Dinner Date Quotes

“Signor Renzo's lodge stood on a grassy knoll near the crest of the hill. It was a modest place, just a low stone hut, before which stretched a woven ceiling of vines. My dinner was cooked on an open fire by the table. This was no banquet, but what the cook called a pique-nique, a meal for hunters to take outdoors. After Renzo had chosen two fat ducklings from his larder, he spitted them over the fire. Then he made a dish of buttery rice crowned with speckled discs of truffle that tasted powerfully of God's own earth.
'Come sit with me,' I begged, for I did not like him to wait on me. So together we sat beneath the vines as I savored each morsel and guessed at the subtle flavorings. 'Wild garlic?' I asked, and he lifted his brows in surprise as he ate. 'And a herb,' I added, 'sage?'
'For a woman, you have excellent taste.'
For a woman, indeed! I made a play of stabbing him with my knife. It was most pleasant to eat our pique-nique and drink the red wine, which they make so strong in that region that they call it black or nero. I asked him to speak of himself, and between a trial of little dishes of wild leaves, chestnut fritters, and raisin cake, Signor Renzo told me he was born in the city and had worked at a pastry's cook shop as a boy, where he soon discovered that good foods mixed with ingenious hands made people happy and free with their purses.”
― Martine Bailey, An Appetite for Violets

“Lou recovered some foie gras, duck confit, and assorted veggies and herbs. As she grabbed the items, a menu started bubbling to the surface: foie gras ravioli with a cherry-sage cream sauce, crispy goat cheese medallions on mixed greens with a simple vinaigrette, pan-fried duck confit, and duck-fat-roasted new potatoes with more of the cherry-sage cream sauce. For dessert, a chocolate souffle with coconut crisps.”
― Amy E. Reichert, The Coincidence of Coconut Cake

“The expensive wine coated my throat with warm notes of fig and vanilla. Mozzarella melted like cream on my tongue and a jumble of lacy and tubular wild mushrooms lent an earthy heartiness to a glistening plate of homemade pappardelle.The dessert- my litmus test for any restaurant, of course- was a flourless chocolate cake so dense and rich that most people would have put down their forks, happily satiated, after a few bites. But Jake knew to untangle his hand from mine when the waiter set the two plates down on the table. Within minutes, I'd finished my entire slice. 'Be still,' I thought, 'o heart of mine,' when I looked up to see that Jake had also scraped his plate clean. 'Finally,' I thought, grinning at him, not caring that my teeth were probably stained a lovely shade of dark chocolate. 'A real man.”
― Meg Donohue, How to Eat a Cupcake

“RJ gets to work in the kitchen on the dinner he is preparing, allowing me to sous chef. He seasons duck breasts with salt, pepper, coriander, and orange zest. Puts a pot of wild rice on to cook, asks me to top and tail some green beans. We open a bottle of Riesling, sipping while we cook, and I light a fire. The place gets cozy, full of delicious smells and the crackling fire. We ignore the dining table in favor of sitting on the floor in front of the fire, and tuck in.
"This is amazing," I tell him, blown away by the duck, perfectly medium-rare and succulent, with crispy, fully rendered skin. "Really, honey, it couldn't be better."
"Thank you, baby. That's a major compliment. And I have to say, I love cooking with you."
"I love cooking with you." And I did. I never once felt like I wanted to jump in or make a change, or suggest a different choice. I followed him as I would have followed any chef, and the results of trusting him are completely delicious, literally and figuratively.”
― Stacey Ballis, Off the Menu

“Elliot, that was amazing." The meal has been spectacular. We started with a salad of fennel, golden beets, and grapefruit. He did a veal roast with a classic shallot-cognac pan sauce, smooth with butter and brightened with thyme and parsley, the meat perfectly cooked, still rosy in the middle, with a great crisp brown sear on the outside. An interesting dish of fregola, toasted pearl pasta that is one of my favorite ingredients, cooked with sweet corn he charred on the grill, and chives. And simple steamed asparagus. Everything cooked perfectly, well seasoned, and full of soul.”
― Stacey Ballis, Out to Lunch

“He had a satisfying wholeness about him, American good looks like a baseball player's- level shoulders, a pale shock of hair. A good mind and ethical nature: little gave him more pleasure than learning laws and governance- "It shows you the shape of your society." But what drew the deepest sliver of her self toward him, was the weakness in his chin, his slightly disoriented air, like an injury he allowed only Avis to see. Brian was the opposite of her mother. There wasn't a whiff of mystery about him: he was solid, entirely himself. Avis still cooked in those days and she invited him to her minuscule studio. She set a hibachi up on the fire escape and grilled him a marbled, crimson rib-eye, crusty with salt and pepper, its interior brilliant with juices. Some garlicky green beans with pine nuts, rich red wine, mushrooms and onions sautéed in a nut-brown butter. She'd intuited his indifference to chocolate, so dessert was a velvety vanilla bean cake with a toasted almond frosting.”
― Diana Abu-Jaber, Birds of Paradise

“Twenty-eight courses?" Dylan mused.
"Get comfortable," Grace said with anticipation.


They came on little spoons, tiny plates, in small glasses, atop mini-pedestals even speared and hung, suspended on custom-made wire serving devices like little edible works of art, which was entirely the point: mint-scented lamb lollypops, osetra and oysters on frothed tapioca, beet gazpacho and savory mustard shooters, foie gras porridge with a sweet ginger spritz in an atomizer, ankimo sashimi on house-made pop-rocks, plums in powdered yogurt, goat cheese marshmallows, venison maple syrup mastic, warm black truffle gumdrops with chilled sauternes centers. Foamed and freeze-dried, often accompanied by little spray bottles of fragrance and tiny scent-filled pillows, the food crackled and smoked and hissed and sizzled, appealing to all the senses. Thin slices of blast-frozen Kobe carpaccio were hung on little wire stands to thaw between courses at the table. All sorts of textures and presentations were set forth. Many were entirely novel and unexpected renderings of traditional dishes.
Intrigued and delighted by the sensory spectacle, Dylan and Grace enjoyed the experience immensely, oohing and aahing, and mostly laughing. For as strange as each course might be, as curious as the decorative objects that presented them, each one was an adventure of sorts, and without exception, each one was delicious, some to the point of profound. And each one came with an expertly matched extraordinary wine, in the precisely correct Riedel glass.”
― Jeffrey Stepakoff, The Orchard

“Escoffier set the table. He'd found a Japanese kimono, an obvious prop from some theater production, to use as a tablecloth. Paris had secretly fallen in love with all things oriental. It was red silk brocade, covered with a flock of white flying cranes, and made from a single bolt of fabric. The neckline and cuffs were thickly stained with stage makeup but the kimono itself was quite beautiful. It ran the length of the thin table. The arms overhung one end.
Outside the building he'd seen a garden with a sign that read "Please do not pick." But it was, after all, for a beautiful woman. Who would deny him? And so Escoffier cut a bouquet of white flowers: roses, peonies and a spray of lilies, with rosemary stalks to provide the greenery. He placed them in a tall water glass and then opened the basket of food he'd brought. He laid out the china plates so that they rested between the cranes, and then the silver knives, forks and spoons, and a single crystal glass for her champagne. Even though it was early afternoon, he'd brought two dozen candles.
The food had to be served 'à la française'; there were no waiters to bring course after course. So he kept it simple. Tartlets filled with sweet oysters from Arcachon and Persian caviar, chicken roasted with truffles, a warm baguette, 'pâté de foie gras,' and small sweet strawberries served on a bed of sugared rose petals and candied violets.”
― N.M. Kelby, White Truffles in Winter

“Jesus Christ is such a bad date. If he took you out on a date to a nice restaurant, he’d keep referring to it as his “Last Supper”. What a downer. He only eats bread and only drinks red wine. If your parents told you never to discuss sex, politics or religion at the dinner table, you’d never be able to have a conversation with JC. The only thing he talks about is religion. God save us! Not any religion, just his religion. He’s fixated on it. It’s all he thinks about. He couldn’t tell you even one thing about Hinduism, Buddhism, Taoism or Satanism.”
― Adam Nostra, The Devil and Jesus Debate Tinder Strategies: How to Optimize Your Tinder Success

“After a long day, he cleaned up and met her almost every day after work to take her out for supper at an Italian restaurant in North Beach or a restaurant at the docks to get fresh-caught seafood. They feasted on crab sautéed in garlic and olive oil, hot clam chowder and fresh sourdough bread, and raw oysters shucked right off the boats at the pier.”
― Jan Moran, The Chocolatier

“He orders an expensive bottle of Rioja and we begin our tapas extravaganza with plates of dates wrapped in bacon, langoustines in garlic and butter, chorizo in a tomatoey sauce, and a miniature Spanish tortilla (potato, egg, and onion). Our medium-rare steaks are set before us along with a basket of thinly sliced, golden crisped fries. I'm happy to see that Frank enjoys food- with no mention of any weird hang-ups or allergies.
"I was hoping they'd have sweetbreads on the menu," Frank says.
"You like sweetbreads?" I ask, my heart expanding at the mention of calf thymus.
"I'm an organ man," Frank says, taking a sip of wine.
"I know a place where they make great sautéed sweetbreads," I say.
"You?" he asks, a look of pleased astonishment spreading across his face.
"Love 'em," I say. This mutual infatuation with organs bodes well.
Cutting into the steaks with sharp knives, we put morsels in our mouths, close our eyes as if we've died and gone to heaven, chew, and groan, the salty, bloody juices trickling down the backs of our throats.”
― Hannah Mccouch, Girl Cook: A Novel

“It could be any date night. Perhaps Tom takes her to Ray's in Ballard. They share a bottle of Chateau Ste. Michelle Dry Riesling, even though Tom is more of a negroni man. The wine goes well with her market halibut and the view of the bay. He has the filet mignon, and judging by the bite he offers her, it's exquisite.
Or perhaps it's that Mexican place somewhere in Ravenna, operated out of an old house. The wall paint is chipping, but the air is sweet with the aroma of freshly cut tomatillos. They have margaritas and share chicken mole, with extra chips and fresh guacamole on the side.
No matter where they go, it has been a long day, a bad day for Elle. She probably dropped a pie, or an angry customer yelled at Bonnie, or old milk ruined a batch of cake batter. She probably almost said no to Tom's spontaneous idea for a dinner date. As usual, though, she's glad she didn't. The crème brûlée or fried ice cream is reason enough-- let alone the way he makes the negativity melts away.”
― Jennifer Gold, The Ingredients of Us

“What about Date #3?"
"Dinner at Puke. That's a big no."
"It's pronounced the way it's spelled," Daisy said coldly. "Pewque. And what's wrong with it?"
"I checked out the menu," Liam said. "I can't get excited about a faux-rustic meal of fromage-frisée, bone-gel bream, and liver-sauced jowl."
"I see you haven't changed." Layla's voice dripped sarcasm. "Once an ass. Always an ass."
"That's what I thought when I read the house special for this week," Liam said. "It doesn't matter if you house-ferment, dehydrate, and then pulverize your eel. Sprinkle it on your pigeon roulade and it's still going to be eel.”
― Sara Desai, The Dating Plan

“Our faces must be covered in sauce right now," said Isabella as she gnawed a second rib.
"Only one way to tell."
Isabella could sense Gabe getting out of his seat and leaning across the table to kiss her; only, in the process, he knocked down what sounded like two wineglasses and a small carafe of water. Still, he followed through, his lips landing near her left eye--- she burst out laughing--- before kissing their way down the path of sauce on her cheek to her lips, which opened up to help them finally connect with their target.
"All clean," said Gabe, after kissing her for a good twenty seconds and returning to his seat.
"You're better than a Wet-Nap," responded Isabella, who was blushing several shades of red and glad that nobody--- especially Gabe--- could see.”
― Adam D. Roberts, Food Person

“They ordered a parade of tapas and shared everything: petal-pink yellowfin tuna with bright orange habanada peppers drizzled in olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt crystals the size of snowflakes; melt-in-your-mouth clams drenched in butter, white wine, and a confetti of parsley, and when the clams had been eaten, Gabe read her mind and ordered extra bread to sop up the sauce; a small bouquet of crispy shrimp heads--- at first glance Iris recoiled at their black eyes unseeing beneath a heavy dusting of red spice, but Gale dug right in, crunching as carelessly as a lion. Iris stalled and hesitated over trying one, laughing as Gabe cheered her on, yelping when the whiskery antennae tickled her nose, until she finally gave one a hasty chomp. Gabe was right, it was delicious--- a riot of different textures and tastes such that she savored her next bites--- even if she did leave the eyes uneaten. And finally the piri piri half chicken, the aroma alone evoked a future longing before the first bite was taken.”
― Francesca Serritella, Full Bloom