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“Man, no wonder Kat left you. You smell, your hair is knotted, and you haven't shaved in how many days? Forget fighting the gallu. One whiff of you would kill them." He looked at Kish as he stood up. "Don't strike a match. The alcohol fumes alone would send him up like a Roman candle."

"Shut up," Sin snarled as he got up and grabbed the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel's off the coffee table. He headed for his bedroom so that he wouldn't have to put up with their nagging anymore.

At least that was the plan, but the walls were so thin, he couldn't help but overhear them.

"When was the last time he changed those clothes?" Damien asked.

"I think it was the last time he bathed ... the day Kat left."

Sin heard the sound of glasses clinking together.

Damien cursed. "How much shit is he drinking?"

"Let me put it to you this way ... I restock the cabinet twice a day now."

"Damn, how can he fight the demons and be that wasted?"

"I think you were right earlier. He strikes a match and breathes at them. Like a human blowtorch.”
― Sherrilyn Kenyon, Devil May Cry

“She told the audience that they were going to make a fine old chestnut, Baked Alaska. "First you have to have a soft meringue, at just the perfect stage." The camera went in for a close-up of the meringue. "We have six egg whites, superfine sugar, and vanilla, with some cream of tartar to keep them stable. Are they ready, Danny?"
"Not quite," he said and ran the machine for a few seconds. "There." He removed the bowl and held it out for Sally to see.
"Stiff, but not dry," she said. "But we'd better be sure." And she rested an egg on the whites and told the audience that it should sink in exactly one inch. "Perfect. Let's put the Baked Alaska together."
Sally brushed the cake with rum-flavored sugar syrup while Danny explained what it was; then Danny turned the ice cream out on top of the cake and Sally pulled off the plastic wrap. They filled their pastry bags and swirled on the meringue. Sally beamed at Danny and said that everyone should cook with a friend. "It's so much more fun." Danny dusted the cake all over with powdered sugar and then reached under the counter and pulled out a blowtorch. Sally looked at it and said, "Huh," then pulled out a blowtorch twice the size and grinned at Danny.
"Yours is kind of small. Can it do the job?"
"We'll see," he said and together they torched the dessert.”
― Nancy Verde Barr, Last Bite

“Half the food that he sends out is raw: ruby cubes of tuna dressed with a heaping mound of fresh wasabi; sea grapes the size of ball bearings that pop like caviar against the roof of your mouth; glistening beads of salmon roe meant to be stuffed into crispy sheets of nori.
The other half gets the blowtorch treatment. Tuna is transformed into a sort of tataki stir-fry, toasted, glazed with ponzu, and tossed with a thicket of spring onions. Fish heads are blitzed under the flame until the cheeks singe and the skin screams and the eyes melt into a glorious stew meant to be extracted with chopsticks. Even sea urchin, those soft orange tongues of ocean umami, with a sweetness so subtle that cooking it is considered heretical in most culinary circles, gets blasted like a crème brûlée by Toyo and his ring of fire.”
― Matt Goulding, Rice, Noodle, Fish: Deep Travels Through Japan's Food Culture