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Quote by Donia Bijan

“The eternal tracing and patching took weeks: walnut and caraway strudel, apricots in syrup, chicken necks with turnips and prunes, ponchik (fried dough balls filled with custard), rice porridge, vatrushki (savory tarts), beef pelmeni, kulich, each one translated by a family friend in exchange for meals. His mother had salvaged these formulas from the hands of Bolshevik barbarians, learned what she could from them, and stowed them away until fate brought another round of fanatics to their door.”

Quote by Donia Bijan

Book:The Last Days of Café Leila
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The Last Days of Café Leila

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Donia Bijan

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“It wasn't that Nina didn't make equally tasty buns, but Zod, her rogue apprentice, had refined the dough to a featherlight brioche with a subtle tang. He filled the pockets not just with beef and onions, but peach jam, saffron rice pudding, smoked sturgeon, potatoes and dill, cabbage and caraway apples, duck confit and chopped orange peel, and, once, even a pearl that fell into the lemon custard when Nina's necklace snapped, beads hitting the counter like hailstones.”

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Book:The Last Days of Café Leila
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“Alone in the kitchen, without Zod's supervision, he found himself turning to the wholesome food of his childhood, not only for the comfort the simple compositions offered, but because it was what he knew so well as he set about preparing a homecoming feast for Zod's only son. He pulled two kilos of java beans from the freezer. Gathered last May, shucked and peeled on a quiet afternoon, they defrosted in a colander for a layered frittata his mother used to make with fistfuls of dill and sprinkled with sea salt. One flat of pale green figs and a bushel of new harvest walnuts were tied to the back of his scooter, along with two crates of pomegranates- half to squeeze for fresh morning juice and the other to split and seed for rice-and-meatball soup. Three fat chickens pecked in the yard, unaware of their destiny as he sharpened his cleaver. Tomorrow they would braise in a rich, tangy stew with sour red plums, their hearts and livers skewered and grilled, then wrapped in sheets of lavash with bouquets of tarragon and mint. Basmati rice soaked in salted water to be steamed with green garlic and mounds of finely chopped parsley and cilantro, then served with a whole roasted, eight kilo white fish stuffed with barberries, pistachios, and lime. On the farthest burner, whole bitter oranges bobbed in blossom syrup, to accompany rice pudding, next to a simmering pot of figs studded with cardamom pods for preserves.”

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Book:The Last Days of Café Leila
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“Do you know how to make a kuku?" Kuku, a fluffy egg dish with herbs, had numerous varieties. "What kind?" His mouth tipped up in the corner. "You choose." Roxannah had learned her first kuku from her grandparents' head cook, a man who hailed from a populous village near the Caspian Sea. He had taught her this recipe, a specialty of his region. Quietly, she collected the ingredients she needed: dill, cilantro, parsley, a bit of fenugreek, barberries, onions, garlic, and chives. Sisy showed her where to find the spices. When Roxannah reached for the eggs, the dairy assistant threw her a filthy look. But he could do nothing to stop her since she was obeying Cook's orders. The trick to making a good kuku lay in achieving the right balance of herbs and eggs. Sautéing the onions and garlic until golden, she set them aside. In the same pan, she added a touch more butter and fried a large handful of barberries, sweetened with a spoon of honey. Their tangy flavor and ruby-red color would create the perfect topping for the dish.”

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Book:The Queen's Cook
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“Gingerly, I reached for another bite from my plate, choosing what looked to be some kind of brownie with mint candy topping. Chocolate and mint flooded my mouth, and the feeling of magic that I had started picking out in the presence of the fae. "Each court has a few skilled fae that like to make it," Heather added. "It's basically enchanted, and you can even make them do things like turn warm in your mouth or disguise a flavor. There's more but I don't know how to do the advanced stuff." "That's amazing," I said, reaching for the wine glass. "This too?" "That too," Devin said. "Every change of season, Artemis gifts the other court leaders a bottle." Taking a sip, there was a hint of sour cherries but it wasn't overpowering and the rest of the flavor was almost that of a mulled wine or a cider. I could see it being addictive.”

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Book:Dirty Lying Faeries
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