Informationen zum Autor SHER LEE writes rom-coms and fantasy novels for teens. Fake Dates and Mooncakes is her debut. Like the main character, she has made mooncakes with her favorite aunt and has an abiding love for local street food (including an incredible weakness for xiao long bao). She lives in Singapore with her husband and two adorable corgis, Spade and Clover. Klappentext Heartstopper meets Crazy Rich Asians in this heartfelt, joyful paperback original rom-com that follows an aspiring chef who discovers the recipe for love is more complicated than it seems when he starts fake-dating a handsome new customer. Dylan Tang wants to win a Mid-Autumn Festival mooncake-making competition for teen chefsin memory of his mom, and to bring much-needed publicity to his aunt's struggling Chinese takeout in Brooklyn. Enter Theo Somers: charming, wealthy, with a smile that makes Dylan's stomach do backflips. AKA a distraction. Their worlds are sun-and-moon apart, but Theo keeps showing up. He even convinces Dylan to be his fake date at a family wedding in the Hamptons. In Theo's glittering world of pomp, privilege, and crazy rich drama, their romance is supposed to be just pretend . . . but Dylan finds himself falling for Theo. For real. Then Theo's relatives reveal their true colorsbut with the mooncake contest looming, Dylan can't risk being sidetracked by rich-people problems. Can Dylan save his family's business and follow his heartor will he fail to do both? Leseprobe Chapter 1 Something's burning. Aunt Jade says if the smoke's white, it's all good. But if the smoke is yellow, I'm in trouble. Which means I have to decide whether I should save the fried radish and egg pancake I forgot to flip or the five sticks of pork satay blackening on the grill. As the charred scent wafts through the kitchen, I dive for the sticks of skewered pork cubes. The fat on the meat burns with a ton of smoke, and if the fire alarm goes off and the sprinklers kick in, we're all screwed. Megan snatches the pan with the sizzling pancake off the fire. She shoots me a look. Dylan, weren't you supposed to be watching the chye tow kuay? T-minus three on order number thirty-eight, sixteen xiao long bao! Tim calls through the serving window. He's eleven, so he's not allowed into the war zone, but he's handling the counter like a boss, taking orders online and from walk-ins. Tim wrote an algorithm to crunch data and determine T, the time hangry customers detonate and cancel their orders. And Auntie Heng's still waiting for her Hokkien prawn mee! I'm on the xiao long bao! I snatch the cover off the steamer basket and carefully scoop the soup dumplings into a box lined with waxed paper. Like an unstable element, a xiao long bao has a core of minced pork surrounded by a volatile mixture of soup and wrapped inside a thin layer of dough. If the dough breaks, the soup will leak out. One of us will still eat the ruined dumpling, but we should be selling food, not putting it into our stomachs. Chinese people believe names have a powerful effect on how something or someone will turn out, which is why most restaurants are called some variation of Happy, Lucky , or Golden . Something serene, positive . . . nonviolent. When Aunt Jade set up her Singaporean Chinese takeout here in Brooklyn, New York, she should've known better than to call it Wok Warriors. But maybe there's more truth to our takeout's name than meets the eye. Aunt Jade's a warrior at the stove, tuned out to the chaos and completely focused on conquering her signature stir-fried egg fried rice. The cast-iron wok can burn as hot as the sun, but she doesn't flinch as flames roar up around it. She grips the handle and uses the curved side of the wok to flip the fried rice into the air. Tossing the food nonstop is the secret to ...

Autorentext

SHER LEE writes rom-coms and fantasy novels for teens. Fake Dates and Mooncakes is her debut. Like the main character, she has made mooncakes with her favorite aunt and has an abiding love for local street food (including an incredible weakness for xiao long bao). She lives in Singapore with her husband and two adorable corgis, Spade and Clover.

Klappentext

Heartstopper meets Crazy Rich Asians in this heartfelt, joyful paperback original rom-com that follows an aspiring chef who discovers the recipe for love is more complicated than it seems when he starts fake-dating a handsome new customer.

Dylan Tang wants to win a Mid-Autumn Festival mooncake-making competition for teen chefs—in memory of his mom, and to bring much-needed publicity to his aunt’s struggling Chinese takeout in Brooklyn.

Enter Theo Somers: charming, wealthy, with a smile that makes Dylan’s stomach do backflips. AKA a distraction. Their worlds are sun-and-moon apart, but Theo keeps showing up. He even convinces Dylan to be his fake date at a family wedding in the Hamptons.

In Theo’s glittering world of pomp, privilege, and crazy rich drama, their romance is supposed to be just pretend . . . but Dylan finds himself falling for Theo. For real. Then Theo’s relatives reveal their true colors—but with the mooncake contest looming, Dylan can’t risk being sidetracked by rich-people problems.

Can Dylan save his family’s business and follow his heart—or will he fail to do both?

Leseprobe
Chapter 1

Something’s burning. Aunt Jade says if the smoke’s white, it’s all good. But if the smoke is yellow, I’m in trouble. Which means I have to decide whether I should save the fried radish and egg pancake I forgot to flip or the five sticks of pork satay blackening on the grill.

As the charred scent wafts through the kitchen, I dive for the sticks of skewered pork cubes. The fat on the meat burns with a ton of smoke, and if the fire alarm goes off and the sprinklers kick in, we’re all screwed.

Megan snatches the pan with the sizzling pancake off the fire. She shoots me a look. “Dylan, weren’t you supposed to be watching the chye tow kuay?”

“T-minus three on order number thirty-eight, sixteen xiao long bao!” Tim calls through the serving window. He’s eleven, so he’s not allowed into the war zone, but he’s handling the counter like a boss, taking orders online and from walk-ins. Tim wrote an algorithm to crunch data and determine T, the time hangry customers detonate and cancel their orders. “And Auntie Heng’s still waiting for her Hokkien prawn mee!”

“I’m on the xiao long bao!” I snatch the cover off the steamer basket and carefully scoop the soup dumplings into a box lined with waxed paper. Like an unstable element, a xiao long bao has a core of minced pork surrounded by a volatile mixture of soup and wrapped inside a thin layer of dough. If the dough breaks, the soup will leak out. One of us will still eat the ruined dumpling, but we should be selling food, not putting it into our stomachs.

Chinese people believe names have a powerful effect on how something or someone will turn out, which is why most restaurants are called some variation of Happy, Lucky, or Golden. Something serene, positive . . . nonviolent. When Aunt Jade set up her Singaporean Chinese takeout here in Brooklyn, New York, she should’ve known better than to call it Wok Warriors.

But maybe there’s more truth to our takeout’s name than meets the eye. Aunt Jade’s a warrior at the stove, tuned out to the chaos and completely focused on conquering her signature stir-fried egg fried rice. The cast-iron wok can burn as hot as the sun, but she doesn’t flinch as flames roar up around it. She grips the handle and uses the curved side of the wok to flip the fried rice into the air. Tossing the food nonstop is the secret to capturing the elusive wok hei--the &ldq…