What Love Tastes Like Read Online Free PDF Page B

unsophisticated wonder captivated him, made him feel good. Her energy was so unlike Angelica’s, who’d become bored with Rome and increasingly unappreciative of the city’s cuisine. “I’m not crazy about it,” she’d said of Riatoli’s signature scallop dish, the one Tiffany had come to copy and conquer. But where Angelica had become jaded and taken life’s luxuries for granted, Tiffany soaked them up with the appreciation due them. Nick was overcome with the desire to be the one who introduced her to the finer things in life, to his world. He was about to tell her so when Tiffany’s eyes widened and dimples rippled with the smile that broke across her face.
    One glance at her mentor walking in their direction and excitement replaced Tiffany’s nervousness. This was the man who was going to fill her with the knowledge that would bring her closer to her dreams. “Chef Riatoli!” she whispered, when he stopped at her table.
    Chef smiled at her but addressed Nick first. “Signore Rollins. It is my pleasure.”
    â€œAs always, Emilio, the pleasure is mine.” Nick looked at Tiffany and ignored the stab of jealousy that arose at the adoring way she stared at Emilio. “I believe you know my dining companion, Tiffany Matthews?”
    â€œIndeed I do,” Chef Riatoli said. “It is a thoughtful student who tests the dishes she’ll attempt to master.” He finally turned to Tiffany. “Welcome to Roma.”
    â€œThank you, Chef. I hope you don’t mind my coming to your dining room instead of the kitchen on this first visit.”
    â€œIn the company of one of my best customers? Never!”
    Chef Riatoli and Nick conversed a moment more before the sommelier joined them to discuss the wine list. “I’ll leave you to this expert,” Chef Riatoli finished. “But may I suggest the veal for your main course tonight? It’s exquisite, grown especially for our kitchen.”
    â€œWe’ll take your suggestions for the entire meal,” Nick countered easily. Before turning to the sommelier, Nick looked at Tiffany. “Do you prefer sweet or dry?”
    â€œI’m not much of a drinker,” she concluded honestly. “You decide.”
    Nick and the sommelier settled on a Dom Perignon Rosé, to start, as the waiter brought out a basket of focaccia, fresh from the oven. The flat bread was golden brown, topped with fresh tomatoes, basil, and olive oil, and a bowl of red caviar.
    Over the next two and half hours, Tiffany learned about the man named Dominique “Nick” Rollins and ate the best food she’d ever tasted in her life. In between the perfectly cooked scallop appetizer, raw oysters on the half shell (which Tiffany loved, to her surprise), smoked mozzarella salad, and the palate-cleansing chilled celery soup, Tiffany learned about Nick’s latest venture, a boutique hotel, and their shared dream of owning a five-star eatery with a three-star Michelin rating—the highest rating awarded by this industry bible, and a difficult score to achieve. During the fifth and sixth courses, braised monk-fish followed by the medium-rare veal that tasted like ambrosia and melted in their mouths, Nick learned that Tiffany was an only child with an independent streak, a college graduate with a near four-point average, and a delicious mix of contradictions—a feisty woman with a childlike need for the security of a twenty-three-year-old teddy bear. While not spending much time talking about her parents, Tiffany showed open admiration for her grandmother, who’d encouraged her love of cooking. The food Nick and Tiffany ate was accompanied by a chilled Chardonnay, and later a mellow Cabernet Sauvignon. Though she’d only had one glass of each, Tiffany was feeling as warm and fuzzy as Tuffy by the time dessert arrived. The gelato-based treat was a Chef Riatoli original, and the alcohol Tiffany had