“She cut me a piece of the cheese and handed it to me---"The Dorset," she said---and it tasted like butter but dirtier, and maybe like the chanterelles she kept touching. She handed me a grape and when I bit it I found the seeds with my tongue and moved them to the side, spit them into my hand. I saw purple vines fattening in the sun. "It's like the seasons, but in my mouth," I said. She humored me. She cracked whole walnuts with a pair of silver nutcrackers. The skins on the nuts felt like gossamer wrappings.”
Book:Sweetbitter