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Reborn as a Vending Machine, I Now Wander the Dungeon, Vol. 1

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Hirukuma

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“You're going to love the ham, egg, and chips sandwich," Callum says. "It's Finn's favorite." "Is that what inspired the ham, egg, and chip toasty on your menu?" He whips his head around to peer at the counter, which is empty. "The guy who took our order headed back to the kitchen," I say. "Is everything okay?" "I just didn't want him to overhear and think I'm stealing his recipes. He might ban us from eating here, and then I'd never be able to eat the greatest sandwich ever made again." I roll my eyes. "Come on. It can't be that good." "Just wait." "Honestly, the sandwich you serve is amazing. Your idea to put a layer of fries between the ham and the egg is mind blowing.”

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Book:Simmer Down
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“Good fried chicken was remarkably hard to come by in New York, but this---tender, with just enough crust-only bits protruding, skin peeling easily away from the meat---this was good. The fries were thin and still hot, some with crunch, some with bite, lightly sprinkled with the salt blend they'd always used. The biscuits were fresh and flaky, and the salad's iceberg lettuce was dressed in Mimi's trademark sweet oil dressing---a closely guarded (but really very simple, and once very common) recipe.”

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Book:The Chicken Sisters
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“The fat was bubbling in a pot on the stove. The potatoes went in, were snatched out, then plunged back in. They emerged crisp and golden; Richard sprinkled them with salt and piled them on a platter, then set a heap of tiny marinated fish on the side. They ate with their fingers. The potatoes were burning hot, the insides nearly melted, making the contrast with the cool, slick anchovies almost erotic.”

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Book:The Paris Novel
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“Isabella gently guided her fork to the fish and lifted a piece of the pristine white flesh, lightly drizzled with Italian olive oil and dusted with fennel pollen, to her mouth. She closed her eyes as she tasted. It was simple, but not simple in the pejorative sense. It tasted clean, like the fish had emerged from crystal-blue water already on a plate, just waiting to be enjoyed. The olive oil added depth, and the fennel pollen a floral whiff. The fries were another story. They crackled under her teeth, and every bite was a salty surprise. There was a sprig of rosemary. There was a whole piece of lemon peel. Was that a caper she detected? There was also some kind of chili dusted on top, giving everything a capricious that kept making her go back for more. The Pinot Noir was like drinking a plum that'd been reclining on a leather chair, and the trifecta of the fish, the fries, and the wine became for Isabella a lodestar, a benchmark against which she would measure all other meals.”

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Book:Food Person
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“While her mother worked, Megara took care of their own life- cleaning their rented spaces, cooking so her mother wouldn't have to after a backbreaking day, and minding the money her mother brought home. If young Megara had learned anything from her time with her father, it was to hold on to her drachmas. She counted and recounted what her mother earned and learned to keep a budget for food so that they wouldn't go hungry if they could help it. And though girls weren't afforded school, Meg taught herself to read using the stone signs in the square, stealing Homer's works out of the school-aged boys' bags when she could. She watched the merchants in the market accept payment from shoppers, learning how to count coins and what each one meant.”

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Book:Go the Distance
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