The Food of Love

As I was working on the draft of Marinara (the book, not the sauce) my editor advised me to keep the focus of the series, Italian food, prominent at all times. (Which was a bit like telling me to put my lipstick on before I leave the house.) Let's just say I need reminding about a number of things, but the importance of food isn't one of them.

Ah, a plate of pasta and a taste of the grape--heaven.

It wasn't hard to keep food front and center of the story, since food happens to be front and center of my life. I never understand those people who rush through a meal, or those alien beings who say things like, "I only eat because I have to," or "Food isn't that important to me"--words that cause me to gasp and clutch my Italian heart.

What's more important than a meal lovingly prepared? Than sitting across the table from the people who mean the most to you in the whole world? Than that first taste of your grandmother's Sunday sauce?

Much as I love Shakespeare, he was wrong when he said "Music is the food of love."

Food is the food of love.