That was 14 years ago. And
though Pat and I got to know each
other during long, impassioned
discussions about writing and
literature, it was a mutual passion
for food that took our friendship
to another level. Pat was as
intrigued by my down-home
culinary interests as I was by
his more knowledgeable and
adventuresome palate. Initially
I tried to pass myself off as his
epicurean equal. Because I was
a writer and college instructor
who could hold my own in a dis-
Pat was as intrigued by my down-home culinary interests as I was by his more knowledgeable, adventuresome palate.”
cussion of Renaissance poetry,
Pat assumed I was a sophisticate.
It was an assumption I encouraged
but not one I pulled off. Not for
long, anyway.
Two years after we met, Pat
proposed we take a trip to New
Orleans together. It started out
well. After arriving in the legen-
dary French Quarter, we enjoyed
the first of many fabulous meals.
When Pat offered to share his
foie gras, I claimed I was enjoy-
ing my shrimp salad too much
to mingle the flavors. (“People
actually eat goose liver?” is what
I was thinking.) At our next dinner
I was dismayed when the waiter
brought out a gnarled, peculiar-
smelling object and proceeded to
shave it over our pasta. I’d always
wanted to try truffles, but how
could I keep up the sophisticated
facade if the truffle tasted as bad
as it looked? I gamely plunged in
the fork and found the flavor so
delicious, I ate every bite—and
finished off Pat’s plate, as well.
Bestselling author Cassandra King
is currently at work on her fifth
novel, Bridal Falls.
