This summer, like millions of readers before me, I devoured George R.R. Martin’s “A Song of Ice and Fire’’ series. It was HBO’s adaptation, “Game of Thrones,’’ that sucked me in, with its treacherous queens, backstabbing advisers, illegitimate children, and quip-happy dwarves, a cross between “Lord of the Rings’’ and “My Sweet Audrina.’’ What’s not to like? But what kept me reading, through five books and some 4,000 pages, was the food. Martin describes the dishes consumed by his characters with mouthwatering, loving specificity.