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Pascal Fox Quotes

Browse 8 quotes about Pascal Fox.

Pascal Fox Quotes

“It was nice seeing you again," Pascal continued. He stood up, walked around the table, and gave me a little kiss on my left cheek. He stayed there for a bit, and my face burned so much I was sure his lips would singe from the molten heat of my blushing. Then he walked out the door. I couldn't move. I still sensed Pascal's stubble on my cheek, the smell of meat and toast from his skin. "What the hell was that?" I said to myself, my lips moving, but not a sound coming out. I ran over the entire interaction in my mind. Partly to make sure that I hadn't accidentally cheated on Elliott. And partly to relive Pascal's singular magic.”

KissPascal Fox
Book:Food Whore
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“But I was even more surprised when he stuck around with me and smiled a full, toothy, letter-D-shaped movie star grin. The magazines said he was only twenty-eight, which was young for an executive chef but felt old to me. He looked like a man. Even when Elliott turned twenty-eight, I doubted he would look as manly as Pascal. Somehow, in the supermarket lighting, Pascal seemed hotter- more capable and more real. In restaurants, he blended in with the scenery of the meal. But here, holding his basket just like everyone else, looking at the discounted produce, getting lost in the aisles, his presence became even more magical, as if I were seeing a beautiful, powerful animal in the wild instead of at the zoo.”

AnimalisticPascal Fox
Book:Food Whore
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“I couldn't help staring at him, slurping up every atom and utterance and whistle in his voice. He'd become more relaxed in the kitchen, relaxed yet assertive. He bit his thumb in thought and the contrast between his big, strong hands and this adorable, boyish habit made me woozy. "Well... what are we doing with this dish?" "Let me think," I said, letting my exhalations calm me down yet again. "I think the dish needs something more to ground it. Something earthy." "That's the lovage," he said, now looking in the fridge, his jean-clad butt poking out. "No, the lovage is the wild card," I said, as steadily as I could, even though I was intensely distracted and slightly astonished that a man's butt excited me so much. "That flavor remains suspended in your mouth," I continued. "You need something that goes deeper." As I said it, he slowly approached me. I lifted my hand to make way for him but he caught it in midair. "I need something?" he asked, tightening his grip with a little smile and a little threat. He walked one inch closer and that inch set my heart fluttering again, the air between us compressed and tickling. "Yes. Um, I mean..." Still holding my hand, he grabbed a bowl of toasted almonds. "Like this?" He dropped one in my mouth with his free hand, his fingers barely touching my lips. I didn't feel like eating it. I felt like either running back to my apartment and hiding under the covers, or maybe just pretending I was someone else and kissing him right then and there. But I ate the almond and resigned myself to imagining his lips on mine. His hand was still around my wrist... his finger on my lips... "Or, maybe this." He gripped me tighter and, with his other hand, picked up a frond of dehydrated kale, as big and light as a feather. He touched the end of my lips, but when I opened my mouth, he pulled it away. "Careful," he said. "It crumbles." He placed it on my lips once more and I took a bite, little flakes of kale falling like green fairy dust.”

TeaseSexual TensionKalePascal Fox
Book:Food Whore
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“In thirty minutes, Pascal was at my door with a bag of beignets he had freshly fried. We ate them in my bed, getting powdered sugar on our clothes, and then on our underwear, and then on our naked bodies. "Who was that out there?" he said, his tongue edging up from my collarbone, to my neck, to the curve of my ear. His hands were on my butt, and my hands were on his. We were pressing into each other as much as we could, as much as was possible until we were finally one. "No one," I said, as he began pushing into me. No one, I repeated to myself. No one. No one. Inside, a mountain of tension squeezed tighter and tighter before crunching into a tiny crystalline diamond. That diamond shattered into a billion pieces of wonder and I came harder than I'd ever come before. I was broken, but I was also new. I silently cried myself to sleep with Pascal beside me. But when I woke up, I felt much better. Kissing Pascal had made me feel like another person. And after having sex with him, I knew that the change was finally complete.”

LovemakingFood And SexTransformativePascal Fox
Book:Food Whore
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“And before I knew it, the tip of his finger was against the side of my mouth, the mousse cooling my skin. I turned my head to get a full taste, but he moved his finger away so I only got a tiny wisp of the mousse, not enough to know it. "Hey, come on," I said. "Let me taste it." He took another step forward, and I took the tiniest of steps back, pressing us both against the wall, Helen's write-up just over my left shoulder. "Oh? You think this is what's missing?" I chased his finger with my lips. He had only grabbed one of my hands, so I could have brought his hand to my mouth, but I stayed there, transfixed, like a bug pinned down for inspection. Finally, the flat of my tongue and the tip of his finger met. He gently pushed it inside my mouth, and I tasted the yogurt at last. It was surprising in every way- airy yet hearty, sunny yet earthy. The final piece. He kept his finger in my mouth even after I finished tasting it, my tongue against the ridges on the underside of his finger, coarse from cooking, I suppose, but more likely from being a man. Pascal was a man. He pulled his finger out and my lips made a suctioned pop sound. Maybe Pascal was the oxygen. Maybe he was what I should have been breathing.”

TeaseYogurtSexual TensionMoussePascal Fox
Book:Food Whore
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“I like your passion. It makes me happy to meet people who know what they want and are going for it. Especially when those people are beautiful, like you." I retreated into the shadow of the banquette. Man, he made me feel so good. "It can be scary to pursue your dream, but I think the key is to surround yourself with people who support you," he said. 'My parents loved to cook. My mom is Filipino and my dad is French- both food cultures. They put me on this cooking track and I never looked back." "Oh!" I said. So that's why he looked a little like me. "I'm also mixed," I said. He smiled shyly. "I know," he said. And then I blushed, too.”

UnderstandingPascal FoxRelatable Relationships
Book:Food Whore
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“I ate a coconut crisp and the whole thing shriveled in my mouth, evaporating into nothing but pure taste. I held another up to the golden light as someone sat down across from me. "I can't figure out this cooking technique. Do you think it's a meringue?" I asked. "Actually, I believe it's freeze-dried." My gaze leaped from the coconut crisp to the source of the foreign-sounding voice, smoother and younger than Michael Saltz's agitated lisp. Pascal Fox. His black hair was slightly matted and spiked, hair that was- amazingly- a bit like mine, thick and straight in places, wispy and fine in others. He wore a cobalt-blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, exposing his tattoos. In the semi-dark, I made out a mural of forks and knives, cows and pigs, carrots and eggplants and squashes and melons, like a super-hot, toned supermarket. He seemed to be showing off the whole mural to me. "Oh, hi!" I said. "I remember you. You came to my restaurant about three weeks ago, right?" "Wow," I said. "You have a good memory." I couldn't stop blushing and I regretted eating all that food. It was hard to feel pretty when I felt nine months pregnant. "I don't remember everyone. Just the special people." He nudged his body an inch toward mine and my breath caught in my throat. Up close, I noticed he had a slightly crooked smile and somewhat stained teeth. I liked that he wasn't the perfect model he appeared to be in all the magazines. He was almost a regular person.”

TattoosHandsomenessPascal FoxRegular Guy
Book:Food Whore
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