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Quote by Kathryn Holmes

“Steady there,” he says. His brow is furrowed. His eyes are deep-set and sad. “You can ride with me. All you have to do is sit and hold on. Okay?” Hallelujah nods. And then what he’s saying actually sinks in. They’ll be riding away from Jonah and Rachel. She can’t do that. She can’t. Her breath starts coming faster. “We have to go back,” she says, her voice cracking. “I can’t leave. I have to go get them. I promised.” Breath in, out, in, out, in, out. “I promised!” Charlie has her by both shoulders. “Hallelujah. Calm down. It’s gonna be all right.” “We have to go back!” Hallelujah repeats, almost sobbing now. “Please!”

Quote by Kathryn Holmes

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Kathryn Holmes

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“Some Christians have been taught to suppress their emotions as they sing. They've been told to fear feeling anything too strongly, and that maturity means holding back. But what we want to avoid is 'emotionalism', not 'emotions'. Emotionalism pursues feelings as an end in themselves. It's wanting to feel something with no regard to how that feeling is produced or its ultimate purpose. In contrast, the emotions that singing is meant to express are a response to who God is and what he's done. Vibrant singing allows us to combine truth 'about' God seamlessly with passion 'for' God. Doctrine and devotion. Mind and heart. Suppressing or ignoring your feelings when you sing contradicts what singing is designed to do. Passionless singing is an oxymoron.”

FaithChristianityWorshipEmotionsDevotion
Book:True Worshipers: Seeking What Matters to God
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“We started getting hungry again, and some of the women started chanting, "MEAT, MEAT, MEAT!" We were having steak tartare. It was the only appropriate main course we could think of, for such a graceless theme, and seeing as nobody in the club was confident making it, we had to order it in. I made chips to serve with it, though. I deep-fried them in beef fat. The steak was served in little roulades, raw and minced, like horsemeat. It was topped with a raw egg yolk, chopped onions, pickled beetroot, and capers. I had wanted to use the Wisconsin version, which is served on cocktail bread and dubbed "cannibal sandwich," but Stevie insisted we go classic. Not everyone could stomach theirs with the raw egg yolk, too, and so, unusually for a Supper Club, there was quite a lot left over. We took another break to drink and move about the room. Some of us took MDMA. Emmeline had brought a box of French macarons, tiny pastel-colored things, which we threw over the table, trying to get them into one another's mouth, invariably missing. For our proper dessert, we had a crepe cake: a stack of pancakes bound together with melted chocolate. We ate it with homemade ice cream, which was becoming a real staple.”

CookingCakeSteakDessertsToppingsCrepesMacarons
Book:Supper Club
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“She set butter and sugar to warm in a sauté pan, and then turned to core, peel, and slice the apples, the sluicing sound of the knife against the crisp flesh of the fruit giving her whirling mind finally something to clutch. She dropped the apples into the pan, shaking it gently by the handle to coat the apples until they were slightly caramelized. Then she added a splash of cider and let the buttery, sweet liquid reduce before seasoning with cinnamon and pouring the softened apples into a serving bowl. She leaned over the bowl as she customarily did when making cinnamon apples to breathe the earthy-sweet aroma.”

ApplesIngredientsBakingSeasoningsCrepes
Book:The Summer Kitchen
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“I want more, I said, putting a hand to my stomach, which rides higher than most know. Closer to the heart. I want the jiang bing that vendor will make when she runs out of nut butter. I don't think she's arrogant. I think she's right. I want to sample jian bing from every cart in Beijing, and I want to taste what those kids are eating at home, what they don't teach in cookbooks at Le Cordon Bleu. There's so much out there--- Helplessly, I said, I haven't even told you how much I love foods wrapped in other foods. Then tell me. I tried. I tried. Banh xeo in Hanoi, I said, and duck folded in the translucent bing of northern China. I spoke of tacos in Mexico City: suadero, al pastor, gringas. South Indian dosas as long as my arm, thinner than a rib of a feather. Oh, Aida, I said when I fumbled the names of the chutneys. How can I know all I've ever want? Something will get left out. I was wrong about cilantro. Tlayudas, she said stubbornly, as if she hadn't heard. Blini. Crêpes. They're basically French jian bing, I said with a strangled laugh. Pita sandwiches. Pickle roll-ups. Calzone. Bossam! I yelled, and the dogs barked and the children cheered and the streets of old Milan rang with the imported memory of pork kissed by brine, earthy with Korean bean paste, safe in its bed of red leaf lettuce.”

HungerChineseTacosCrepesFood CravingsBing
Book:Land of Milk and Honey
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“Later that evening, I meet Alex and Gracie at a crepe stand on Fairview for dinner. He orders two ham-and-provolones and I chose a goat-cheese-spinach-and-tomato. We watch as the woman behind the stand pours the batter on the round wheel and rakes it into a perfect circle with a wooden tool. Within seconds, the batter thickens and bubbles, turning a shade of golden brown. She reaches for a tub of cheese labeled "Pro 3-5," then shakes her head and tucks it under the shelf before looking up at us. "Almost forgot to toss this one. Found it in the back of the fridge. Expired months ago." She opens up a new tub of shredded cheese and sprinkles it on Alex's crepe. I'm not thinking about expired cheese, however. It's "Pro 3-5" that haunts me. I know it's silly. It's an expiration date for provolone cheese, but I key Proverbs 3:5 into my phone, and read what comes back: "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge him and he will make your paths straight.”

Trust In GodProverbsStraight PathCrepesAda Santorini
Book:Morning Glory
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“She sat down in front of her open pantry and breathed deeply. She reached forward and patted the large clear jar of dried flageolet beans. She pawed the ten-pound bag of basmati rice, sweet and fragrant. She kissed the chickpeas, haricot beans, dried wild mushrooms. Ah, yes, even the dried cèpes. Oh, she felt better. And look, her vinegars, balsamic, sherry, white and red wine, cider, raspberry. And the oils. So many oils. And so many marinated vegetables. She marinated them herself, picking the freshest, finest baby vegetables, adding extra-virgin olive oil, and enclosing them in beautiful jars. Ah, and look, she smiled. Walnut oil peeked from behind a linen bag of fresh walnuts. She could make a goat cheese salad at any moment. She took a deep, restorative breath. She fingered the labels of the canned smoked oysters, the mussels, the herring, and the boneless skinned sardines in olive oil. She could make a sardine pâté in seconds. And best of all were her vacuum-packed French-style crêpes, which she kept in case of emergencies. A flip of the wrist and she could sit down to a feast of crêpes oozing with fruit syrup and slathered in whipped cream.”

CookingFood For ThoughtVinegarPantryCrepesJasmine MarchIn The Kitchen
Book:How to Cook a Tart
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“She lifted a piece of sourdough bruschetta slathered with seafood and a light-colored sauce. She bit carefully into the creation. Her mouth exploded with flavor. Prawns and lobster swimming in the most delectable sauce. Buttery and layered, with whisky and leeks and onions and simple herbs. Sophia moaned. There was more than just one bite on this plate. Thank God. Not strictly a true amuse-bouche, but Sophia didn't care. Was it bad form to lick the plate in a cooking competition? This drab little plate had miraculously fixed her taste bud deficiency. Unbelievable. The moment had just shifted from black-and-white to color, like a scene from the Wizard of Oz. Who had created this dish? Someone with a sophisticated palate but no eye for visual presentation. The last plate beckoned, but she already knew it was a lost cause. There was no way it could best that seafood stew. It was a lovely crepe, packed with grilled eggplant and goat cheese. And now that Sophia's taste had been awakened from hibernation, she was able to enjoy every bite. But it still wasn't enough to out-shine the prawns. Those prawns sang to her, and they needed her. They demanded color and brightness. The sauce was bold and rich. That plate clamored for the balance of her garden. She could imagine a prickly little salad to offer texture and bite, to complement that exquisite sauce. Those prawns needed her.”

SeafoodPalateStewCrepesSense Of TasteFlavorful
Book:A Taste of Heaven
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“He requested recipes from his mother and combed the markets for ingredients, shaping his nostalgia for her cooking into Sunday meals- pickled beets with crème fraîche, crabapple and cabbage dumplings, plum turnovers- and filling envelopes with fantasy menus addressed to Nina. Maman, we must add crepe soufflé to our desserts. You simply fold meringue into your vanilla custard, spoon it into the pancakes, fold them in half, sprinkle with sugar, and bake them. They puff into golden pillows!”

AppetizersCrepesSouffle
Book:The Last Days of Café Leila
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