“Chef?" Carmel exclaims. "I could give a shit about a chef. I'm going to find the most expensive thing in that kitchen, eat one bite, and throw the rest on the floor. Then I'm going to break some plates.”

“Every man has his destiny. But who needs to go to a fortune-teller to find it? Do I go to a chef to find out if I'm hungry?”

“I could never be a chef, because I could ‘t bare the thought of my art always turning to shit.”

“Some people who are obsessed with food become gourmet chefs. Others become eating disorders.”

“I'm an excellent pastry chef. My pie crust is better than my Zia Rosa's. Come on back to the kitchen. I'll make a chocolate cream pie before your very eyes. I'll feed a piece of it to you by hand. And by the time I'm done, you're not going to be asking me if I'm gay anymore."She cleared her throat, gaze darting down. "Is that so.""It is," he said. "On your feet. Come on back to the kitchen. I mean it. I'm dead serious. It's pie time. And I am so ready for you.”

“Sorry,Chef Pierre. I'm a little distracted by this English French American Boy Masterpiece.”