Pierre mixed the salad. The romaine and cress he doused with walnut oil chilled to an emulsion, turning it with wooden forks so that the bruises showed on the green in dark lines. He poured on the souring of wine vinegar and the juice of young grapes, seasoned with shallots, pepper and salt, a squeeze of anchovy, and a pinch of mustard. At the Faison d’Or the salad was in wedlock with the roast.” (p.24)

Idwal Jones

Tag: mustard anchovy cress faison-d-or pepper-and-salt romaine salad shallots walnut-oil wine-vinegar wooden-forks young-grapes

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He leaned forward to inspect her closer. "Is that all hair?"

... Sudden, overwhelming panic clawed up Cress's throat. With a squeak, she ducked out of view of the camera and scrambled beneath the desk. Her back struck the wall with a thud that rattled her teeth. She crouched there, skin burning hot and pulse thundering as she took in the room before her— the room that he was now seeing too, with the rumpled bedcovers and the mustached man on all the screens telling her to grab her imaginary partner and swing them around.

"Wha—where'd she go?" Thorne's voice came to her through the screen.

"Honestly, Thorne." A girl. Linh Cinder? "Do you ever think before you speak?"

"What? What did I say?"

"'Is that all hair?'"

"Did you see it? It was like a cross between a magpie nest and ball of yarn after it's been mauled by a cheetah."

A beat. Then, "A cheetah?"

"It was the first big cat that came to mind.

Marissa Meyer

Tag: humor thorne cress cinder

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