and Israel Insider. He is the author of The Virtual Kibbutz and Valley of Thracians. Shuman lived for two years in Sofia, Bulgaria, and today resides with his wife, children, and grandchildren on Moshav Neve Ilan, outside Jerusalem.

Thursday, January 11, 2018

FOODFIC: Please Welcome Tony Piazza, Author of Murder is Such Sweet Revenge

Dining with Tom Logan, Hollywood’s Premier Private Investigator

They say an army marches on its stomach. The same could be said about a private detective, especially during these hard times ushered in by the Great Depression. The 1930s was not the best era to be out of work. However, that was exactly my situation after being cashiered out of the Los Angeles Police Department on a trumped-up charge of police brutality. Nevertheless, with some help I was able to get my own private investigation business going in Hollywood, but not without sacrifices.  Times were lean, and I had to cut corners where I can, and that included my meals.

My earlier detective jobs (Murder Will Out) had me munching on hamburgers and sipping on rich, black coffee, usually from some greasy spoon. During the odd times, I would get an opportunity to get a free meal as a perk of my investigation, like during the case where I was protecting a Chinese girl from the mob. Her friends had a restaurant in LA's Chinatown. Here I sat down for a sumptuous lunch of Egg Drop soup with steamed buns, and later a dinner of roasted duck with Mandarin orange sauce, fried rice, and stir-fry vegetables.

Again, a meal like this was an exception. During another case later in 1930 (Anything Short of Murder), it was back to grilled cheese or pastrami sandwiches and five cent Cokes at a local drug store or deli. It wasn’t until a slinky blonde with a million dollar figure and a bank book to match approached me with an offer to protect her from a killer. She had received a note threatening death unless she kept her mouth shut. The trouble was, she had no idea what it was all about. She was a movie actress working on a film. Did she see or hear something she wasn’t supposed to? In any case, that was my job to find out, and with the payola from that case, my dining habits became more in tune with the Vanderbilt’s. How much may you ask?  By the end of the case, I was sitting at the Cocoanut Grove with my special lady enjoying a feast amongst movie actors and the who’s who of Hollywood, all gathered to dance to the scintillating music of The Gus Arnheim Band and listen to a new crooner called Bing Crosby.

Dinners at the Grove didn’t come cheap. An appetizer of lobster cocktail followed by fresh thick turtle Soup, and an entrée of braised northern goose with red cabbage, applesauce, finishing with a dessert of caramel pecan custard pie and coffee could run you as high as four dollars! It was a night to remember.

During the late summer of 1931 (A Murder Amongst Angels) I was sitting pretty thanks to the cash earned in that earlier case. Enough in fact that I was able to get a bigger office, hire a receptionist and start frequenting some better eateries. Places like Musso and Frank’s Grill on Hollywood Boulevard, the Pig N’ Whistle, and the best French dip sandwich west of the Pecos at Philippe’s. This famous sandwich was made of prime-cut roast beef served on a freshly baked French roll which has been dipped in the natural gravy. I usually ordered homemade potato salad, a hard-boiled egg pickled in beet juice, and a large kosher style sour dill and pig’s feet to accompany the sandwich.

In this particular case, a famous movie actress/comedian was found murdered behind a café she had co-owned with her producer, lover. A California style adobe building on the beach in Malibu. It was a classy joint, and as such, attracted the unwanted attention of a big mob boss who wanted to turn the third-floor storage area into a casino. She wasn’t interested, and this may have been the ticket to her demise… or was it?

By 1933 life had changed for me (Murder is Such Sweet Revenge). I found myself with a new wife and a Cocker Spaniel, and it was off with the two of them on a honeymoon that we were likely never to forget. We’d booked a suite at a Victorian beachfront hotel on Coronado Island. First, there was a storm that left us isolated, then murder, which the management coerced me into investigating. It was indeed no way to spend a honeymoon. There were distractions galore, including a nosey woman mystery writer and a resident ghost who haunted the halls of this establishment.

The hotel, however, did have its benefits. Like the Crown Room, where my bride and I enjoyed our meals. For example, at dinner, I began with a shrimp cocktail followed by a consommé royal soup, hearts of iceberg lettuce sprinkled with French dressing, and for my entrée, Supreme of Halibut in caviar sauce accompanied by California asparagus and whipped potatoes.

By the end of our ruined honeymoon we were given a chance for a “do-over.” A stay at the honeymoon suite at the El Tovar on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. The dining room menu caught my eye, and one particular entrée caught my fancy. A hand-cut grilled natural Black Angus New York Strip Steak topped with a smoked mushroom compote, served with roasted fingerling potatoes and seasoned vegetables. But, alas, dinner may have to wait. I’d like to deck the clown who’d said that lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice. A person was discovered dead, lying on a ledge along the canyon wall, and guess who the management approached to see how it got there.

So, it’s time to tighten my belt, for dinner’s going to be late, because I’ve got a crime to solve!

Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Tony!

Friday, January 5, 2018

FOODFIC: Reading Menu for the New Year!

Okay, the book stack by my bed is now officially making it hard to navigate my side of the room, so my New Year's Resolution MUST be to read it down. In the spirit of staying reasonable (and with the admission that several of the titles were on LAST year's list), I have moved 10 tomes to the top. 

So this is what I will be reading in 2018, come Hell or high comforter:

Please let me know what's on YOUR 2018 TBR list!

Thursday, December 28, 2017

FOODFIC: Please Welcome Tricia Shiu, Author of Please Hold

About four years ago, on a searing Southern California afternoon, I came out to Tricia Stewart Shiu. It was a workday. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the event except for one small detail, which I’ll get to in a second.

She was driving on Pico Blvd. and making a left-hand turn into the Fox Studios Lot, when I sent out the news flash. As the information settled in, she managed to make her way to her parking spot, plod through the echoing NEB (New Executive Building) lobby and up to her reflecting fishbowl of an office. Wandering into the makeshift kitchen, her mind still abuzz, she filled the stainless steel electric kettle from the water cooler, pressed the button and waited for the rumbling boil.

Coffee had always been our ritual. In fact, it might have been one of the first things we did together. Every high-level executive assistant needs her “outlet” and that was ours. We’d chat for hours about all things work-related. It was during such conversations that her most prolific writing occurred. This time, though, she had no words.

Maybe I should have been more compassionate about my timing.

She silently grabbed a small coffee grinder, a bag of French roast beans, unfastened the clip, stuck her nose right into the bag’s opening and took a deep breath. Aside from the aroma of coffee, this was her favorite scent. The beans bounced into the grinder as she poured the oily darkness into the grinders container and held the button down, shattering the administrative quiet for exactly twenty seconds.

I’d noticed that Sarah had been a bit upset. It was probably because she sensed that I was holding something back, and well, I was. But from my perspective, timing is everything and Tricia just wasn’t ready for the information. Which brings me to the small, miniscule really, detail about my coming out to her. I, Sarah Marks, am the main character in her book, PLEASE HOLD. The coffee thing was our thing and this thing…I mean, finally telling her the truth…was a long, long time coming. Eight years to be exact.

She wiped the coffee grounds into the trash, then moved to the sink to meticulously wash and rinse the glass carafe and mesh plunger.

Damn, still no words! I hope I didn’t break her. I’m sure it’s happened before with other authors, why not Tricia? Maybe she thinks it’s all in her head? If that’s true, she will have sorely missed the point of “truth telling.” Within each of us we have a core Truth. As we uncover the layers, we slowly open up to our own knowing and, eventually, by telling those closest to us, we encourage others to uncover their own Truth.

After all these years of friendship and hard work invested, I can’t imagine she’d scrap the book.

She slowly counted the scoops as she inhaled in the nutty brown scent. Then, in a perfectly timed, “pop,” she grabbed the kettle and poured the steaming water into the french press. With a loud exhale, she stirred the mixture with a metal spoon before placing the plunger into the press and pushing it down. The remainder of the boiling water went into her usual white mug.

Ten minutes can be excruciating when you can’t read someone’s thoughts.

No timer needed. Tricia tossed the water out of the mug and poured the steamy brew into her pre-heated mug. During my wait, I had a lot of time to think. Screw her if she was blind to my Truth! Just because she is heterosexual doesn’t preclude her from kindness, understanding and acceptance.

Holding the mug up to her face, she inhaled the warmth and took her first sip. Savoring the experience, she exhaled and whispered, ever so gently, “I’m so proud of you, Sarah.”

Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Tricia!

You can find Tricia here:

Thursday, December 14, 2017

FOODFIC: Please Welcome Jean Knight Pace, Author of Grey Lore

Grey Lore is really not at all about baking. It’s about a girl whose mother dies so she’s whisked away to live with an aunt she’s never met. It’s about a boy who’s lived in fourteen states in the last three years. It’s about wanting to fit in and not fitting in at all. It’s about trying to find your place with people who care. Also, it’s about werewolves (because you were totally getting that from the rest of my description, right?) It’s about a sleepy little town buried in secrets--a town that starts to wake up as Ella and Sam discover things about their pasts and themselves.

But a lot of cookies get baked, too. That’s because one of the main characters, Zinnie, seems to subsist only on cookies and herbal tea. In my first book, Grey Stone, she brought us some amazing Cinnamon Oatmeal Crispies. Here's that snippet from the book:

She got up and hobbled to what looked like a very old stove to retrieve the next batch of cookies. “You may call me Zinnie,” she said, even though Sam hadn’t tried to call her anything. “Now, what is your name?”

“Sam,” he said, clearing a spot for the cookies she was carrying.

The cookies were thin little things, like puddles on the pan. If Sam had pulled them out of the oven, he would have thrown them all in the garbage. But the old woman didn’t. She handed Sam a dish towel, which he put on the table so Zinnie could set down the hot, flat cookies.

“Help me out, dear,” she said. Expertly, Zinnie took a cookie and, using the handle of a wooden spoon, she rolled the flat cookie around the handle so that it formed into a small cone while it was warm. She looked at Sam, waiting. “Give it a try,” she said, handing him the spoon. “It’s not that hard once you get used to it. And after we’re done, we’ll fill them with cream.”

In the companion book, Grey Lore (just released December 7th!), Zinnie is back, albeit somewhat changed. Her cookies are back too, although you can see they’ve altered over the years as well.

Some things grow even better with time. :)

Thanks for stopping by to share your food for thought, Jean!

You can visit Jean here: