Food In Writing Novels & Stories

“Clause Twelve.” They ate bread lightly toasted and sausage with the dignity of hunger that knows its work. The child who had written on their sill two nights ago brought jam with a seriousness that made the jar look ceremonial. “My mum says put it on the receipts,” she said, and fled before anyone could thank her into a speech.

The woman hands Josh a piece of paper and a pen. "I want you to write down everything you love about cooking," she says. "Every reason why it's your passion, every memory or experience that made you love it." Josh takes the pen and paper and starts writing. He writes about the first time he helped his mom in the kitchen, the way it made him feel like he was part of something bigger than himself. He writes about the first time he tasted something he made and loved it, the joy he felt when he saw someone else enjoying his food.

I bent over the table, thinking for a moment, then smiled and added the first food to the list. Squid. Whether Vivian, or even Dominic, liked to admit, I knew him better than I let on. I knew exactly what irked Dominic the most. What sounds, like chewing, made him want to gag. I also knew exactly which foods were his least favorite. And I knew his handwriting. I copied his penmanship as best I could, making sure to add a little flourish over the i’s and j’s. I had to make it believable—like Dominic had seen the list in passing and added his “favorite” foods.

They ranged from freshly baked bread and pastries to exotic fruits and nuts, pancakes, toast, yogurt, cheese, smoked ham, you name it. I feel my mouth watering as the scent of the sweet and savory meal before us fills the air. I pile my plate up with everything that looks delicious. To think that there were nights when we had to scrape by on barely anything, and here was a feast in front of us that could feed a small army. I feel my mother's eyes on me as I stuff myself with food, but I don't care. I stuff more eggs in my mouth just for good measure and hear Kaia giggle with glee. I wonder if I should be bothered that my wolf thrives on drama.

I take on new meaning on the word copywriter. Which reminds me it should be about... 7:30 pm. I should probably get something to eat, then get back to it. I stood up from my office desk and wade through the piles of garbages (I just haven't had time to take them out). I reach my fridge and pop it open. The cool air seeps out, and it feels good on soggy toes. Empty. I am not surprised. It usually is empty since I have no desire to cook. I typically have a bunch of microwaveable food and snacks. The only thing I see is a jar of Mayonnaise (I guess it wasn't totally empty).

His untrusting eyes stopped on my lips as if trying to see if I truly are it or was just using it to make him eat it. "It's not poisoned" I muffled as I chew the bacon and swallowed "If you don't want, I can eat it all" I began to eat my bacon again "I love a few things but i don't joke with food" I said in a matter of fact manner. Well I won't lie, I love food, Alot. I like writing, K-pop, k-drama, Animies and horror but I love food. Sometimes I wonder why I don't get fat and why people end up staring at me as if they have not seen a teenager that loves to eat just like the way Devin stare at me with his mouth open.

"You have not eaten in the past few days, I can tell because you have lost a lot of weight, so I made some food. It might not be to your taste because I am not a chef and I am sure you are used to eating expensive and delicious food everywhere you go." "Let's see what you have there, you talk a lot." "Okay, okay," Christabel chuckled and opened the food. "The aroma is tantalising," "Tantalising? Stop with the exaggeration joor wait, they are different meanings of tantalising, which do you mean?" Christabel asked feeding him the food. "Chai! You are something else. The food is yummy. You are a great cook."

Chewing slowly, he looked at the plates of food in his hand, then at me. “It's awfully good.” He said, like he wished it wasn't as good as it was. “Can I eat now?” I asked, but he stopped me.“Wait a few more minutes.”The minutes that followed by were agony as the aroma of the food, filled my nostrils. I couldn't take my eyes off it, and it seemed like time had become slower on purpose. “I think the food is fine.” He finally said, and with a relieved sigh, I dug into my food. It seemed too bothersome to use the fork and knife, so instead I used my hand. I was so famished, and the food was too sweet.

“So, a restaurant? Tell me about it. And please, don’t just show me your numbers. I want you to tell me your story. What kind of restaurant? What’s the vision?” I took a deep breath, and then the words began to flow. I told her about the comfort and joy I felt whenever I was cooking. I described the kind of place I envisioned: a bistro, warm and inviting, with a focus on fresh, seasonal ingredients and a menu that blended classic comfort food with modern, innovative twists. I talked about the ambiance, the scent of fresh bread and simmering coffee, the laughter at diners, the clinking of glasses. I described the passion, the careful planning, the late nights.

“Frank, come.” He walked up to us. “Frank. This is Sophia, owner of this fine establishment.” “Nice to meet you, Miss.” He shook my hand too. “The pleasure is all mine.” I returned his handshake. “Frank here is the editor-in-chief for The Food Forager. It's one of the best magazines when it comes to anything food, always looking out for something new and fresh for the people of this city. He's also one of the best damn writers in the country.” Maria said, beaming up at him.