Spotlight & Giveaway: Best Served Hot by Amanda Elliot

Today, HJ is pleased to share with you Amanda Elliot’s new release: Best Served Hot

Two restaurant critics learn their opposing tastes might make for a five-star relationship in the next foodie romantic comedy from the author of Sadie on a Plate.

 
By day, Julie Zimmerman works as an executive assistant. After hours, she’s @JulieZeeEatsNYC, a social media restaurant reviewer with over fifty thousand followers. As much as she loves her self-employed side gig, what Julie really wants is to be a critic at a major newspaper, like the New York Scroll. The only thing worse than the Scroll’s rejection of her application is the fact that smarmy, social-media-averse society boy Bennett Richard Macalester Wright snagged her dream job.

While at the Central Park Food Festival, Julie confronts the annoyingly handsome Bennett about his outdated opinions on social media and posts the resulting video footage. Julie’s follower count soars—and so does the Scroll’s. Julie and Bennett grudgingly agree to partner up for a few reviews to further their buzz. Online buzz, obviously.

Over tapas, burgers, and more, Julie and Bennett connect over their shared love of food. But when the competitive fire between them turns extra spicy, they’ll have to decide how much heat their relationship can take.

Enjoy an exclusive excerpt from Best Served Hot 

To set the scene: Julie reviews restaurants on social media, and Bennett reviews for a prestigious newspaper. After a video of them arguing at a food festival goes viral, they’re pushed into doing reviews together for the clicks. A first disastrous attempt leads to them getting kicked out of the restaurant. Their second attempt follows…

“Let’s pick our food,” I said nonchalantly, lifting up the menu and propping it up on the table like an elementary schooler putting up anti-cheating folder dividers on their desk. “I want the pulpo.”
A moment of silence. I kind of wished I could see his face, but I didn’t lower the menu. “Fine,” he said at last, just as coolly.
I marked the octopus down on my phone to order. To be quite honest, octopus wasn’t my favorite protein, but I was definitely going to feature it, if only because I knew Bennett didn’t like it. And then we haggled away. “There are a lot of potatoes on your list,” Bennett said from behind the menu. “I’d like a little more variety.”
I lowered the menu to respond. “There’s plenty of variety. There’s potatoes with cheese, and fried potatoes with sausage, and sautéed potatoes with ham on top of them.”
“That’s too many potatoes.”
I wrinkled my nose. “There’s no such thing as too many potatoes. That’s like saying a dish has too much butter.”
“I’ve definitely had dishes with too much butter,” Bennett said. “Makes them greasy.”
“Oh my God, that’s blasphemy,” I cried. The men at the table next to us looked over, askance. But I didn’t lower my voice, just my menu, because blasphemy deserved volume. And eye contact. “There is no dish that isn’t made better by more butter. Nothing.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it, and closed it again.
“See,” I said triumphantly. “You can’t think of anything, can you?”
“I wasn’t even trying to think of anything,” he said stiffly. “I want to try this orange salad with the olives. And the pan con tomate.”
“Tomato bread? Boring.”
“What you mean is that it doesn’t photograph well,” said Bennett.
“What I mean is that it’s just tomato and bread,” I said. “Boring.”
“Pan con tomate or bust.”
“Fine,” I relented. “As long as I get all my potatoes.”
“Fine. Get all your potatoes.”
Soon enough, the food arrived, and I snapped preliminary photos of it all. “Don’t touch anything,” I directed Bennett; he froze with his fingertips on a patata brava. “Not until I’m done with my photos.”
“Everything’s going to be cold by the time you’re done,” he grumbled. “No wonder people don’t take online restaurant reviewers seriously. How are we supposed to judge cold food?”
The back of my neck prickled with annoyance. I bit my tongue to keep from snapping back. Because he wasn’t entirely wrong, was he?
“There,” I said, putting my phone next to my plate. It hit my knife with an extra loud ting. “Go ahead. Savor your lukewarm food.”
Of course, the first plate he went for was the tomato bread. He cut it carefully in half with his steak knife; he didn’t lose so much as an extra crumb on the plate. A true skill. He closed his eyes as he bit into his half. It crunched. A few drops of clear red juice dripped down his wrist to the table. I watched their sinuous path for a moment, then took my half and bit into my own piece with vigor.
It was good. Really good. The bread was earthy and chewy, crunchy on the bottom and meltingly soft on top, and rather than rubbing the bread with tomato as in a traditional pan con tomate (yes, I’d done my research), the raw tomato had been shredded and mashed and spread on top, a cool, sweet, tangy contrast to the bread. A hint of garlic spoke up in the back of my throat; anchovies whispered somewhere underneath, the salt and the brine making everything else taste sweeter. I didn’t know I’d closed my eyes, too, until I was swallowing and realized I couldn’t place my next bite.
(They enjoy the rest of their food.)
Bennett said, “Okay, I have to take my photos of the restaurant for the Scroll’s social media page. We’ll come back on a different night to get official photos of all the plates, but . . .” He trailed off at the sight of my stormy expression. It would sure be nice to have the budget for that. “It doesn’t matter. Smile?” He raised his phone.
I did not smile. “You want me to be in your photos?” I asked. “I thought we were just going to share pictures of the food.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “I just wanted a . . .” He stopped and licked his lips. “I just thought you looked . . .” He sighed. “No, we don’t need to take pictures of each other,” he said. He rubbed at the side of his face, his eyebrows scrunched. “I’ll just get the decor.”
I folded my arms across my chest. I wasn’t cold. I didn’t feel like he was staring at me. I just . . . I don’t know. I felt like I needed to guard myself against something. “I already got mine.”
Even though he wasn’t specifically taking a photo of me, the flash hit my eyes anyway. For a moment, I saw stars.

Excerpted from Best Served Hot by Amanda Elliot Copyright © 2023 by Amanda Elliot. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

Excerpt. ©Amanda Elliot. Posted by arrangement with the publisher. All rights reserved.
 
 

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Meet the Author:

Amanda Elliot is the author of several young adult and middle grade books as Amanda Panitch. She lives in New York City, where she owns way too many cookbooks for her tiny kitchen.

Buy links: https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/671828/best-served-hot-by-amanda-elliot/