The problem with food—and the reason some of us eat too much of it (*raises hand *)—is that it’s impossible to quit.
I mean seriously—if you want to quit soda, you just never drink soda. If you want to quit heroin, well, it’s a lot more complicated than that, but in the course of an every day life, there really is no reason to take heroin or drink soda or buy a pack of cigarettes again, if that’s what you’ve decided to do. Without addiction it is not part of everyday life.
Not so with food.
We need food.
We may turn our back on chocolate, say, or even sugar, or meat or dairy or anything non-vegan, but that does not change the fact that we still need to ingest calories to sustain life.
Yeah, sure, there’s always food pellets, or those icky blob things that squish out of a package that marathon runners seem so fond of. My husband has used those on a run, by the way—he shrugs and says, “Meh—it’s fuel.” So, yes, we could if we wanted, fuel ourselves consistently with… with…
Augh! I can’t even say it.
That’s the other thing.
Food tastes so good!
Hell—even Brussels sprouts—you know, those things we detested as kids? Man, steam a batch of those up, add some lemon pepper, a little bit of balsamic vinaigrette dressing… mmm…
So, in addition to being, you know, necessary for life, food is also…
I’m not a great chef, and I don’t spend my time around cooking shows, but even I can admit that good food smells wonderful, feels perfect on the tongue, and, when nicely prepared, looks appealing. Although don’t discount the blue-jeans and T-shirt appeal of comfort food—Mac & Cheese doesn’t look spectacular or spiffy, but if you make the kind with real cheese and throw in some garlic salt? Mmm… that’s sexy!
When you get right down to it, all food done right is sexy.
Isn’t that what sex is? An appeal to the senses?
And seriously—who wants to quit that?
So, yes, for health’s sake, we should continue to fight the battle of the bulge(s), and even though I’m not so successful, I give a hearty huzzah to everyone who wins. It’s hard to eat right. Unlike actual sex, you can have that chocolate mousse in public, or that loaded baked potato or that thick, salt-baked prime rib—but (much like actual sex!) you may hate yourself in the morning.
So perhaps that’s why food and sex are so closely intertwined, right? A kind and sensual lover or an attractive, well-prepared meal—either one is a feast to be devoured or an experience to savor, right?
So no—I can’t quit food. But I don’t want to—not really. Perhaps, I can moderate the food, and that will be good for me, and even better, it will increase the sex, and that will be fantastic!
So, food and sex—they have a pretty clear link. In the case of Emmett and Keegan from Food for Thought, their doorway to sex was actually through the kitchen—and I hope you find their adventure as tasty as they did!
Dust for Dinner
Emmett Gant looked at himself in the mirror of his dorm room, and wondered how gay he looked. He had a long bony face and gray eyes, so usually he looked just… solid and placid, a sober, rawboned specimen of American manhood.
But he knew he was gay. He’d known since his long ago junior high crush on his best friend Vinnie. His crush on Vinnie had gone away—for one thing, Vinnie was just too awesome a friend to crush on for long. He was the kind of friend who would sneak all the seniors on the football field in the pissing rain, after the last home game, so they could perform their competition band show without instruments, singing their parts at top volume. He was the kind of friend who would show up at your dorm in Sacramento from his dorm in Chico, with a keg in the back of his aging Mini Cooper and a plan to go eat sourdough bread and look at girls on the beach.
He was the kind of friend who would nurse Emmett through a broken heart and not ask the name of the person who broke it—wouldn’t even ask the gender.
He was a brother kind of friend—but he wasn’t a crushing on kind of friend, not anymore.
Emmett had lived through the crushing on kind of friend, and had broken his heart, and he’d managed to pull his grades out of the toilet from that semester, and managed to put on some of the weight he’d lost too.
And now it was time to tell his father why he’d looked like hell for three months. Because right now, only two other people in the world knew, and they weren’t likely to tell a soul.
Emmett decided that whether he looked gay or straight, his sandy hair wasn’t going to get thicker or more interesting looking and it was time to go. He pulled out his cell phone and hit his dad’s picture. Ira Gant had a farmer’s face—but he’d been a factory worker, so maybe that was just the kind of face he was supposed to have. Raw-boned, like Emmett, unsmiling, he always seemed to be looking at a grimmer version of the world than Emmett could imagine, and his picture in Emmett’s phone wasn’t any different.
“Hey Dad? You must be outside mowing the lawn. Anyway, just a reminder that I’m on my way today, okay? I’ll cook dinner—I know you get tired of eating out. See you when I get there!”
Emmett’s dad didn’t say… well, anything, but Emmett had figured out that his dad liked it when he cooked. When he’d been about six, he’d once tried to make popcorn in a pressure cooker, because he’d been home alone and hungry, and they’d had an air popper, but he hadn’t been able to reach it. He had, fortunately, not killed himself by blowing up the kitchen, but the lid to the pressure cooker had frozen, and when his dad got home, Emmett was crying over the pressure cooker, because he was starving and all of the popcorn was right there and he couldn’t pry the lid open.
His dad had taught him how to make noodles then, and Mac & Cheese, and even open a can of beans and add hot dogs. Emmett had been the one to find the kids’ cookbook at the library, and then Vinnie’s mom, Flora, had helped him through the basic recipes.
Emmett’s dorm had a hot plate and a minifridge, but once a week and on the holidays, Emmett went to his dad’s place and made things like chicken cacciatore and roast pork with new potatoes, and he enjoyed that. He didn’t want to do it for a living, but being able to give his dad some sort of substantial proof that Emmett was grateful for his upbringing: that was important.
Emmett didn’t remember his mom—she’d left before he went to kindergarten—but Emmett’s dad had… well, been there. He’d hugged Emmett when he’d cried—although he hadn’t offered any advice on how to stop. And he’d tried to make sure Emmett grew up as a healthy child, although Emmett had needed to go next door to Vinnie’s house to know how to grow up as a happy one. No, a communicator Ira Gant was not, but Emmett was still sort of sure his daddy loved him.
For one thing, every Sunday when Emmett arrived, his dad was sitting out on the rotting wooden porch of the old stucco house waiting for him, even if it was near the summer and a zillion degrees outside.
This particular mid-April day, it wasn’t supposed to get above 80, so Emmett was surprised at the end of the two-hour drive to find that his dad wasn’t there on the porch. The house looked like it always did—the stucco was chipped and peeling, the porch needed to be painted, and the roof was probably falling down—but Emmett’s dad was nowhere to be found.
Tales of the Curious Cookbook
It’s called comfort food for a reason.
Not much is known about the cookbook, except that years ago, the mysterious Granny B collected a set of magical recipes and wrote them down. Over the years, each book has been modified, corrected, added to, and passed down through the generations to accumulate its own unique history. The secrets behind these very special recipes are about to find their way into new hands and new lives, just when they’re needed the most.
Food created out of love casts a spell all its own, but Granny B’s recipes add a little something extra. This curious cookbook holds not only delicious food, but also the secrets of love, trust, and healing, and it’s about to work its magic once again.
Each Book in Tales of The Curious Cookbook Can Be Read As a Standalone
Food for Thought
Tales from the Curious Cookbook Book 2 by Amy Lane
Emmett Gant was going to tell his father something really important about himself one morning, but his father died before he got the chance. A year and a half later, Emmett’s life is a muddle of the life he thinks he should have and the man he really wants. Can the gift of a mysterious cookbook give him the clarity he needs?
About the Author:
Amy Lane has four children, two cats, a love starved Chi-who-what, a crumbling mortgage and an indulgent spouse. She also has too damned much yarn, a penchant for action adventure movies, and a need to know that somewhere in all the pain is a story of Wuv, Twu Wuv, which she continues to believe in to this day! She writes fantasy, urban fantasy, and m/m romance–and if you give her enough diet coke and chocolate, she’ll bore you to tears with why those three genres go together. She’ll also tell you that sacrifices, large and small, are worth the urge to write.