Today, Idea City joins Lexa, Media and Beth, the creators of the International Potluck Fest in talking about great foodie scenes in fiction! You don’t have to be in the hop to check out the posts and comment.

One of the funniest foodie scenes I’ve read is in Wallbanger (18+), a rowdy romance, where the protag’s love interest is always cooking. There’s a love-fest after bread-making, where they’re literally rolling in the flour. Since that’s too steamy to post here, I’ll tell you about a scene from my NA romance, Private Internship that launches on September 29.

Artist Sienna is interning for bad-boy sculptor, Caz Mason. He’s a major handful, and is constantly testing her with strange games, but one of his enticing talents is that he’s a great cook!
Here’s a snippet that displays his canny wiles:

Joining me at the table, he sits forward in his chair instead of straddling it. “My own concoction,” he announces. “Pheasant chili.”


“What a treat.” I take an experimental bite. The flavor detonates in my mouth. “Man, this is great! Where’d you learn to cook?”


“From an old Texan migrant down in the Smokies.” Sounds dubious, but what do I know? I know that I appreciate a man who can cook. We gobble the food down. Something about hard physical labor—you work up quite an appetite. 


Afterwards, Caz wipes his mouth with the napkin and clears his throat. “So, why don’t you bring in a few of your pieces tomorrow? I should know what my intern is doing.”


My pulse spikes. I’m partly flattered and partly terrified—especially after his scathing critique on that very first day. “You sure? I mean, it’s not about my work, it’s about your—”


“Be more sure of yourself,” he barks. “I can’t tolerate insecure people.”


I shrivel up inside. But he’s right. I need to be strong, be proud. “Okay, fine. Shall I continue shoveling sugar after lunch?”


“Way too tedious,” he announces. “Let’s play a game.”


“What game? Not so sure I want any more of those.”


“Oh, don’t be a wimp,” he says wryly, and jumps up. “Let’s go.”

Do you use food in some way in your writing? To set mood? Entice? Add a sense of reality? What’s your fave fictional scene involving food?