Hungry Hearts Quotes

“I've always found putting food on top of my feelings is a much more pleasant way to deal with any kind of crisis than actually, you know, dealing with the crisis.”
― Sandhya Menon, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“Like candy and heartbreak, moderation was key.”
― Rin Chupeco, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“This is my heart, says the warm sugar on my lips and the salt and spice on his. This is my heart, says the warm sugar of the vanilla. This is the inside of me, murmurs the cinnamon. This is everything that hurts, confesses the bright edge of chili powder, and everything I miss and everything I hope for. This is everything I do not say but that I hold in me whispers that breath of salt at the end. This is my hidden heart of color and sugar the things you might miss if I did not show you they were there.”
― Anna-Marie McLemore, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“Pumpkin compote in a masa shell," she says. "It's a new recipe I'm going to try this week."
"So, a pumpkin tamale? You know you can just call it a pumpkin tamale. Nobody's going to be impressed because you used some fancy words."
Her mouth turns down. "Thank you for the editorial. Just try it."
I take a bite. It's good. Better than I expected. The balance of cinnamon and nutmeg is perfect, a hint of allspice. And some ingredient I can't place. Almost... coppery? But it works.”
― Rebecca Roanhorse, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“That's the thing about fairy-tale endings. They don't exist. But the ones you have to share, with everyone you love around you and good food spread over the counters and the city you love spread out before the open window with all it's glimmering magic and promise?
Those I could live with.”
― Karuna Riazi, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“I may know how to nudge a man toward proposing, or how to hearten a tired mother. I may know who needs the sugar of violet pan dulce. But I don't know how to fold my heart into dough or lace vanilla sugar with my secrets.
I don't know how to sprinkle a little of what is in me, like the color of the nonpareils.”
― Anna-Marie McLemore, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“He kisses me, the taste of sugar on my lips, and salt and spice on his.
This is my heart, says the warm sugar of the vanilla.
This is the inside of me, murmurs the cinnamon.
This is everything that hurts, confesses the bright edge of chili powder, and everything I miss and everything I hope for.
This is everything I do not say but that I hold in me, whispers that breath of salt at the end. This is my hidden heart of color and sugar, the things you might miss if I did not show you they were there.”
― Anna-Marie McLemore, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“Have you thought about what you want to write about?"
I shrug. "Working in Pop's Deli, I thought," I tell her. I could describe the ladies who come in on their lunch break. The old men with their oniony smells. I can talk about how I make their lives better with smoked salmon and capers, and how, even though there are fewer customers than there used to be, we've formed a community there. I can use just enough detail that it might be clear how an everything bagel is a metaphor for the whole world.”
― Phoebe North, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“Mr. Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls,'" he's saying, bending over to gaze down into the deli case. His breath is fogging the glass. I'm watching it suddenly. Watching him. "'He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart-'"
"'Liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes,'" I say, and I'm sure I sound a little stunned. I'm not used to boys coming into the deli to quote some of my favorite modernist literature. Even I can't resist that. A boy like him, who, from the first moment, seems to love the things I love.”
― Phoebe North, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“She showed you how to make her special adobo recipe- proper adobo, with soy sauce and vinegar and spices- and it tasted exquisite, better than any other grandmother would have made. She offered both meals for free to the carinderia's clientele that day, much to their delight. Sampling your casserole brought them no perceptible changes; eating Lola's adobo left them fresh, eager, and thrumming with energy, exhaustion falling away like a cloak.”
― Rin Chupeco, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“Hey, you just 'member it's all in the butter. I keep trynna tell your cousins that, and they don't listen for the life of 'em."
Butter is probably Grandma's favorite ingredient, and she puts it in nearly everything. I believe she'd put it in her raisin bran in the mornings if she could.
One year, she made deep-fried sticks of butter and dipped them in chocolate sauce and melted peanut butter. I'm not gonna lie. It was pretty flame, but I'm sure at least one of my arteries clogged up.”
― Jay Coles, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“Once I find my way to Grandma's restaurant, after what feels like a zillion wrong turns and dead ends, I walk in and smell all the bomb soul food- her famous fried chicken with all the creole seasonings, thyme, rosemary, and tarragon. I even get a whiff of her famous sweet potato pie, and I'm practically drooling.”
― Jay Coles, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“I crack open two eggs and beat them in a bowl with some rice milk, pouring a few tablespoons of cinnamon and sugar, then some brown sugar and nutmeg.
After putting some Cap'n Crunch cereal into a small sandwich bag, I take a frying pan and beat the bag until the pieces are all smashed and powdery, like a great dry rub.
I pick up a piece of bread and dip it in my French toast mix. Then I dip it in the crushed Cap'n Crunch and cook it in the frying pan until it's a nice, golden brown and ready to flip on the other side.”
― Jay Coles, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“I peered at the bowl, which was piled high with shrimp and vegetables, little cubes of what looked like meat or fish. The broth was a beautiful golden color, with little circles of orange oil floating on the surface, near the edge of the bowl. My heart rate slowed, oblivion averted. "More chances at wishes. But also, this looks damn good."
I realized I was still holding the spoon with the dumpling, the steam not wafting out like a volcano anymore. So I closed my eyes and readied myself for another bite.
This time the heat took a step back and allowed everything else to come forward. The savory richness of pork, a bite of ginger and scallions, the broth. Oh, man, the broth. I hadn't ever tasted anything quite like this before. I chewed the dumpling, which was starchy but also managed to melt away, letting its texture dominate. For a moment, I wanted to reach for something beyond the flavor, but failed. Would I recognize the taste of magic, if magic even had a taste? Then I let the flavor itself take over.”
― Adi Alsaid, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“It rained the day they got it right. Anna could hear the thrum of it against the glass of the window as she speared a piece of meat on a fork and promptly burst into tears because it tasted just like every time her mother had made it. It tasted like rain on the air and frogs hopping across the grass and coffee beans in a jar and the green, green leaves of the forest rustling in the night and the sound of her mother humming a song. It tasted like a future in which the rain and the coffee beans and her mother weren’t out of reach after all.”
― Elsie Chapman, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“It's not like you ate Filipino food all the time. You loved Emperor's Way takeout, and the friendly Chinese girl there who you were too shy to ask but whose name tag said to call her Ming always gave you extra sauce for your orange chicken. The sweet potato pie from Butter was absolutely to die for, and it made you feel soft and warm the same way Lola's leche flan did. The youngest Manzano once handed you a delicious pastry without prompting or demanding payment before drifting away, seemingly lost in a world of her own. If this was a marketing strategy for their pastelería, it worked.
But you could tell that there were differences in the way they cooked and baked, that they took old and treasured recipes and put in their own unique, modern spin to them. Why couldn't you do the same?”
― Rin Chupeco, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“But your lolas took offense at being called witches. That is an Amerikano term, they scoff, and that they live in the boroughs of an American city makes no difference to their biases. Mangkukulam was what they styled themselves as, a title still spoken of with fear in their motherland, with its suggestions of strange healing and old-world sorcery.
Nobody calls their place along Pepper Street Old Manila, either, save for the women and their frequent customers. It was a carinderia, a simple eatery folded into three food stalls; each manned by a mangkukulam, each offering unusual specialties:
Lola Teodora served kare-kare, a healthy medley of eggplant, okra, winged beans, chili peppers, oxtail, and tripe, all simmered in a rich peanut sauce and sprinkled generously with chopped crackling pork rinds. Lola Teodora was made of cumin, and her clients tiptoed into her stall, meek as mice and trembling besides, only to stride out half an hour later bursting at the seams with confidence.
But bagoong- the fermented-shrimp sauce served alongside the dish- was the real secret; for every pound of sardines you packed into the glass jars you added over three times that weight in salt and magic. In six months, the collected brine would turn reddish and pungent, the proper scent for courage.
unlike the other mangkukulam, Lola Teodora's meal had only one regular serving, no specials. No harm in encouraging a little bravery in everyone, she said, and with her careful preparations it would cause little harm, even if clients ate it all day long.
Lola Florabel was made of paprika and sold sisig: garlic, onions, chili peppers, and finely chopped vinegar-marinated pork and chicken liver, all served on a sizzling plate with a fried egg on top and calamansi for garnish. Sisig regular was one of the more popular dishes, though a few had blanched upon learning the meat was made from boiled pigs' cheeks and head.”
― Rin Chupeco, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“Fifteen is an appropriate age to test for seasoning. It is not a complicated ritual, but it is an unusual rite of passage and not for the fastidious. It's a prick of a finger. It's five drops of blood. It's drizzling the blood onto sinigang- a heady soup of tamarind broth, with a savory sourness enhanced by spinach and okra, tomatoes and corms, green peppers for zest. Lola Simeon prefers stewed pork, and so that was chopped into the broth, a perfect medley of lean meat and fat.”
― Rin Chupeco, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“Picking up my spoon, I dip it into the broth, making sure to get pieces of the small, fatty meat. I close my eyes and eat my spoonful, marveling at the rich, savory flavors. It's like beef broth, only heartier, and the meat has this really interesting texture. Before I know it, I've devoured half the bowl.
"You like Soup Number Five?"
I look up to see Lola Simeona, the old woman from earlier, standing by my table, watching me. "Oh, yes," I say, patting my mouth with a napkin. "It's delicious! What is this meat? It's like nothing I've ever tasted. And I feel more... energetic already, sort of like I can take on anything." Like Prem.
She smiles knowingly. "Yes, yes, Soup Number Five is magical." After a pause, during which her smile morphs into what I can only be described as a mischievous grin, she says, "The meat is bull testes."
I stare at her for a long moment as her words filter into my brain. I set my spoon down carefully and take a sip of water. "Bull... testes?" I ask in the most neutral way I can.
"Yes! It's an aphrodisiac!" She pats my shoulder and walks off to another table. I think I can hear her cackling.
I look down into my bowl. I just ate a bunch of chopped-up bull balls. For a moment I wonder, in a very detached way (is this what being in medical shock feels like?), if I'm going to throw up. But then the moment passes, and I realize they're really delicious. And Soup No. 5 works. I can feel the potent mixture wending its way through my system, infusing my blood with confidence and desire. I eat another big spoonful.”
― Sandhya Menon, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“The chicken kebab is moist and fragrant; the chicken chunks fall apart when I bite into them, and the aromas of turmeric and parsley flood my senses. I have to close my eyes to take in all the flavors- spicy, salty, meaty. The doogh is equally delicious; I swear I've never drunk something so creamy, so minty, so refreshing.”
― Sandhya Menon, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“If we all die and our lives are forgotten, it is these conservations that make an impression on the deletable history of the world.”
― Adi Alsaid, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“If we all die and our lives are forgotten, it is these conversations that make an impression on the deletable history of the world.”
― Adi Alsaid, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“These pastries are gorgeous colors," she said. "I didn't even know I liked green, but I do. It reminds me of her. I keep thinking of her grandparents' house in India. My mother and aunt grew up in the city, but their grandparents grew coffee on a plantation a few hours away. Have you ever heard of Coorg? It's this region in the south of India where people grow tea and coffee, and they have the most beautiful forests, and we used to go there every year when I was little. My mother would take me out to show me the coffee blossoms and the tigers in the forests. It was always so green there, and the air always felt like rain. And now it's raining here and it's all just wet and cold and I'm scared that-" She broke off. "I don't know. Sorry. I'm probably not making much sense."
Lila was quiet for a moment, and then she said, "What are you scared of?"
Anna shook her head. She couldn't shape the words, and she wasn't sure she could say them to someone she had only just met anyway. To distract herself, she took a bite of one of the pan dulce Lila had given her. It almost melted in her mouth, moist and sweet and perfectly crumbly.
"This is amazing," she said.
Lila beamed. "I'm glad you like it."
Another bite, another taste. Lila continued to swing gently, back and forth, in an oddly soothing rhythm. The taste of the pan dulce on Anna's tongue felt soft, comforting, like a friend holding her hand.”
― Sangu Mandanna, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“The pan dulce was perfect, and it gave Anna an idea. Talking to Lila about her favorite memories of her mother had shaken loose parts of the past she had either forgotten or overlooked. Like the songs her mother would sing as she cooked the one and only thing she ever cooked; like that time they visited the family coffee estate and Mum shot a rampaging wild boar and then they cooked and ate it later that night; like the smell of rain in the forest; like the fat, sour gooseberries they would pick off the trees; like fresh peppercorns straight off the vine; like countless other jumbled memories and smells and tastes and sounds that had been tucked away in some corner of her mind gathering dust for so long.
Mum's favorite dish, the one and only thing she ever cooked.
I'm going to make it.
Anna had never learned how to make it, because she had always arrogantly assumed her mother would be around forever, but she had eaten it so many times that she was sure she could recreate it by memory and taste alone. This is it. Her favorite food. She would have to thank Lila for the inspiration later. This was the connection she had been afraid she would never find. It was a way to hold on to everything she had lost.
"Can I borrow your wallet, Dad?"
Excited for the first time in what felt like months, Anna rushed out to the neighborhood grocery store and picked out the ingredients she hoped would work. Curry leaves, bay leaves, whole black peppercorns, turmeric, ginger, garlic, green chilies, red chilies, limes, honey, and, finally, a fresh shoulder of pork.”
― Sangu Mandanna, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“We've been trying to recreate Mum's Coorg pandhi curry."
"Is that so?" said Mynah. "How was that supposed to work without the kachampuli?"
"The what?"
"Kachampuli," she repeated.
"What is kachampuli supposed to be?" Dad asked, sounding out the syllables carefully.
Mynah let out a shriek of laughter. "Are you telling me you've been trying to make Coorg pandhi curry all this time, and neither of you knows about kachampuli? Which is only the most essential ingredient?"
"But surely the pandhi is the most essential ingredient," Anna protested, gesturing in the direction of the pork rind sitting on the counter. "Otherwise it would be called kachampuli curry."
Mynah ignored that and wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. "Kachampuli, my sweet ignorant ones, is what gives the pandhi curry its distinct flavor. It's a little vinegar, and it's made from a limey sort of fruit they grow in Coorg." She marched to one of the cupboards, rooted around in the back, and retrieved a dusty bottle with a sealed cap. Inside gleamed a thick, dark liquid. "Behold," she said dramatically, "kachampuli.”
― Sangu Mandanna, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“It's macaroni soup. Curls of pasta swim in steaming, fragrant broth, and pieces of boiled chicken are all tangled up with them, the meat nearly fallen off the bones. It's comfort food, the kind my parents brought over the ocean with them twenty-five years ago, and the kind that doesn't fit westernized Chinese restaurant menus. My mother used to make it for us for breakfast, before we got older and told her we had no time to eat in the morning if we wanted to make the school bus. For years now it's been only the occasional snack, a rare treat.
But I still like it best made with sugar, and so does my brother Lei. Only our older sister Yun asks for it this way, savory and salty.”
― Elsie Chapman, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“I order the fragrant bison meatballs in a tart cranberry sauce to start, and then move on to other mouthwatering things- the roasted-vegetable platter sprinkled with just the right amount of herbs and pepper, and the honey-roasted rabbit, which practically falls apart on my tongue.”
― Sandhya Menon, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“Lila smiles, reaches into the cloth covering whatever goodies are in the basket, and pulls out a concha. The top of the pastry is a swirl of colors- deep purple, inky blue, pink, green, gold. It reminds me of the galaxy, and I stare for a moment, mesmerized, before I take it from her.
My mouth begins to water. "This smells incredible," I say. "What do I owe you?"
"It's on the house," she says, already turning away. "Enjoy."
I want to argue, but the urge to bite into the pastry is nearly irresistible now. I've never had Mexican pastries before. But first... I pick up my phone from the bench and take a picture of the gorgeous creation. Then, putting it back down, I take a big bite and close my eyes. My mouth explodes with flavors and sensations- sweet, yeasty, warm. In another three bites, I've eaten the entire four-inch ball of dough and am licking my fingers.”
― Sandhya Menon, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“At least there's nothing traditional about an engagement dinner, so we'll be spared having to prepare a twelve-course wedding banquet loaded with meaning. There will be no roasted pig to symbolize purity. No bright red lobster for luck. No shark fin soup for wealth.”
― Elsie Chapman, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love

“I wonder, just for a second, how it will taste on Gael's tongue, the cinnamon and chile en polvo laced into our vanilla cake, the spice a little like what he adds to his family's tamales.”
― Anna-Marie McLemore, Hungry Hearts: 13 Tales of Food & Love