What Love Tastes Like Read Online Free PDF Page A

further.
    â€œHe was on tour in the States and conducted a class at our school,” Tiffany continued. “It was mainly on sauces, but he also demonstrated a couple dishes from another of his areas of expertise…seafood. He’s a genius at what he does,” she added, with more than a little admiration in her voice. “My dream is to open a restaurant in LA, one with cuisine similar to Chef Riatoli’s specialties—but with my own interpretation, of course.”
    Nick’s interest in and appreciation for Tiffany grew. Here was a woman after his own heart, with dreams that complemented the future he visualized.
    â€œWhat types of specialties would your restaurant serve?”
    Tiffany sighed and sat back, at ease when talking about her ultimate life goal. It was the first time she’d felt totally comfortable with Nick since they met.
    â€œI’d have several scallop-based appetizers,” she began. “Served in various sauces, richly embodied yet never overpowering the fish’s delicate taste. I love working with asparagus, especially white asparagus, and it’s a perfect complement to this seafood. Chef Riatoli makes a dish that is amazing.” Tiffany’s mouth watered of its own accord as she remembered the dish Chef had prepared in their classroom kitchen.
    I pettini al pomodoro e l’asparago, Nick thought. Emilio’s simple yet succulent pairing of scallops with asparagus was his singularly favorite appetizer in all of Italy.
    â€œWhat about salads,” he prompted after Tiffany had reeled off several more variations on her scallop ideas.
    â€œSimple, clean,” she answered easily. “Too often, cooks make the mistake of putting too many ingredients into their salad creations. Chef Riatoli teaches that less is often more when it comes to marrying flavors. I’ve been playing around with an arugula salad that is nothing but greens, thin slices of fennel and tomato, with a basic vinaigrette that contains—” Tiffany stopped, realizing she was about to divulge a secret ingredient. “That contains a little something extra,” she finished, her mouth pursing with the effort of not blurting out the very essences this man reminded her so much of—maple syrup with a hint of wasabi—sweet and hot.
    The car turned the corner and entered a narrow street, typical of what one would imagine when thinking of Europe. The brick buildings on the left side of the street were adorned with flower-filled balconies and wooden shutters. The right side of the street was lined with cafés, all boasting outside seating enhanced with subdued lighting, candles, stark white linen, and canopies that bathed the setting in splashes of color. Belatedly, Tiffany realized she’d hardly noticed the city, so caught up had she been in sharing her dream menu. But now, as they approached the end of the block, she looked around and began reading the names of the restaurants and designer clothing and shoe shops on the other side of the street. Her heart beat faster as she read one sign that stated simply, Fia’s.
    â€œYou’ll love the area,” Chef Riatoli’s assistant had told her when he’d provided information to help Tiffany’s transition. “And whatever you do, don’t spend all your money at Fia’s.”
    â€œWho’s that?” Tiffany had asked.
    â€œOnly the newest and most sought-after designer in Rome,” the assistant had explained. “Her shop is largely by appointment only, and her dresses are on probably half the actresses you see on the red carpet.”
    Tiffany had assured him that when it came to designer fashions, her money was safe in her purse. Now, had it been a culinary shop, with various pots, pans, and kitchen utensils? Tiffany would have been in trouble. It was designer knife sets, not designer knits, that warmed her blood. But Fia’s is right across the street from where