Good Roasts That Rhyme Novels & Stories

The aroma hit me first…savory, buttery, warm. Food. Actual food, not the kind I’d scraped together over the past few years. My stomach rumbled like a betrayer, as if all my principles and pride dissolved under the scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and… was that chocolate?

Over time, he also gained some cooking skills. It was undeniable that Darryl's roasting technique was good. After a while, the deer legs were roasted to golden brown and the meat was fragrant.

The full moon is 4 days away and I don’t plan on hiding from the pull of the bond this time around. I’m not the best cook, but I can do a few things well. I’m good on a grill, so I have a couple of ribeyes cooking on my charcoal grill. I love the flavor that coats a steak when it’s cooked over charcoal versus a gas grill. I made some roasted potatoes with rosemary and garlic for our side dish. I didn’t think to get wine, I only have whiskey; I hope she likes that. I facepalm myself at my lack of planning.

Honestly, I hate arguing and so I switch my phone off after replying to him and I sit on the couch with my arms crossed. Roxy had gone with my mom back at our house and now she's back with chicken in a large bowl. "I know you're not a stress eater, but I brought chicken, now finish up your bacon and we'll dig into this chicken in a bit." She's actually very serious saying this but I find it very funny and I laugh. Scott joins in too. "What? Good chicken, over thy heart broken, is the best way for thy smile to awaken. So hath the Shakespeare in me spoken," she remarks in a poetic tone.

From the adjoining kitchen, a perfume of spices lurked around his head. He was invited to the dining room where he was shown his meal. "I hope you'll like it," Elizabeth said, smiling impatiently. He read the expression and opened the cover to reveal a Sunday Roast! His favourite. Now just in case you're not familiar with British foods, a Sunday Roast is made up of roasted meat (beef, chicken, lamb or pork; here it was lamb), roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, stuffings, vegetables (usually a selection of parsnips, Brussel sprouts, peas, carrots, beans, broccoli and cauliflower, not necessarily all, even though this one did have all) and gravy. As he pulled the cover lid up, he was enveloped

“Now. How about grilling that bacon and serving my famous roasty potatoes!” “Our roasty potatoes.” Gage quipped. “It’s now our family recipe. And before we eat, time for one last family hug!” The End.

Someone—probably Grammy—had outdone themselves. Roasted venison glistened with herbs, its juices pooling beneath. Piles of golden rolls steamed, their crusts soft enough to melt at the first bite. Stews bubbled in heavy pots, thick with carrots, potatoes, and rich broth. Freshly churned butter sat in little clay bowls, waiting to be slathered over corn on the cob roasted until sweet and smoky. Sweet cakes dusted with powdered sugar peeked from platters, and pitchers of berry wine and honey mead gleamed like liquid gems. Tora was the first to break the reverent silence. “If anyone touches that roast before me, I swear I’ll bite your fingers off.”

He walked up next to Rooster and said, changing the subject, “Smells good.” Rooster grunted. “Not ready yet. I used some of them green peppers you like from New Mexico. Sauce tastes all right, but there isn’t no kick.” He glanced furtively at Jones. “Okay, Roo,” said Jones, knowing what was coming. “Spit it out.”

argued Roam. I scoffed, “Yeah, it doesn’t work that way pal. And what happens in two weeks when our truce has ended, Alpha Roam. Will you and your wolves storm my land and drag me and Rand off kicking and screaming back to your caves?” My anger flared and one did not need wolf senses to know it. The sizzle of eggs, bacon, ham, sausage, onions, cheese, and peppers filled the air but did little to cool the rising tension. This time, not even meat would distract me. I narrowed my eyes on my brute mate.

“Roast chicken is a classic ‘catch a husband’ dish.” Anne colors up a little. “I’m just being polite.” “Oh polite? That’s what they’re calling it now?” It feels great to act somewhat normal again.