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Famous Samantha Verant Quotes

“A dynamo in the kitchen, she was elevating Mexican cuisine to new gastronomic levels. She had opened her restaurant, El Colibrí, two short years ago. At first people thought she was nuts- then they tasted her dishes. Billing her cuisine as "not your mother's tacos," she'd introduced gourmet Mexican food to Los Angeles, and you didn't eat her creations- like the lobster tail served with the pomegranate mango salsa, served on a blue corn tortillas- with your hands, especially with her secret version of a chimichurri sauce. A hint: truffle oil along with olive oil. The girl genius was an alchemist in the kitchen, creating elixirs and blending ingredients like a mad culinary scientist.”

MonicaGastronomyMexican CuisineBig Success
Book:The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux
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“I bring my wrist to my nose---and I'm lost in a melody of fragrances---sweet and musky. Almonds? Vanilla? Florals? A switch clicks in my brain, a feeling of exhilaration rolling through my body in waves. I'm at a loss for words. Garrance really captured something special; she knows what she's doing. "Do you like it?" I smell my wrist again, my eyes wide. "Like it? I love it. What's in it?" "A little frangipani, some ylang-ylang, a bit of almond oil, and a light sandalwood musk.”

PerfumeScentsFragrancesFloral
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“He'd plated one of the desserts in a beautiful glass bowl, complete with what he said was the homemade vanilla bean ice cream he'd made the previous night, and garnished the pear with the sauce, a cinnamon stick, sprigs of thyme, vanilla bean pods, and pomegranate seeds. "The sauce?" I asked, dipping in my spoon. "Vanilla bean seeds, red wine, sugar, and nutmeg," he said. "If there's anything I know, it's how to make sauces with wine." I dipped my spoon in and tasted it. Oh my God, heaven on my tongue. I eyed him warily. "You really do know sauces. I's simply delicious," I said. "But I taste a few more ingredients? Orange? Star anise? A dash or two of pastis, maybe?" "Your palate is just like your grandmother's. I can never get anything past her either.”

IngredientsDessertSauceFrenchVanillaHomemadePears
Book:The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux
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“Is somebody having fake movie sex? Close encounters of the uncomfortable kind? My answer comes when animalistic moans echo in my apartment. They're coming from the vent, so I know they're coming from Anti-Keanu's apartment, and whoever is making the noise is definitely not in pain and she's definitely not eating. His words have the hairs on my arms standing on end. "I'm going to lick the chocolate off every inch of your beautiful body, every curve." "Oui, oui," says the woman with enthusiastic moans.”

Hot SexSexy TalkForeplayWallbanger
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“I get to prepping, slicing up fresh tarragon, the grassy floral fragrance enveloping me. I take two pieces of foil and set filets of cod on each one, followed by the salicornes. Drizzle a bit of lemon. A few razor-thin slices of garlic and lemon. A bit of salt and pepper. Paprika. Some herbes de Provence, my special blend. And, finally, the tarragon. While the fish is baking, I make the rice, deciding to add a dash of cardamom and cumin. Soon, the kitchen smells like heaven, and I feel like I'm floating on my feet. It could be the aromas emanating from the oven, or it could be my wrists, the base notes from the perfume she gave me. Finally, once the meal is ready, I plate it, adding edible violet flowers as a last-minute garnish. Before bringing Garrance her dish, I taste it. And, oh my, now I'm swept away into a fantasy of the sea---the same one I'd had before when she'd first given me the salicornes, but stronger, more intense. I'm running along the rugged beaches, and then I'm falling on the sand. I can hear the waves crashes, the calls of seagulls, the---”

SeaRiceSpicesHerbsFishSeasoningsScentsFrench Cooking
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“As he's commandeering the mussels, I race around wildly to gather the ingredients: kaffir leaves and limes, coconut milk, coconut sugar, galanga, lemongrass, spicy red peppers, straw mushrooms, garlic, green onions, ginger, and coriander. When he returns, he clears his throat and his hand snakes over the ingredients. "I know what you're up to. I spent a lot of time in Thailand, having lived there. Your recipe is based off of tom kha gai, but instead of chicken you're using mussels”

CookingSpicesHerbsSeasoningsThai Food
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“An orange cat scurried out from under the bed and proceeded to snake around my ankles, purring loudly. One eye rested shut, as if it were krazy-glued to a close, and her fur was mottled. Marianne scooped her up. "Sac à puces," (Fleabag), she said. "This stray is a devious one, always sneaking into the apartments. I don't know how she gets in. I'll have to warn Claude to stop feeding her tuna." I scratched under the cat's chin, staring into her good eye---a kaleidoscope of greens and yellows. "She's sweet," I said. "She's filthy," said Marianne, tucking the cat under her arm.”

CatFrench LanguageStray
Book:Sophie Valroux's Paris Stars
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“A loud mew distracted my ocular reconnaissance, and the cat rubbed her little head on my ankles. Marianne had been right; this cat had ninja stealth qualities. I hadn't seen her follow me into the apartment. "Did my grand-mère send you here?" I asked. The cat purred so loud my heart almost burst. It was as if she understood my life, me, and what I was about to do. She may have been damaged, but weren't we all? Didn't every creature large or small need a second chance at life and at love? I sat down on the sisal-covered flooring to pet her. "I want to keep you. What do you think of that? Of course, I'll ask Marianne if Claude will be okay with that. But I think we have a bond. I'm kind of a stray too." Her paw gripped my finger. She'd claimed me, and I realized it wasn't the other way around. "I'm going to name you Étoile. It means 'star' in French," I said, stroking her fuzzy head. "You're moving to the countryside. What do you think of that?" Yes, I was talking to a cat, and she seemed to be listening. Her one good eye closed in a slow blink. I think she was giving me the go-ahead to catnap her.”

CatStarBondStray
Book:Sophie Valroux's Paris Stars
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“The director said wonderful things about you, that you're very talented," I say, and then smell the cardamom Garrance had given me, and I'm instantly put into a trance from green, earthy, and perfumed aromas. It's like all my troubles are gone. I'm in India, envisioning dances and beautiful saris and delicious naan bread baked on hot coals. Charles taps me on the shoulder. "Kate, where did you go?" I wobble. "I think I was in Mumbai for a second. Maybe Chennai? I don't know. I've never been to India. I've just seen pictures in magazines." He places his hands on my shoulders. "Spices transport you?" "Yes," I say, still a little bit out of it. "Hers do." He grips my shoulders, pulls me in closer. I smell his vanilla scent, and my knees turn to butter. "And I now know why my mother likes you. It makes perfect sense. She was right." "About what?" I ask, breathing him. "Working together and letting go of the bad energy. I know we can do this." His eyes spark with a passionate fire, and he smiles, his dimple puckering. I might melt like fondue. "Let's create a meal for her---the best one she's ever had." He leans against the stove, his sexy, smoldering hazel eyes meeting mine. My neck goes hot. I race over to the prep station and pick up the bag of cardamom, breathe it in---earthy, sweet, smoky, and nutty. Big mistake. Because I'm now licking his muscled chest in one of my deranged fantasies, which is so wrong. I throw the bag down, and the grains scatter on the countertop. Charles saunters over and places a hand on my shoulder. "Kate, everything okay?" "Cool, cool, cool," I say. I shrug off his touch, dip around his shoulder, noticing how V-shaped he is. "I was thinking we add this into the peanut sauce for the satay." "Good idea," he says. "Grind it. Nice and fine." Stop. Stop talking with your lilting English accent. Stop smiling. I'm staring at his hands, his lips, his eyelashes. My mind, my thoughts, and my body are about to explode. "Kate, can you pass me the chilis? My mother likes things spicy." "So do I," I say, reaching for it. Our hands touch as I hand him the spice. I shiver. "Me too," he says with a teasing growl. "And I know you added more pepper into my dish the other day. Good thing I can handle the heat." I can't. It's getting way too hot in here.”

IndiaSexual TensionSpicy RomanceSexual FantasyHeating UpCardamomTransported
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“Cendrillon specialized in seafood, so we had four fish stations: one for poaching, one for roasting, one for sautéing, and one for sauce. I was the chef de partie for the latter two, which also included making our restaurant's signature soups. O'Shea planned his menu seasonally- depending on what was available at the market. It was fall, my favorite time of the year, bursting with all the savory ingredients I craved like a culinary hedonist, the ingredients that turned my light on. All those varieties of beautiful squashes and root vegetables- the explosion of colors, the ochre yellows, lush greens, vivid reds, and a kaleidoscope of oranges- were just a few of the ingredients that fueled my cooking fantasies. In the summer, on those hot cooking days and nights in New York with rivulets of thick sweat coating my forehead, I'd fantasize about what we'd create in the fall, closing my eyes and cooking in my head. Soon, the waitstaff would arrive to taste tonight's specials, which would be followed by our family meal. I eyed the board on the wall and licked my lips. The amuse-bouche consisted of a pan-seared foie gras served with caramelized pears; the entrée, a boar carpaccio with eggplant caviar, apples, and ginger; the two plats principaux, a cognac-flambéed seared sea scallop and shrimp plate served with deep-fried goat cheese and garnished with licorice-perfumed fennel leaves, which fell under my responsibility, and the chief's version of a beef Wellington served with a celeriac mash, baby carrots, and thin French green beans.”

SeafoodFrench CuisineFall ColorsFood StationsRestaurant Menu Planning
Book:The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux
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“Grab one of the gorgeous Baccarat crystal glasses you bought me for Christmas last year, Sophie," said Walter. "Didn't your grandmother tell you it's the only way champagne should be served?" Robert smirked and pointed to the buffet. "We certainly don't drink Dom straight from the bottle." "Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said. "How crass of me." I meandered over to grab a glass- a coupe de champagne, the oldest design, preceding flute and tulip glasses. Legend had it that the bowl of glass was modeled after the breast of Marie Antoinette.”

GlassMarie AntoinetteChampagne Flute
Book:The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux
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“With my heightened sensitivity to smell, there were too many aromas to take in at one time. Pine. Apple. Cedar. Smoke from the fireplaces. An onslaught of sensorial experiences. All the odors blended together into one and, although wonderful and fresh, it was dizzying and my nose twitched from overload. My eyes focused on the orchard, the trees still laden with apples. Je vais tomber dans les pommes, I thought, thinking of the French expression "I'm going to fall in the apples," which meant to faint.”

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Book:The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux
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“This is my cat, Juju," the woman says, noting my obvious confusion, maybe even my fear. "He's my good luck charm." "Uh, yeah," I say, backing away ever so slightly. That's some collar. I love the rhinestones. Trés chic." "Rhinestones? Don't be silly. I buy all his accessories from a jeweler. His collar is from Catier. As they say, diamonds are a cat's best friend." My upper lip twitches. Nobody has ever said that. And I'm pretty sure she means Cartier. She blows the cat a kiss, and I swear, if cats could smile, this one does, his giant face twisting with love or hunger. "He's huge," I say, watching his tail flick a bit menacingly. "He's a rare French breed, a Chartreux. He's just, how do you say? Big-boned?" She chortles out a laugh. "I really should put him on a regime like the vétérinaire said. He weighs nine kilos. Can you believe it? I strain my back when I try to pick him up. But he truly doesn't like les haricots verts or les courgettes. He's quite the gourmand." My head spins with confusion. I wonder, What cat would like green beans and zucchini? as I convert the math in my head. Her cat weighs around twenty pounds. And, apparently, he hates vegetables but adores his bling.”

CatDiamondsJujuCollarBig Boy
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“We round the frangipani, coming face-to-face with two peacocks---one male, with magnificent iridescent plumage sparkling in royal blues, greens, and golden browns, not to mention the circular eyespots, his crown a crest of feathers resembling a helmet. The female, although beautiful, has drabber plumage and a short tail. Garrance beams as the large birds greet her like dogs. "Meet Yin and Yang," she says, and Juju rolls onto his back. "These two are the only ones who tolerate Juju and vice versa." "Maybe because they don't call him names," I say with a laugh, and Garrance joins me.”

CatFeathersYin And YangJujuPeacocks
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“What would she eat? Meat? Vegan? Vegetarian? Pescatarian? More important, would her taste buds be open to spices? I call this research ocular reconnaissance. The woman meanders toward one of the butchers and points to a goliath-sized leg of lamb---definitely a carnivore. I wonder how she'd prepare her meal---perhaps with slices of garlic stuffed into the meatiest parts of the top, slow roasted with rosemary, with potatoes on the side, the juices, the herbs, infusing into everything. Served with a mint sauce? Or is she the type who colors outside the lines and does something less traditional?”

HerbsPreferencesFood For Thought People
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“The poissonnier is delivering some of his beautiful daurades and scallops." I let out a sigh of relief. "Perfect. If there's anything I can handle, it's sea bream, lovely and light," I said, nodding my head. I needed to do this. "It's winter. Fennel is in season, yes?" I asked, thinking about what would plate well with the duck, and she nodded. "Pomegranate? And hazelnuts?" "Of course," said Philippa, rubbing her hands together. "I can't wait to see what you've got up your sleeve." That would make two of us. What was I going to do with the daurade? Something simple like daurade with almonds and a romesco sauce? Did the kitchen even have almonds? The more I thought about this recipe, the more boring it sounded. Roasted daurade with lemon and herbs? Again, typical. I had an opportunity to create something special, something out of this world, on my own terms. I wanted to get creative and do something colorful, playing with the colors of winter and whatever was in season. My imagination raced with all of the possibilities- a slideshow in my mind presenting delicious temptations. A crate of oranges caught my eye. I licked my lips- a light sweet potato purée infused with orange. Braised cabbage. Seared daurade filets. Saffron. The colors, ingredients, and plating came together in my mind.”

Food For ThoughtIngredientsSeafoodSurf And TurfFrench CuisineIn SeasonPoissons
Book:The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux
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“They're the finest of salicornes, green beans from the sea, from Brittany, très exotique. I thought you'd adore them." She holds out a large bag and, without even opening it, the scent envelops me and I'm no longer in the restaurant. I'm running by the ocean, powdery sand sticking in between my toes, waves crashing around me as I dive into the sea with reckless abandon. The water swells into a froth, whipped like freshly made Chantilly. My body glistens with water droplets.”

ScentFrench FoodGreen BeansFrom The Sea
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“My eyes widened at this jungle of freshness, the earth on the ground. The back wall, around thirty feet high, burst with terra-cotta pots filled with every herb imaginable- basil, thyme, coriander, parsley, oregano, dill, rosemary, and lavender. There were tomatoes of almost every variety beaming with colors of red, dark purple, yellow, and green. Lemon trees. Avocados. Lettuces, like roquette and feuille de chêne. Zucchinis and eggplants. Fennel, celeriac, artichokes, and cucumbers. Leeks, asparagus, cabbages, and shallots, oh my. I exhaled a happy breath. This explosion of color, this climate-controlled greenhouse, was every chef's idea of heaven. I ran my hands over the leaves of a cœur de bœuf tomato plant and brought my fingers to my nose, breathing in the grassy and fragrant aroma, an unmistakable scent no other plant shared. All of the smells from my summers in France surrounded me under one roof. As the recipes Grand-mère taught me when I was a child ran through my head, my heart pumped with happiness, a new vitality. I picked a Black Krim, which was actually colored a reddish purple with greenish brown shoulders, and bit into it. Sweet with just a hint of tartness. Exactly how I summed up my feelings.”

SensesHerbsFruits And VegetablesColors Of NatureTomatoGreenhouseGreensHow I Feel
Book:The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux
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“The fish vendor had delivered a sea of heavenly delights. Les gambas, large shrimp, were the size of my hand. Once cooked, they'd be lovely and pink. The oysters were enormous and beautiful, the briny scent conjuring up the sea. I couldn't remember the last time I'd swum in open water. Six years ago on a Sunday trip to the Hamptons with Eric? Oh God, I didn't want to think about him. Besides the work of shucking more than three hundred of them, oysters were easy. They'd be served raw with a mignonette sauce and lemons, along with crayfish, crab, and shrimp, accompanied by a saffron-infused aioli dipping sauce. I lifted the top of another crate, and fifty or so lobsters with spiny backs greeted me- beautiful and big, and the top portion freckled by the sea. I loved working with lobster, the way their color changed from mottled brown and orange to a fiery red when cooked. I'd use the tails for le plat principal, flambéed in cognac and simmered in a spicy tomato- my version of my grandmother's recipe for langouste à la armoricaine. The garnish? A sprig of fresh rosemary. The other crates were filled with lovely mussels, scallops, whelks, and smoked salmon filets, along with another surprise- escargots. Save for the snails, this meal would be a true seafood extravaganza.”

Food For ThoughtSeafoodOystersLobsterShrimpCrustacean
Book:The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux
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“I trace the lines of the tattoo on his chest---two tigers facing off with symbols and words. "I thought you didn't like cats. When did you get this?" "Oh, I love cats. Just not my mother's," he says. "As for the tattoo, I think I told you that I practice mixed martial arts. I got this one when my family lived in Thailand, setting up one of the resorts, when I was eighteen and practicing Muay Thai. This design has traditional symbols of Sak Yant---twin tigers, five lines, nine peaks, and eight directions, all deeply rooted in ancient Buddhist and Hindu practices and representing forces like power, strength, fearlessness, protection, and wealth." "You definitely have all those attributes," I say, enraptured by the design and the softness of his skin. Everything about him is so sensual---from his lips to his toes and whatever he's hiding under the towel.”

SensualTattooTigersSexy ManMartial Art Training
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“Snooping?" asks Charles with a soft growl, and I jump in surprise. "No, no, no," I say with embarrassment, pointing to the photos. "Just looking at the pictures on the walls." My throat catches as I survey his wet body, glistening with water droplets, wearing nothing but a towel. I look away and fiddle with his T-shirt that I'm still wearing. "Why? Do you have something to hide?" "I'll tell you all my deepest and darkest secrets.”

WetSexy Man
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“I don't want you to see me naked," I say, my bottom lip trembling. "Not now, not like this." "Keep your undergarments on," he says, lifting my dress over my head. "Whoa. God, you're gorgeous." He picks me up and gingerly places me in the bathtub. Instantly, my teeth start chattering. "I'm getting in with you," he says, and I jolt. "I'll keep my boxers on. It'll be like we're in bathing suits. On a holiday at a beach." He whips his socks and his jeans off, and then his T-shirt, his body sheer and cut perfection. Those abs---an eight-pack, or, as they say in France, le bar du chocolat. Those legs. The tattoo of two tigers anchored on his hairless and sculpted chest. And I'm too sick, too delirious, to explore every delicious detail. Charles lifts my back and slides behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and I sink into his embrace, snuggling into the warmth of his body.”

TattooMuscularDream ManTaken Care Of
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“Kitchen life is getting steamy. Charles looks up from prepping his mise en place for two seconds, blows me a kiss, and then his hand swipes a bowl of salt and the grains scatter on the counter. "I can't take it anymore," he says, lifting me up onto the prep station. My legs wrap around his waist, as his kiss starts off slow and then turns hungry. Vegetables scatter, cherry tomatoes rolling onto the floor. Dishes break. Not one burner is on, but the kitchen gets hotter. Oh, and hotter. Hello, volcano. His hand latches around my ponytail, tilting my head back. His mouth finds my neck, and he covers it with his kisses, slowly making his way down to my exposed shoulder, his fingers running along my clavicle.”

Steamy RomanceForeplayHeavy PettingKitchen Sex
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“When I return, Charles stands at my station and he says, "Come here. You have to taste this." I set the bottle down and step up to him. He holds out a berry, but before I can reach for it, he places it in his mouth, half sticking out. He pulls me toward him and raises his brows. I'm so into this. My lips part and we're like human forms of Lady and the Tramp---our lips touching, a quick chew, and our tongues meet. I'm not trembling from fear of the paparazzi anymore but from full-blown lust. When we separate, Charles licks his lips and traces my mouth with his finger. "That was the best damn strawberry I've ever eaten. You're delicious, Kate---”

StrawberryKitchen SexMouth To Mouth
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“I recalled the time he tricked me into eating a live snail, explaining that snails were a delicacy in France, and if I were to develop a true palate, I had to eat one. It wasn't until later that I learned they were, indeed, delicious, but one didn't just pick up a snail from the garden and put a dash of salt on it. Snails we're eaten after a long curing process and served after they were baked in loads of butter, garlic, and parsley- les escargots de Bourgogne.”

Childhood MemoryFrench CuisineSnailsEscargots
Book:The Secret French Recipes of Sophie Valroux
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“My life in the kitchen began with my grandmother in the village of Champvert in the Tarn-et-Garonne department of southwestern France, the town so small you'd need a magnifying glass to find it on the map. I'd sit on a tall wooden stool, wide-eyed, watching Grand-mère Odette in her navy-blue dress and black ballerina flats, her apron adorned with les coquelicots (wild red poppies), mesmerized by the grace with which she danced around her kitchen, hypnotized by all the wonderful smells- the way the aromas were released from the herbs picked right from her garden as she chopped, becoming stronger as she set them in an olive oiled and buttered pan. She'd dip a spoon in a pot or slice up an onion in two seconds, making it look oh so easy, and for her it was. But my favorite part was when she'd let me taste whatever delight she was cooking up, sweet or savory. I'd close my eyes, lick my lips, and sigh with happiness. Sometimes Grand-mère Odette would blindfold me, and it wasn't long before I could pick out every ingredient by smell. All the other senses came to me, too- sight (glorious plating), taste (the delight of the unknown), touch (the way a cherry felt in my hand), and hearing (the way garlic sizzled in the pan).”

SensesSmellsFrench CookingGrandmother Cooking
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“And you shouldn't be---" I say, looking up and taking in his appearance. So damn hot. My throat catches. Words do not form. He's sexier than the ceviche I'm planning on making---slick and smooth, cool and hot. Confession: I may have a problem binge-watching rom-coms and steamy romances, hoping for my own meet-cute. If they happen in the movies, why not in real life? When I'm not in the kitchen, I watch them all, inhaling the happy endings---from Sleepless in Seattle to Pretty Woman to Sixteen Candles, the latter so politically incorrect and cringe-worthy today but made up for with the drool-worthy hotness that is Jake Ryan. Something about this guy reminds me of Keanu Reeves, with his razor-sharp cheekbones, mildly unkempt black hair that nearly touches his shoulders, two-day scruff, penetrating hazel eyes, and, from what I can tell---dressed in a casual but elegant fitted black suit---a buff body. I may have developed a slight Keanu obsession after I saw him in Always Be My Maybe, the story of him being the temporary love interest of an ambitious chef. Even though he played a douchebag version of himself, he was funny and hot as hell. Normally, I only salivate over recipes, but this feast for the eyes is clearly an exception.”

Hot GuyKeanu ReevesRom Coms
Book:The Spice Master at Bistro Exotique
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“The second I sit down at the table, Juju jumps in my lap, purrs. Charles grimaces. "The gros con actually likes you." "We had a rough start, but we're friends now," I say as Charles reaches out to pet Juju's head. Juju hisses and I say Good kitty in my head. "And he clearly hates you." I whisper to Juju, "Did you just call him a gros con too? I agree.”

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