Good Roasts That Rhyme Novels & Stories

The cinnamon-laced aroma had been tantalizing her since her uncle had set it in the oven to stay warm. Aided by a Crock-Pot that had been tenderizing a pot roast all day, Aunt Janet had whipped up the fabulous meal in less than thirty minutes. Buttery sweet potatoes and tender green beans sautéed with shallots and pine nuts accompanied the pot roast, which was quite simply the most tender piece of meat Leesa had ever tasted. The succulent beef seemed almost to melt in her mouth, and the gravy was to die for. It was the best dinner she had ever eaten, and she hadn't even tasted Uncle Roger's pie yet.

Axel Roe is peeking at me with her glistening amber pair of eyes. I'm glad she stayed for dinner. Roe didn't tell me who my ex was, so I decided to move on and just cooked her dinner. "Dig in." The aroma of honey glaze and teriyaki sauce fills the air. "What is this? Some chicken with brown sauce?" I laugh at her clear no, idea demeanor. "Silly girl, it's Chicken Teriyaki; I ate it numerous times at the Japanese restaurant, one of my favorites; I must say, come one try it, you won't regret it."

“Five minutes. Also, the argument couple RSVP’d. Separate chairs.” Marcus laughed. “Progress.” Staff meeting in the kitchen felt like church, plus knives. Rory stood on a crate. “Family,” he said, which meant everyone. “We’re approved—trial month. We do it careful. We do it kind. We do it like your mother is trying to nap upstairs.” Cheers. Pots clanged. Someone whistled the hymn. “And,” Rory added, glaring for no reason except tradition, “Copper Pot is sniffin’ around our block. I got two words: out-cook and out-love. That’s one word with a hyphen and another that’s a command.”

CARRIE The kitchen smelled divine hours later, after we've had our shower. A comforting mix of roasted tomatoes, garlic, and herbs lingered warmly in the air as I stood over the stove, stirring the final pot of what my late mom used to call ‘Rustic Harvest Stew’, a hearty blend of roasted carrots, tomatoes, and baby potatoes simmered slowly in a savory broth. It wasn’t anything fancy, but there was something deeply satisfying about cooking with vegetables we had just picked from our own garden.

But I refused to slow down. Victoria, ever the peacock, marched over to me. “You have to make sure the rib is roasted to a perfect golden brown crust on the outside and tender within,” she said in her usual snappish tone. “That’s how the Minister of Finance likes it. The Minister of Trade and Commerce prefers fried chicken dipped in buttermilk, then coated in flour before frying. And don’t forget to serve it with corn on the cob and coleslaw—”

I smiled to myself, assuming this was her attempt to keep her locks out of her face while cooking. Roxy was so absorbed in her culinary endeavors that she hadn't noticed my approach, a testament to my ability to move silently. I slid onto a stool at the bar, and my voice broke the quiet. "This smells amazing." Roxy spun around, her eyes sparkling with delight as they met mine.

I can tell he loves that name. Any girl will be lucky to have him. But if she hurts him I’ll beat her ass. So right now it is just me and Goof in the house while I make dinner. I’m slicing potatoes when there is a knock on the door. Goof goes to check it out. I hear the door open and close but don’t pay attention. I know Goof has it. I hear “ Where is my sexy girl?” Rocket, of course it is. Goof brings her into the kitchen. “ Oh, just in time for dinner. What are you making me?” Rocket asked. I laughed, “ I’m making Barbecue chicken, potatoes au gratin and seared asparagus.” “ Look at you being all domestic, making dinner for your husband.” Rocket chuckled.

This is making me want to disappear back into work just to avoid the awkwardness of realizing how much I’ve missed. “So, you have to guess which one is made with mayonnaise,” Rook says, his tone way too amused. “Excuse me?” I stare at him. “Yeah, we got bored and decided to test your pancake skills. Good luck,” he laughs, holding out the plate. “If I take a bite of it, expect it to be spat in your face. I hate that shi…ny stuff.” God, that was an epic fail at not swearing. Rook bursts out laughing, bending over like he physically can’t handle it. “That was the best thing ever!” He wipes his eyes, still grinning.

Haters gonna hate. Mat was already at a table, with a pile of food and he waved at us. I waved back with a smile and Kami waved as well. We got in line for food and I turned to Tristan, slinking my arm through his, “Any recommendations on what’s good?” I asked, smiling up at him. “All of it is good, but the roast beef is usually the best.” “I’ll try that then.” I loaded my own plate with roast beef, brussel sprouts, squash, zucchini and a bit of teriyaki chicken as well and some mashed potatoes with gravy.

They know the King and the Queen are sleeping in different wings. They place the platters on the table. The smell hits me first. It isn't a drift. It is a wave. Roast lamb. It is cooked with rosemary and garlic, swimming in a rich, dark gravy made from the drippings. It is heavy. Oily. Pungent. The smell of cooked meat and animal fat fills the room, suffocating the delicate scent of the roses. My stomach lurches. It is a violent, physical contraction. My throat closes up. Saliva floods my mouth—the body’s warning signal before a purge.