"Louisiana Latte" by Rebecca Henry

EXCERPT and GIVEAWAY

Louisiana Latte

by Rebecca Henry

Louisiana Latte by Rebecca Henry is currently on tour with Silver Dagger Book Tours. The tour stops here today for an excerpt and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

Description

Deb hadn’t flown in over 20 years. In 1989, at the age of 22, Deb was enrolled at Griffiss Airforce Base to become a commercial pilot. Somewhere between dating her yuppie fiancé and planning their wedding in Chicago, Deb developed claustrophobia - a fear of enclosed spaces. I blame the yuppie. Deb couldn’t get on a plane for love that day, but she could do it 20 years later for money. Money was worth dying for.

Excerpt

Deb hasn’t flown in a plane for over twenty years. In 1989, at the age of twenty-two, Deb was enrolled in Embry Riddle aeronautical school, learning to fly commercial planes, but somewhere between dating her yuppie fiancé and planning their wedding in Chicago, Deb developed both agoraphobia, a fear of open spaces and claustrophobia, fear of closed spaces. I blame the yuppie. On their way from Syracuse NY to Chicago, the yuppie placed so much pressure on Deb with wedding arrangements and meeting the wealthy stuck-up family that Deb’s chest began to tighten. The cabin crew were preparing for their takeoff announcements as Deb began to feel trapped. The Boeing 737 was transforming into a metal tin can with wings. Deb took Adam’s hand, seeking comfort. He sat motionless in his neatly pressed J Crew shirt and ironed jeans. His face was freshly shaven, and he smelled of sex and desire. Deb sighed loudly as her seatbelt began to dig into her skinny lap. She tried loosening the strap, but her hands trembled with anxiety. She placed a manicured finger to her neck; her throat was beginning to tighten. Adam the yuppie was staring at Deb as she fidgeted with the belt. “What are you doing?” he said, annoyed. “Just leave it alone.”

Deb began to take deep breaths, exhaling as she fanned herself with her hands.

“Deb, stop that. People are looking at you,” Adam growled. He hated scenes and cared highly what strangers thought of him. Deb looked at the man she was going to marry and said, “Nope! Not flying today!”

Adam became agitated, annoyed by Deb’s sudden display of theatrics. “Sit down and calm down, Deb!” He ran a hand through his black hair. “Jesus, you fly planes for Christ’s sakes, don’t give me this shit that you’re suddenly afraid to fly.” He grabbed Deb by the arm as she tried to stand up from her seat.

“Look Adam, I don’t know what’s going on...I just know I need to get off,” Deb said in the most forced pleasant tone she could muster. Deb raised her hand to the flight attendant who was walking down the aisle. “Hi there, sweetie! Excuse me!” Deb called, as she stood up, releasing her grasp from Adam’s controlling hand. Her three carat diamond ring flashed the flight attendant in the eye. “Hi, sweetie. I’m so sorry to do this now, right before takeoff but...I got to get off.” Deb reached for the overhead compartment, grabbing her coach bag, her butt accidentally hitting the man next to her. “Oh, so sorry, sweetie,” she said to the passenger.

“Not much room on this thing.” Deb patted her clammy chest, which was beginning to break out in a cold sweat. “God, can you feel it, it’s getting hot in here. Oh boy...it’s time for me to go.” The flight attendant looked down at Adam who was now in a full rage.

“Deb, will you stop this nonsense and sit back down.” His voice was stern, a father directing a child.

“Nope, don’t think I will. But I’ll meet you outside, okay babe!” Deb pleasantly pushed past the flight attendant, excusing herself as she made her way to the exit. She was wearing her first pair of Gucci stilettos and was making sure to tiptoe gracefully as she raced down the speckled blue carpet. The flight attendant quickly scurried in front of Deb as she approached the exit door.

“Ma’am, please take your seat. You are not supposed to be out of your seat before takeoff.” Deb eyed the flight attendant’s name tag. “Donna, I need you to listen very carefully to me, okay sweetie. I have to get off this plane.” Deb was pushing down the edges of her miniskirt. She could feel the cabin closing in, the plane was shrinking.

Donna stretched out her arms, blocking Deb. “Ma’am, you can’t get off this plane. You must return to your seat and I will come around to speak with you momentarily.” Deb glanced at Donna’s bad dye job; black roots were showing through her bleached hair. Donna’s face had a perfect ring along her jawline where the foundation stopped. Deb wanted to give her a quick crash course in fundamental foundation rules on applying makeup, but Donna’s face began to swirl as Deb’s nausea began to rise. Deb placed a hand on her forehead, trying to steady the swaying. 

“Donna, I can’t go back to my seat, I can’t stay on this plane.” Donna raised an eyebrow at Deb. 

“What I need to do, Donna, is get off. So, if you would be a doll and just scoot over so I can fit through the aisle and make my way to the door, I would appreciate it.”

Donna glanced at the other flight attendant standing behind Deb. “Ma’am, the engines have started.” Donna pointed in the air. “Can’t you hear? I cannot let you off the plane.”

Deb began to panic. A burning sensation was rising up from her stomach, scorching her arms, making its way to her head. She felt hot all over. The cabin was closing in, crunching her.

“Donna, just go talk to the pilot, explain to him I need to get off. He’ll understand and open the doors so I can leave.”

Donna braced her arms against Deb’s body. “Ma’am, I will not tell you again. You need to go back to your seat, and someone will be with you shortly to talk you through this.”

Deb pressed her face against the window. She could see the wheels on the plane moving. An intense fear struck Deb, she realized she had to get off that second. “Talk to me!” Deb’s voice was frantic, growing louder with each syllable. “What the hell is talking going to do for me? I’M IN FEAR! I HAVE FEAR! I need to get off and either you will remove yourself from my path or go get the pilot!”

“The pilot? You want me to go speak to the pilot?” That’s when Donna realized Deb had lost her rabbit ass mind.

[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book

“I was hooked the whole time in this story of two sisters …” ~ Paul V. Rigsby

“That book caught me from page 1! I recommend it for those people that live life with full passion! I will be reading more of this author’s books for sure!” ~ Joann Solari

“Louisana Latte is character driven with a perfect pace for an afternoon sipping tea on the porch or cocktails on the beach. It is light and funny. I found myself giggling throughout the book. I also found myself caring about her characters. The last chapter is exactly how it needed to end.” ~ Elane Finn

“This short read is a must buy book. A funny and feel good chick-lit comedy like no other, the story flows smoothly and creates a unique bond between Becky and Deb that is rarely felt in novels, and yet will feel real and familiar to many families out there. If you enjoy a hilarious and quick witted comedy, then be sure to grab your copy of Louisiana Latte by Rebecca Henry today.” ~ Anthony Avina

“The author does a wonderful job of describing the characters and giving them a life of their own. A book full of humorous situations makes this a fun read.” ~ mbb0623

About the Author

Rebecca Henry is a newly published author. Her debut novel is The Lady Raven, A Dark Cinderella Tale, which was published in 2017. The Lady Raven, is for those who have an infinity for fairy tales retold with a link to witches, magic and the macabre. Her second novel, Louisiana Latte, a chick lit comedy was released February 28th 2019. Louisiana Latte, is a feel good comedy that focuses on the bonds of sisters, and how audacious life can be when you have a diva for one!

Rebecca Henry is a world traveler living abroad in England. Besides being an author of two published books, Rebecca is also a podcast talk host on the show The Latte Talk. The podcast was inspired by her latest novel, Louisiana Latte and her diva sister Deb. She is a serious vegan, gardener, crafter, wife and mom who practices yoga. She loves to laugh, her drug of choice and loves all things witchy with a hint of the macabre. Her favorite holiday is Halloween, and her favorite movie of all time is Practical Magic.

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"Just a Name" by Becky Monson

EXCERPT and GIVEAWAY

Just a Name

by Becky Monson

This book blast and giveaway for Just a Name by Becky Monson is hosted by I Am A Reader.

More books by this author: Speak Now: or Forever Hold Your Peace (read my blog post), Thirty-Two Going on Spinster (read my blog post), Thirty-Three Going on Girlfriend (read my blog post), and Thirty-Four Going on Bride (read my blog post).

Description

Holly has a plan for everything. But she never could have planned for this.

If there’s one thing Holly Murphy loves, it’s a solid plan. She has her entire life figured out - or so she thinks. But when life pulls the rug out from under her, she’s left to deal with a canceled wedding - hers, to be precise. And the promotion she’s worked toward for years is now in jeopardy because the team she supervises doesn’t like her management style.

Thinking that Holly is too tightly wound and needs a break from everything, her boss demands she take a vacation. But how can she take a vacation when her promotion is on the line? Trying to help out, her best friend, Quinn, suggests she still go on her honeymoon and conduct a nationwide search to find a man with the same name as her ex-fiancé to use his plane ticket. Leaving Holly to wonder if she’s the only sane person left on the planet.

Yet when her boss gets wind of the idea and loves it, Holly finds herself in a corner she can’t get out of. And when handsome Nate Jones from Newport Beach gets picked to go with her, she wonders if this whole thing won’t be so bad after all.

Can Holly learn to let go? Or will this crazy adventure send her running right back to her safety net?

Excerpt

“Holly?” a deep voice says from behind me as I wait for my order at the Lava Java, a quaint coffee shop across the street from my office building.

Oh, please not now. Not now. Not. Now.

What’s next? A rainstorm? Actually, that’s highly likely with the smell of rain in the air, the rumble of thunder in the distance, and the ominous clouds I saw as I walked over here. Typical springtime in Orlando.

I turn around and find Logan Palmer standing there in dark jeans, a fitted black T-shirt, and flip-flops. Or, in other words, his standard outfit. The T-shirt color can vary from day to day, but that’s about it. His light-brown hair is disheveled, and the beginnings of stubble appear around his jaw.

“Logan,” I say, feeling like a big chunk of ice just landed in my belly.

So far this morning, I’ve found out my team hates me—and I could miss out on one of the biggest opportunities of my career because of it—and my boss wants me to run away on some crazy trip before I can even fix it.

And now? Now I run into Nathan’s best friend, roommate, and business partner, who has never liked me, and I’m quite sure is one of the reasons things ended like they did. The way Nathan broke it off wreaked of Logan, actually.

“How ... are you?” he asks, his fingers extending and then clenching into fists at his sides. Even with my average height and three-inch heels he has to peer down at me, his sea-blue eyes searching my face as he does. He looks ... nervous.

[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book

“Just a Name is a delicious escape! I devoured every character, every moment, and every quirk and couldn’t get enough. This book is Becky Monson at her finest!” ~ Author Whitney Dineen

“Becky Monson has outdone herself with Just a Name. It’s FANTASTIC! I’m still swooning.” ~ Author Jennifer Peel

“Fans of romantic comedies should grab a copy of Just a Name; it has the perfect balance between sweet and sassy.” ~ Readers’ Favorite

“Full of fun, swoon, and humor, all topped with unexpected twists. I thoroughly enjoyed my time in these pages!” ~ Katie’s Clean Book Collection

“I loved it. Becky Monson is so good at writing humor into her books. Sarcasm and wit reign supreme right along with a slow growing romance.” ~ Aimee Brown from Getting Your Read On

About the Author

By day, Becky Monson is a mother to three young children, and a wife. By night, she escapes with reading books and writing. An award-winning author, Becky uses humor and true-life experiences to bring her characters to life. She loves all things chick-lit (movies, books, etc.), and wishes she had a British accent. She has recently given up Diet Coke for the fiftieth time and is hopeful this time will last … but it probably won’t.

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"Single and Looking: Daisy" by Belinda Austin

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Single and Looking: Daisy
(Secret Lives of Sisters Book 1)

by Belinda Austin

Single and Looking: Daisy by Belinda Austin is currently on tour with Goddess Fish Promotions. The tour stops here today for an excerpt and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other participating blogs as well.

Description

A HEARTWARMING TALE OF A 39-YEAR-OLD SCREW-UP, HER SEARCH FOR LOVE & HER TALKING CAT.

Daisy is turning 40. To make the crises worse, her five sisters pray over her unmarried status, and then her cat begins speaking English with a British accent! Well, no wonder the cat quotes William Shakespeare sometimes! Daisy did name the cat Shakespeare after all.

The mess of Daisy's life is even kookier because the cat is cursing and smoking now like a Downton-Abbey criminal, and the cat is drinking more alcoholic beverages, even though booze makes his whiskers wrinkle. Mm, there must be a connection to all this flowing alcohol, which may explain the bubbly in Daisy's brain. Even her blind dates, men referred by her meddling sisters, are named after liquor.

Even with her cat's dating advice, Daisy has been looking for love in all the wrong places. Darn! When God texted Daisy, after she parked in a church handicapped spot, she forgot to text back, “Where is my soulmate on my phone's map app?”

A laugh-out-loud, feel-good book. ONE OF THE FUNNIEST BOOKS EVER! QUIRKY, WITTY and CLEVER.

Book Video

Excerpt

Her heart stopped at the sound of claws coming down the hallway.

What is that rolling sound?

There was the sound of heavy breathing at the door followed by, “I brought you a bottle of wine, dearie,” the cat said, cackling like an old witch.

She tiptoed over to the door. “I suppose you have a poisoned apple, too, in that filthy paw of yours.”

“I didn’t bring a wormy apple. Would you like a nice unopened bottle of Pinot Noir instead?”

Daisy twisted a fist in her yellow Adult Cinderella nightgown. Her big toe stuck out of her slippers. She did not drink this early in the day or was even up on a Saturday morning, but her sisters had banged on the bedroom window. Aunt Davina slammed a picture of Jesus against the window and screamed, “Pray to God, Daisy, that The Man watching football from the clouds will toss you a husband as good as my John! Maybe you will catch a Matthew or a Peter!”

“I dated a Peter once and he was really a dick,” Daisy yelled back.

Given the day she was having, a morning drink could hit the I-feel-good-about-myself spot right on.

Daisy should act strong and tell the cat to go catch a mouse.

On the other hand, a stiff drink would calm the lizards jogging around her brain. The mind racing was due to her new mad-as-a-hatter relationship with her cat.

“Uh, a glass of wine would be good,” she squeaked.

[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book

“I needed this book right now in my life, it’s been a tough year full of illness and the loss of a beloved aunt, whom might I add was a cat lover. Books find us, I promise you that. I was a giggling nuisance in bed while reading Austin’s story. Sometimes we just need something fun and wacky to escape from the drudgery of life.” ~ Lolly

“This may be the funniest book that has ever been written - my book club has no idea what is about to come into their reading pile. PLEASE WRITE MORE.” ~ Janet Cousineau

“This is book is laugh out loud funny, and I couldn't stop reading it. […] This book is thoroughly enjoyable, with great characters and a refreshingly enjoyable story.” ~ RobynKFLNJ

“This book was hilarious from start to finish!! I was laughing, giggling, verbally agreeing and comparing my past relationship fails throughout this book. […] Read it for a good laugh and an enjoyable happily ever after.” ~ Tonia T. Amet

“I feel like this book is a hidden gem, thankfully I came across it. I love Shakespeare! He is so funny. I've never laughed so much throughout a book. Very amusing story. It seems like Daisy is always looking for love in all the wrong places but she always has her talking cat Shakespeare to pick up the broken pieces. Great Book. First time reading a book by this Author.” ~ Carla

About the Author

Belinda Austin writes Women's Fiction, Romanic Comedy, Humor, Psychological Thrillers and Suspense. She has a degree in Applied Mathematics and once worked as a Software Engineer. She was born in the Los Angeles Area and is an award-winning author. She is a Zumbaholic.

Belinda, also, writes Science Fiction and Fantasy under the name of B. Austin. She writes Historical Fiction under the name of Belinda Vasquez Garcia, along with Middle Grade Fiction.

She has occasionally dreamt or her cat, Shakespeare, talking to her in English. She once had a cat named Whiskey who used to sit like a human in a chair for half an hour or more with an empty beer can on his head, which proves that life often emulates fiction.

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Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win a $10 Amazon or B&N gift card.

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"Drinking the Knock Water" by Emily Kemme

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Drinking the Knock Water:
A New Age Pilgrimage

by Emily Kemme

Drinking the Knock Water: A New Age Pilgrimage by Emily Kemme is currently on tour with Bewitching Book Tours. The tour stops here today for a guest post by the author, an excerpt, and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.

Description

“We all live with ghosts ... Some are those of people who’ve never been born.”

So begins Drinking the Knock Water: A New Age Pilgrimage, the second novel by award-winning Greeley, Colorado author Emily Kemme.

Loosely based on Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, the novel takes on life itself as a pilgrimage. One of life’s biggest struggles is fitting in with the rest of the human race, and an aspect of that is having children. It’s not meant for everyone and yet, true to Darwinian forces, it’s almost expected. Giving birth and then raising a child to maturity is one of the bravest tasks we take on. 

On what was supposed to be a day to celebrate, another cruel outburst from Holly Thomas’ sister-in-law begins a spiral of events that would leave Holly questioning every choice she’d ever made and every belief she held as truth.

Had she done the right thing by her unborn child? Had she given enough, or too much, freedom of choice to her son? Did she truly, deeply know her husband and clinic partner, Roger? And what right had she to counsel infertile couples after her own pregnancies?

With the Fertility Tour only weeks away, a group of unlikely and disparate pilgrims look to her for guidance. But Holly’s life has unraveled in ways she could not have imagined, including a restraining order against her. Will she be able to find her footing and make peace with her choices and herself? Will visiting the religious and sacred feminine sites in England help her regain control or only tear her further apart?

Named a Finalist in Chick Lit by the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Awards, this is a breathtaking novel about family drama and social criticism, written in the tradition of Jonathan Franzen, Anne Tyler, and Jeffrey Eugenides. With searing honesty, Drinking the Knock Water takes readers on an emotional pilgrimage through the relationships that make us who we are.

Excerpt

In a town famous for its ghosts, it was easy to imagine there was one lurking behind every tree. And while Holly knew most visitors to Sleepy Hollow expected movie-inspired visions of the headless horseman, in truth the densely wooded surroundings allowed a more peaceful somnolence. In spite of its thirty-mile proximity to the most populated city in the country, what with New York’s electric hubbub of restless, cosmopolitan energy, there was never a feeling of urgency in the little hamlet, merely a sleepy torpor, a sensing that the world stopped in this hollow of quiet dead.

Whether the town cultivated any sensational image was another question altogether. Holly suspected it did not, at least not year round. Of course, there were the Halloween weekends, prompting arrival of thrill seekers by the thousands, but that was just theatrics. No real ghosts shared the stage.

If there was any spectral unrest, it existed only in the minds of the towns' inhabitants.

Even by the light of early evening in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, where saturated gray skies released rain to drip from the trees, dotted here and there with planted shrubs and summer flowers in fresh bloom, there was a lovely serenity, enhanced further by the rain’s sudden cease. Here, there was nothing to fear.

Holly entered the cemetery through scrolled iron gates wedged between gray quarried stone, which made up the wall bordering the grounds. She jogged up Forest Avenue, turned left on Transit, making her way up Hill Side, and then down onto Cascade, where she left the well-marked gravel path. From there she strode through wet grass crowded with lichened grave stones, some weatherworn and leaning askew, others newly polished with crisp lettering, until she reached the pale little stone marking the grave. At the baby’s feet, a short drop off past the main road, the Pocantico River burbled as it shot over rocky masses. Holly’s one request of Roger and the cemetery’s caretaker was that the site be near water, the giver of life, bringer of tranquility. Knowing how nearly Holly brinked insanity in those days, Roger swiftly supported her wishes; they were lucky to find a small plot in a relatively unpopulated section.

Holly sat next to the grave, nestled the spray into the humped grass covering it, and leaned her cheek against the smooth stone. It was simple and austere, with only a slight scallop of embellishment at the top, befitting a little one who had never breathed air. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply to catch her breath from the run, collecting her thoughts. Above her head, squirrels batted sticks together, hidden away in the leafy trees, a reminder of the unseen life they shared.

Marit always managed to rattle her, either poking fun at Holly’s whims, or sometimes with outright malice, which Holly knew all too well stemmed from their differences in religious outlook. The fact that Arella’s birthday fell on St. John’s Eve didn’t help. For someone as devotedly Catholic as her sister-in-law, celebrating a baby’s life who had never been born, was sacrilege. The saint’s day was meant to celebrate a birth, Marit insisted, and certainly had nothing to do with a baby born dead.

But it wasn’t a topic Holly was willing to think about today, not on Arella’s birthday. Instead, she catalogued her daughter’s gifts:  an enormous stuffed pony for her bed, and a cellphone. She chuckled at that one, recalling Roger’s perplexity.

“Why do you have to get the baby a phone?” he’d asked her the week before when she walked into the house, arms loaded with shopping bags. Holly had exclaimed that Arella wasn’t a baby anymore, she was turning eleven, and every preteen needed a cellphone.

Roger chewed his upper lip for a while, before asking, “Is this along the lines of ‘ET phone home?’”  He had laughed, and so had she. Gifts for Arella were an annual practice in their household, and long gone were the days where Roger made much of a fuss over it. Keeping Holly happy was his primary goal in life, even if that meant some particularly nutsy charges on their credit card every June. His wife’s frenzied activities subsided within a week or so after the birthday celebration, allowing her to settle back into reality, recharged and reaffirmed with the notion that she was doing the right thing by Arella.

She felt warm pressure on her right shoulder, and opening her eyes saw that Millie’s husband, Josiah, knelt at her side on one corduroyed knee, his gnarled hand grasping her shoulder lightly, holding her steadfast. Holly looked up into the old man’s deep blue eyes, shot through with red veins, but firm and gentle in their gaze, and nodded. He stood up slowly and she extended a hand for him to pull, which he did.

“Almost everybody’s there at the cottage,” he said. “Except Edward, but you knew that.” They were both aware that there was no need to explain further; of all the friends and relatives, Roger’s brother had never attended these parties, whether he was in town or off somewhere in the world. For some reason, Josiah enjoyed pointing out this fact to her, a reminder perhaps of which of the two older men in her life she could count on more.

Holly stood immobile, gazing into the tangle of trees rambling up the hillside away from the brook.

He looked at her closely. “We all live with ghosts.”

The motion of her head was barely noticeable. “Yes,” she agreed. “Some are those of people who’ve never been born.”

She looked down at the grave. “I have to leave now, Arella. Your party is starting.” She swept her index finger over the top of the stone, letting it linger on the upward swooping scallop, and then turned to walk with Josiah back up the hill.

[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]

Praise for the Book

“Kemme elegantly examines the complicated aspects of life and relationships. Using Holly's experiences with a failed pregnancy, her in-laws, and Roger, Kemme focuses on how pain can shape and enlighten us. […] Artistically nuanced language and the sincere, soothing tone bring out the true beauty of this literary novel. This is an introspective, gentle novel that illuminates and rejuvenates in the same breath.” ~ The US Review of Books

“... the author often beautifully depicts Holly s self-doubt as she explores different aspects of overcoming trauma ... [in a] positive tale of moving forward through unexpected circumstances.” ~ Kirkus Reviews

“Drinking the Knock Water is at heart an exploration of the role religion plays in the life of an individual. Faith in a god can both connect a soul to others and sow discord. In the end, it's up to the reader to decide if faith is essential or composed of empty rituals.” ~ Manhattan Book Review

Guest Post by the Author

Why I Am Not a Foodie

I took a test the other day because I had symptoms indicating I am a foodie. Everyone told me it was obvious I needed to be evaluated. Friends would dance around the topic, but eventually I’d pry a confession out of them. Sheepishly, they’d scuff the toes of their shoes on the floor and say, “Uh, hate to tell you this, but you’re in denial. I think you’ve caught it. You need to be officially diagnosed.” Most times, they refused to look me in the eye.

Maybe friends were on to something. I write about food, I research food history and preparation methods, create recipes, and obsess about what I will order off the menu at the next restaurant I plan to visit. Cookbooks are relaxing bedtime reading. I can’t enjoy vacation unless I’ve made advance reservations for every night of our stay, and my favorite day of the week is Tuesday, the day I go grocery shopping. Given the choice of an evening watching football or going out for a leisurely dinner and good conversation, food wins every time. At first glance, all signs pointed to the bare truth.

I was having a discussion about this with a friend, centered on which type of regional barbecue sauce we each thought contributed better flavor to smoked pork ribs. In the middle of his declaration that, hands down, a vinegar-based sauce was essential to maximizing intensity of flavor as well as tenderizing the meat, I informed him he was a foodie.

His vehement denial was so forceful I might just have easily accused him of being a puppy tormenter. After calming down, he said he was just enthusiastic about barbecue.

I think the problem begins that any club with a title ending in “ie” isn’t one in which we would like to claim membership. “Foodie” is close to “goodie,” or more accurately, “goodie-goodie.” Change the ending to “er” and it’s not so traumatizing: quilter, runner, photographer, music lover. Somehow, the connotation isn’t the same. People don’t want to be labeled a “foodie,” a word implying hedonism, believing it an obsession with finding the trendiest food fad regardless of cost, sustainability or how obtaining foodstuffs effects our environment. The unadulterated foodie is part of a gentrified clique, a self-centered hobbyist whose focus is more about telling others about the experience than enjoying it for its own sake. But I think there are other reasons for enjoying what we eat.

So, I took the test. I evaluated the genetic makeup of a banana, determined by my correct definition of prix fixe that my college French isn’t as rusty as I had thought, demonstrated a good grasp of world geography by indicating that prosciutto is Italian and Jamón ibérico is Spanish, picked the right answer as to what a plump goose liver is called, and based on my limited math skills, accurately guessed the number of teaspoons in a tablespoon. Although I’ve never watched any cooking show other than a handful of ancient black and white ones featuring Julia Child, I guessed correctly about the premise of the Food Network show, Chopped. I also knew the difference between Ketchup and Sriracha, that Tabasco sauce was produced in Louisiana and that it’s not healthy to clean your plate.

And then I pressed “calculate score” and held my breath. Was I, or was I not a dreaded foodie? It came back at 76 percent, slightly higher than average. I was so relieved.

I returned to what I had been doing before taking the worrisome test. I diced onions in a brunoise, trying to size them as near to one-eighth inch as I could because I knew a smaller cooking surface would allow the onion to dissolve better and thicken my soup. I knew if the onions were diced small enough, I might not have to add cornstarch or flour at the end. And I didn’t want the onion pieces so large we’d be chewing the soup instead of slurping it.

In between recipe steps I reviewed several techniques for poaching eggs, a technique I want to master. I stirred the soup with one hand, and with the other scrolled through my Instagram feed, admiring pretty pictures of meals enjoyed by others, wondering about the angle of the shots and their meal preparation. A photo of beautifully fried buttermilk chicken rolled by and I laughed, knowing I can name every exit on Interstate 80 east to Omaha where there is a Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet.

Learning how to be a more proficient cook doesn’t have to top your to-do list, but curiosity is part of human nature. The Hungarian physicist Nicolas Kurti, host of the 1969 British TV show, The Physicist in the Kitchen, lamented the fact that, “it is a sad reflection on our civilization that while we can and do measure the temperature in the atmosphere of Venus we do not know what goes on inside our soufflés.” Maybe Venus’s temperature isn’t all that important when you’re boiling water for pasta, but the art of slow cooking and knowing what goes on your plate in terms of fat and salt is a proven health benefit.

It’s true, there are people who are snobbish about what and where they eat and there are food writers whose meaning for existence is defined by how cuttingly they can take down a restaurant in a review. Those people sound like you’d need to pop a few antacids after dining with them.

And then there are those sorts, and I’m one, who will order a dish off a menu because they’ve never tasted it before or it’s an interesting preparation. We are the experimenters, adventuring with our palates simply because it’s there. The more you experiment and learn, the more familiar it becomes, taking off that razor-edged sharpness. It’s like going to a rock concert and the band plays your favorite song. You know it. There is awareness and identification of each note. It brings back memories of when you first heard that song.

I write about food to teach others how to prepare it and to show how cooking is fun. I enjoy feeding people because, for me, food is love. If I obsess about what I’ll next order at a restaurant, it’s because I’m relishing the next life experience. Reading about cooking is taking learning to the next step and enjoying grocery shopping is putting my education to work. Food and the art of its creation is my hobby.

The truth about food is everyone needs it. Some of us just like to know what is on our plate a bit more than others.

 Recipe Pork Chops with Sun-dried Tomatoes and Rosemary 

About the Author

As the award-winning author for her novels, Drinking the Knock Water: A New Age Pilgrimage and In Search of Sushi Tora, and on her lifestyle blog, “Feeding the Famished”, Emily Kemme tends to look at the world in all its rawness. She writes about human nature, and on her blog shares recipes and food for thought along with insights about daily life. She is a recipe creator but winces when labeled a foodie. She is the Food and Lifestyle Contributor for the Greeley Tribune’s Dining column and also writes features for the newspaper and its magazine, #Greality.

"I write about what I ate for lunch only if it's meaningful," Emily says. "Mostly, I'm just hungry."

Emily also writes because her degrees in American and English History, followed by a law degree from the University of Colorado, left her searching for her voice. She also suffered from chronic insomnia.

"Writing helps clarify my mind, erasing clutter, and makes room for more impressions. My thoughts can seem random and disconnected, but once they flow onto paper, a coherency and purpose emerges, directing patterns into story. I sleep much better, too."

As an author who lives in Greeley, Colorado, she celebrates people’s differences, noting that the biggest problem with being different is when it’s deemed a problem. Emily often identifies with the underdog, focusing on humanizing the outsider, showing there is not only one right way to be or to live. Through her writing, she hopes her audience will be open to new ideas, the acceptance of others, and will recognize the universalities of human experience in a non-judgmental way as they meet her characters and follow their stories.

Her first novel, In Search of Sushi Tora, was awarded as Finalist for First Novel in the 2012 Next Generation Indie Book Awards and her second novel, Drinking the Knock Water, was awarded as a Finalist in Chick Lit in the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Awards and received two CIPA EVVY awards. Emily is currently working on a children’s book series, Moro and The Cone of Shame, a collaborative project with her daughter-in-law, Mia. She is also writing her third novel, The Man With the Wonky Spleen, a story about human idiosyncrasies.

Professional Memberships: PEN America

Giveaway

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