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Quote by Kate Meader

“It’s more common for people to get fire tattoos. Symbols of passion, transformation, change. But I wanted smoke because it’s what remains. After the fire, after everything is destroyed, you’re left with smoke and ash. You’ve gotta make somethin’ out of it.”

Quote by Kate Meader

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Melting Point

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Kate Meader

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“A real dish has grown from all the chefs who have combined their talents over the centuries to develop a meal with unique physical characteristics, for there’s not a chef on earth who can claim sole title to a particular dish. It will have typical Iberian or French features, but with traces of Indian, Celtic, Roman, Jewish and even Moorish culture in its savour, although food can’t possibly pass from one country to another without change”

“A chef’s magic is his ingredients, how he can substitute one for another, then break with convention by changing it all around again without once referring to the recipe. And then just at the death complete the beauty by adding another element never previously thought of. Well words are the writer’s sorcery, our dark arts and our sleight of hand. They’re our enchantment and our temptation. Sometimes both the chef and the writer overindulges himself and it gets out of hand, but that’s how we like it, it’s how we’ve ghosted some of our best creations.”

“The whiff of Ben's parcel hovered under the delicious aroma of fish. Suddenly John felt hungry. The men, he saw, were sipping from a ladle which they passed between them. The tallest of the three slurped and smiled. 'Whether or not Miss Lucretia consumes it, the kitchen has discharged its duty,' he declared cheerfully. He towered a whole head over the others. 'A simple broth is most apt for a young stomach, especially a stomach which chooses privation over nourishment. Lampreys. Crab shells ground fine. Stockfish and...' He sniffed then frowned. 'Simple, Mister Underley?' jibed Vanian in a nasal voice. 'If it is simple, then how is it spiced?' 'Came in a parcel this morning,' Henry Palewick offered. 'Down from Soughton. Master Scovell had it out in a moment. Smelled like flowers to me. Whatever it was.' 'Which flowers?' demanded the fourth man of the quartet, in a foreign accent. He pointed a large-nostrilled nose at Henry. 'Saffron, agrimony and comfrey bound the cool-humored plants; meadowsweet, celandine and wormwood the hot.”

“As the excesses of 'molecular gastronomy' have slowly faded away, like the smell of a particularly pungent fart, a breath of fresh culinary air has swept across the country. I've been passionately interested in food and drink for more than 30 years and writing about it for a decade. In my experience there has never been a more exciting time to eat out in this country.”

“Georgia attacked her dinner prep more aggressively than usual. As she saw it, there were two kinds of chefs. First, there were the cerebral types, who cooked with an intellectual, almost academic, bent. They cooked with precision and accuracy, studying a particular ingredient's effects in multiple settings before introducing it into their kitchen. These chefs loved the science of food. Fastidious in their pre-prep prep, they knew with 99 percent accuracy that a dish would turn out well. Then there were the chefs who worked from the heart. Who were furious when a dish fizzled, chopped angrily at the food as if it were their enemy, but on a good day could coax such sensuous, sublime flavors from a paltry potato and a handful of herbs that no diner would suspect its humble origins. When they hit, they hit big. But when they fell, it was like a sequoia cracking open in the redwood forest.”