Victoria Adams: Fussy Eater to Foodie

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Are you a fussy eater? Please welcome Victoria Adams who is going to tell us tell us how a fussy eater incorporates food into her lifestyle and writing. She’s also got some suggestions to make a dessert that will really sparkle (gold, y’all – it’s GOLD).


Victoria

I’m a pseudo-foodie or in other words a – kinda sorta foodie. I’m a very fussy eater. Grew up an only child and there is a much better chance of being a fussy eater in a small family than in a big family. Mom’s rule – if I didn’t like dinner I knew where the peanut butter was. As I grew up my tastes changed – turns out pizza is pretty awesome after all, but some of my dislikes remained. I still dislike tomatoes. I don’t like the mouth feel, but I love tomato soup, ketchup and pasta sauce. Go figure?!?!?!

My “foodiness” really began when my daughter was born – also an only child.  I wanted to feed her foods that were “better” for her than the processed version. Yes we have spaghetti, but I have a pasta maker and make my own – fewer chemicals in it. I make my own peanut butter. Even been known to make my own butter for special occasions.

Where is this leading to? In my latest story, my hero and heroine have dinner at his mansion and he treats her to a fabulous dessert –

Madagascar vanilla ice cream drizzled with a hot fudge sauce made with fifteen different kinds of cacao and the whole thing is presented in a solid gold goblet topped off with edible gold!

My daughter introduced me to Madagascar vanilla and I’ve been using it for several years now. I love the depth of the flavour.

Here is the product description

Taking premium, hand-selected beans cultivated on the Bourbon Island of Madagascar, we use our proprietary cold extraction process to gently draw out and preserve the vanilla’s over 300 flavor compounds. The result is a sweet, creamy, mellow flavor with velvety after-tones, perfect for cooking and baking both sweet and savory dishes. An exceptional “all-purpose” vanilla. All I can add to that is YUM!

Cacao is not a spelling mistake. Of all the foodie things – I’m a chocolate lover. I have books and books of the history of chocolate and how to work with chocolate and recipes dedicated to chocolate. I just love typing the word – chocolate. Cacao is what the base chocolate comes from. It is from the Olmec language (pre Mayan). There is some train of thought in the chocolate world that cocoa is actually just a misspelling of the word cacao and since it is easier to pronounce that version stuck. But for a chocolate foodie the proper word is cacao.

Now to the edible gold – no I’ve never used it, but it worked well for the story. I read an article in National Geographic where the people were drinking vodka with gold flakes in it. I remembered that when I was writing my story so I researched it. Edible gold is really gold. You know, the stuff jewellery is made of. And – it’s okay to eat. Gold is biologically inert which is why dentists can use it. So if you want to impress the heck out of someone, find a package at your local gourmet store and dust your dessert, your coffee or maybe even your pasta sauce with it.

Serendipity Sunday with Edible Gold

This image of a sundae topped with edible gold is from the Serendipity 3 – a restaurant in New York and the cost of the dessert – are you sitting down??? –  $1,000. Nope – not a typo one thousand dollars.

 

 

 

Excerpt from Red Tulip

You know, time does fly. You know what I mean. Those moments when you look up and say, “It’s Thursday? What happened to Wednesday?” or “It’s May already?”

That actually was the question I asked myself as I stared at my morning bowl of black cherry yogurt with walnut oatmeal granola. The kitten calendar on the fridge door read May. My cell phone said May. Who am I to argue with technology?

I guess when tulips stop appearing and disappearing and mysterious messages on paper don’t pop out of nowhere that life settles into a calmer rhythm pretty fast.

In the past four weeks, I’d quit my job, moved out of the closet-size apartment, moved into the gardener’s cottage on the McTavis Estate and took up my internship with Garry Heslop, the retiring head gardener.

Six days a week, I was consumed with studying journals and textbooks, listening and absorbing as much knowledge from Garry as my brain could handle. Every morning, we’d walk around the conservatory and he’d question me on plant genus, fertilizing schedules, or possibly propagation techniques. (Plant propagation – before you go off on some other tangent.) Oh and my favourite – plant DNA. Why did I even care if blue DNA strands made up the pretty pink flower?

But, if I did well, I received a grunt and Garry would rub his chin. Which meant I had to study even harder because the next day’s pop quiz would be harder.

If, on the other hand, I made an error or worse yet, a total FU – you know what I mean. Well, that meant I weeded and weeded and got coffee for Garry until that craggy old face broke into what he called a smile.

But, Saturday night was my favourite night of the week. Freed from Garry’s clutches, I slid into the arms of Shamus. We did see each other during the week. Sneak peeks through the conservancy window. Or quick snatches of conversation while he hid near a bush and I weeded one of the outdoor flower beds.

Last Thursday, Garry caught us chatting by the waterfall. Shamus’s deep voice and sexy blue eyes completely distracting me from the gurgling water spilling over the rocks and splashing into the koi pond. He shoo’d Shamus away with, “I can’t be teachin’ ‘er what she needs to know, if you’re hangin’ ’round getting’ her all giggly and such.

Me? Giggly!?!

Saturday night was supper and a movie with Shamus and Reginald, the sheep dog. Sometimes dinner was lavish, and dessert decidedly decadent; Madagascar vanilla ice cream drizzled with a hot fudge sauce made with fifteen different kinds of cacao and the whole thing is presented in a solid gold goblet topped off with edible gold! We aren’t going to talk about the coffee. Seems it doesn’t come from coffee bean, but a civet cat.

Then there were the less formal affairs – takeout pizza and beer.

It didn’t matter what the food was, I really didn’t taste it. All I focused on was Shamus. It felt wonderful to be with him. So natural. So perfect.

Red Tulip by Victoria AdamsRed Tulip by Victoria Adams

Darcy O’Calahann, a junior gardener from a small mid-western town, is trying to make her way in the big city.

Shamus McRae is a wealthy bachelor with a mysterious family past.

Are Darcy’s eyes playing tricks on her? Is she losing her mind? Or is there really a Red Tulip tying her and Shamus together?

Where to buy Red Tulips

Amazon B & N – US | B & N – Canada |B & N- UK | iTunes | Kobo | Smashwords

 

About Victoria

I’m Victoria Adams. I live in Ontario, Canada with my husband and pets. Daughter’s grown up and is now teaching. I like to garden, cook and study Raqs Sharqi (Egyptian belly dance). I’ve been writing since I was little. Being an only child, long car rides were filled with making up stories in my head about the people I saw out the car window. Now, my writing style has taken a split to contemporary romance for adults and contemporary romance for new adults.

 

Visit Victoria Online:

Blog | Facebook | Facebook  Author | Twitter | Google+ | Amazon | Wattpad

 

 

5 Comments

Filed under Foodie Friday

5 Responses to Victoria Adams: Fussy Eater to Foodie

  1. Thanks for letting me drop by and take over your blog today. I’ll drop by throughout the day and if any viewers leave comments, I love to respond.

  2. Thanks for dropping by. The gold looks like a fab idea for a special occasion!

  3. What an inspiring blog post, Victoria! Vanilla and cacao are two of my very favorite things. I had no idea about the gold. Awesome info. You’ve got my research antennae tweaking now…

    Your story sounds delightful, and I wish you much success with it.

  4. Wow, Victoria. I had no idea you make your own spaghetti and peanut butter. You sold me on Madagascar vanilla and gold flakes. That was very enlightening. What a great post-loved reading