Novel & Cerita Tasting History Cookbook

"I'll get another one. Don't worry." He nodded, then turned. "I see you're a fan of Cheetos. Aren't they a bit too spicy, or do your taste buds just not work?" "And you think you have great taste?" He raised a brow, genuinely offended. Got it. Do not mess with his Cheetos. "You literally chose chocolate chip biscuits." He rolled his eyes. "Talk about boring taste." My brows furrowed. "You can insult me, but leave my biscuits out of this." I reached for the biscuits, but this idiot had placed them on the top shelf earlier.

And then she saw the books. She gasped, her eyes widening and her hand covering her mouth. Leather-bound volumes with gold-embossed titles: Escoffier's Le Guide Culinaire, a culinary Bible. She knew the name. Every chef did. More treasures followed: Essentials of Italian Cooking, and tomes of French, Japanese, African, Latin American cuisine. The collective knowledge of culinary masters from around the world. A lifetime of learning, pressed into the spines right before her eyes. She felt her throat tighten so much that she was breathless for a moment.

And then proceeded to the kitchen to double-check and prepare the ingredients for the menu. When he entered the kitchen, he projected a domineering personality and started prepping the dishes he'd serve later. Everyone is busy, so the kitchen is noisy: the sharp banging noise of the casserole, the fast chopping sounds of knives on cutting board, the rattling sounds of plates being washed, the blazing fire soaring high coming from the wok because of the liquor that was poured on it, and the delicious smell of the food that will make you want to taste it right away.

“God help me, you’re my sous-chef.” A tasting menu’s purpose was best described as amuse-gueule: amusement for the mouth. Small portions kept taste buds in a state of attention, while creative presentation seduced the eyes. Flavors could be subtle, but they had to communicate. I am basil. I am lamb. Do I not blend magically with my companions? Ideally, courses took diners on a journey: from surprise to delight, from pungent to delicate. Childhood memories could be evoked or exotic global trips. If food was emotion, a tasting menu was a tale packed with adventure. Creating one proved a chef possessed imagination as well as skill.

I hadn’t eaten that morning and now my stomach had sensed food, it found it necessary to alert me and everyone else of the fact. I was surprised when I saw the food. It wasn’t actually bad. There was a variety of choices you could make, and so unlike the food that always looked like someone had just vomited the ingredients that was sold at my old school. “You’re either really daring or just really stupid,” the girl in front of me said. She was several inches shorter than me even with her high black heels that matched her all black outfit. The only other color on her was the purple eye shadow she was wearing. She pulled off the goth girl look, but compared to her, my dressing felt less ridicu

Percival carried the dishes to the dining table. It was just the two of them for dinner, with Mabel's portion set aside. To Percival, this seemed superfluous; servants usually had their meals prepared separately. Percival picked up his utensils and sampled the boiled greens. The dish appeared simple but was actually a test of culinary skill. Undercook it, and it would taste bitter; overcook it, and it would lose its flavor. He took a bite and found it perfectly cooked. The taste was refreshing, and the broth was delicious. This was his first time tasting Eulalia's cooking, and he was pleasantly surprised. It was as if she had tailored the dish to his palate.

A chaotic, emotionally damaged campus king became obsessed with the one man he can’t control. Everyone at Blackthorne College wants Professor Vincent Hale. Nathaniel Laurent is the only one obsessed enough to ruin himself over him. Nathaniel Laurent is the kind of student professors warn each other about. He's rich, reckless, beautiful, and violent. A campus king with a charming smirk and a talent for getting under people’s skin. Especially Professor Hale’s skin. Teaching human sexuality at Blackthorne College means Vincent Hale has dealt with shameless students before, but none like Nathan. The infamous bisexual troublemaker seems determined to turn every lecture into a game of p

I took in slow bites, chewing as I tried to dissect the taste in my mouth. The eggs were overcooked, while the sausages were forty percent undercooked. The toast was hard and the coffee bland. The chef who made this food would need some more practice. To any other person, this is a decent meal but in my head, I always strive for perfection in my cooking and try to taste and dissect flavors. Maybe it’s a gift, but I could perfectly dissect food and taste all the flavors and spices used to make them, seeing the perfection or flaws, and all within one bite. I can list all the ingredients used to make a meal without being present when it was made, just by tasting it.

I caught Rachel squeezing Ezra’s hand as she got up. “Alpha Ezra, shall we move to the lounge? We’re planning on moving to a bigger house one with a TV room and a drawing room,” Marcella said. Ezra chuckled. There was that enticing sound again. “You want a house better than mine.” “I’ve got another bottle,” Dad said, followed by a drunken laugh. Yeah, drinking wasn’t his thing. I dumped my bag on the chair Jade left and piled up the dishes. They had prawns with creamy pasta. I loved prawns. They had space for dessert too. There was none of anything left.

I pushed lightly against him, but he didn’t budge—not even an inch. “M-Mr. Hale… don’t do this.” I doubted he even heard me. “I’ve been wondering,” he murmured, “what flavor is on your lips now, Leah.” My brows knit. “Flavor?” “Yes. When I kissed you earlier, you tasted sweet—like strawberries.” His gaze dropped to my mouth, darkening. “I’m wondering if it’s still the same.” Without realizing it, I wet my lips. “I… I’m not sure.”