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Sanjo Jendayi

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“He chopped a garlic, set a pot of water to boil on the stove, and poured a healthy amount of kosher salt into it. He threw the garlic in a pan of olive oil and let it sizzle for just a minute before taking it off the heat. The smell began to relax all of them and Gretchen and Jane settled themselves at his counter and watched him cook. He poured them both large glasses of red wine and watched as their bodies physically relaxed. He could see the tightness in Jane's jaw go away and he smiled. It was hard to feel bad about the world when the air smelled like garlic, when pasta and cheese were being prepared, when you had a good glass of red. Sautéed garlic could save the world. "I call this my bad day pasta," he told them. "It's a carbonara-cacio e pepe hybrid. Tons of cheese and salt and pepper." He cut off two slices of Parmesan and handed one to each of them. He knew the crunchy crystals and salt would go great with the wine. He whisked the egg and stirred in the cheese. He reserved some pasta water. He cranked his pepper mill. He swirled the pasta into a warm bowl as he added the egg mixture until it was shiny and coated. Jane took a sip of her wine and watched Teddy. "Mike doesn't eat pasta," she said. Teddy took three shallow bowls out of his cabinet and set them on the table. He distributed the pasta among them, sprinkled them with extra cheese and pepper. "Anyone who doesn't eat pasta is suspect in my book," he said. "Amen," Gretchen said.”

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Book:Marrying the Ketchups
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“The first thing Rika felt was a strange breeze emanating from the back of her throat. The cold butter first met the roof of her mouth with a chilly sensation, contrasting with the steaming rice in both texture and temperature. The cool butter clashed against her teeth, and she felt its soft texture right down into their roots. Soon enough, just as Kaiji had said, the melted butter began to surge through the individual grains of rice. It was a taste that could only be described as golden. A shining golden wave, with an astounding depth of flavor and a faint yet full and rounded aroma, wrapped itself around the rice and washed Rika's body far away. It was, indeed, a lot like falling. Rika stared down intently at the bowl of rice with butter and soy sauce and let out a long sigh, feeling her breath rich and milky.”

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Book:Butter
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“Fish roe and butter makes for a truly exquisite pairing! By adding butter to pollock roe, with its clusters of firm little orbs just like miniature egg yolks, you take away any unpleasant fishiness from the roe, instead producing a sauce with an inexplicable fullness of taste that forms a perfect coating for the carbohydrates, setting off their plumpness and texture like a dream. Perhaps best of all is the pretty pink hue of the roe, like a gorgeous spring evening (you may know by now that pink is my favorite color!). The butter and rosy-colored roe combination coats each and every spaghetti strand, bringing out that delicious semolina scent and generating a flavor that feels like a wave of kindness rising up uncontrollably from inside your chest.”

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Book:Butter
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“I'm no expert when it comes to confectionery, but I understand that unsalted butter is used as standard in baking. By contrast, the West buttercream uses salted butter. That salinity really brings out the overall sweetness of the cake, adding depth to its richness. The sponge has a satisfying density to it, declaring itself roughly on the tongue, scented like eggs and flour. The Christmas cakes I've eaten up until now have all been shortcakes, and it's always seemed to me that the delicate, fluffy whipped cream and the sweet sourness of the strawberries obliterate the aroma and the texture of the sponge.”

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Book:Butter
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“He opened the small brown bag and held it toward her, and she could smell the butter. Notably, though, there was no grease soaking the bottom of the bag, like when Mom brought home donuts. She peered in. "I think it's a croissant. And a chocolate croissant. And some kind of roll. And some other thing I didn't know what it was." "Chausson aux pommes," Rosie said, pulling it from the bag. She was pretty sure anyway- it had the distinctive half-moon shape, and the slashes on top let her see a peek of what looked like apple filling. "What's that?" Rosie stilled as Henry shifted closer to her. He was just looking at the pastry, and she knew that, but still. He was close, and he smelled warm, and sleepy. And male. "It's kind of like an apple croissant," she said, ignoring the rapid rise of her heartbeat. "Or an apple strudel. An apple turnover, I guess." "Try it." "You should have the first bite. You got it." "I insist," Henry said, and he wouldn't take it from her. So she bit in, and the pastry flaked instantly, then yielded into sweet, soft cinnamon apples. It was so good that she had to imagine this would be the best thing she'd try today. But then Henry was grinning, chocolate smeared on his face, and he passed her the pain au chocolat, and she thought that had to be the best thing. But then the classic croissant was so perfect, each layer of lamination distinct, and then the brioche was dangerously rich, yet so light at the same time, and the éclair's filling was perfectly smooth, and the baguette made Rosie rethink what, exactly, the stuff she'd been eating for the last sixteen years was, because it couldn't possibly be bread, not like this...”

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Book:Love à la Mode
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“Up next," Henry said, "we have a play on steak-frites. Steak-frites was the first French food I ever had, at a restaurant down the block from ours, back home in Chicago. My dad took me there." Henry remembered the first time he'd been there, squeezing into the tiny tables, the rare steak and the crisp fries, the smell of garlic and butter, the sense that food could transport you far from Damien Avenue. "I've put my own spin on it by using a bulgogi marinade and kimchi butter on the steak, and instead of fries, those are deep-fried batons of garlic mashed potatoes." This was one of his favorite kinds of dishes. From the outside, it looked like a traditional steak-frites, with its melting pat of butter on top, and fries that were thicker than usual but still shaped like fries. But then you started eating, and the flavors were different, and the fries were a totally different texture than what you were expecting.”

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Book:Love à la Mode
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“Just because they were homey didn't mean they were ordinary. Most versions of this recipe relied on butterscotch chips, waxy little chunks of hydrogenated oil and synthetic butterscotch flavor. Bev's used malted milk powder and a truckload of butter, relying on the interaction between the oven's heat and the milk powder to give that toasty, caramelized flavor that suggested rather than screamed butterscotch. Melody's version also subbed brown sugar for some of the white with a healthy shot of molasses to add a deep, earthy note. At the last moment, she added some chopped hazelnuts from a little glass jar in the cabinet for extra texture and flavor. Thoughts of Justin faded as she mixed and spread the batter, then slid the shallow jelly roll pan into the oven where it would bake into a sheet of butterscotchy, nutty deliciousness. When it came out dozens of minutes later, fragrant and golden brown, she inhaled the aroma, basking in her sense of accomplishment at a perfect result. There was nothing like taking basic ingredients and transforming them into something both beautiful and tasty.”

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Book:Brunch at Bittersweet Café
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“But she stopped at the third picture, a gorgeous baking tray of golden buttery-topped tiropetes, with a bowl on the side of bright-colored Greek salad with what appeared to be fresh oregano. It had popped up because she was following #bethesdafood scene. The caption, written by BoozyCrocker, said: BoozyCrocker MUST EAT BUTTER. #TheCookbookClub is now open to new members. Foodies, come join us! Three-drink minimum. No skipping dessert. Meet in Bethesda. DM me. No psychos, no diets. #foodporn #saycheese #cheese #feta #musteatbutter #delicious #whenindoubtaddbutter #bethesdafoodscene”

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Book:The Cookbook Club: A Novel of Food and Friendship
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“Tea & Toast by Stewart Stafford Let me stop in this lay-by a moment, That I have tagged - Tea & Toast, A shimmering oasis frequented often, A soothing elixir one loves the most. It's as comforting as a warm bath, Enjoyed even when wracked with pain, As welcome as an old friend's smile, On thundery days of lashing rain. No matter if the tea is too sweet or burns, Greasy butter hijacked by sandpaper crumbs, There shall be no Boston Tea Party here, Our minuscule parole from routine doldrums. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

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Author:Stewart Stafford
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