“Tofu tacos are not Mexican. I think putting tofu on anything and calling it Mexican is an insult to my people.”

“I took three steps back; he nudged the door closed with his foot. “You like Mexican?” he asked.“I—” I’d like to know what you’re doing inside my house!“Tacos?”“Tacos?” I echoed.This seemed to amuse him. “Tomatoes, lettuce, cheese.”“I know what a taco is!”

“She forks up a little nibble and wedges it in her mouth. "Yum," she croaks.Mrs. Wong looks pleased. "It's made with tofu."I can't resist. "Free-range tofu?"My mother looks over at me sharply. Mrs. Wong takes the bait. "Now, Cassidy, tofu isn't an animal," she chides. "It's soy bean curd. Soy bean curd doesn't need to roam free."On the floor below me, Emma lets out a little snort. I nudge her again with my foot. We're both grinning at the thought of a corral somewhere with little cubes of tofu wandering around. "Home, home on the range," I sing to her under my breath. "Where the deer and the tofu roam free...”

“Honestly—who puts a hamburger next to diet tofu curry unless they’re trying to buy your soul?”

“A man of quality is not threatened by a woman with tofu.”

“My life is like tofu—it's what gets added that makes it interesting.”