The Cook Of Castamar Novels & Stories

Expressing their gratitude for Nerissa and Madissa's tireless efforts, each member gathers around the forge, eagerly anticipating the nourishing meal that awaits them. With the final jar sealed and nestled among its companions, the sisters join the rest of the group by the forge. Marine, the skilled cook of the team, expertly prepares a steaming pot of gelled soup, utilizing the fresh ingredients that were set aside for immediate breakfast needs. The soup is a delightful medley of flavors, with an abundance of marine delicacies carefully incorporated.

“Oh damn girl.” “Is it okay.” Rosalie asked worried. “Oh damn girl. Is it good?” Mama Chika smiled happily. “Ryan, get over here. You got to try this.” “Yes ma'am.” The cook spoke cleaning his hands on his white apron. He wore black pants and a white t-shirt. He was clean shaven and very lean. He wasn’t muscular but not fat either. His dark skin was slick with grease from the fryers he was cleaning. He looked between both ladies as he walked over.

“Deserts are ready?” Castelo, the main chef of the kitchen in the castle, shouted to his sous chef, who had everything under control. They have been working on the menu since yesterday. Some desserts needed to sit in the fridge overnight, the same as spiced meat which they are going to serve at today’s event.

Instead of heading to the grand, lonely dining hall, Rosalie turned on her heel and walked straight toward the castle’s main kitchen. As she pushed open the heavy double doors, the rich, intoxicating aroma of roasted garlic, melting butter, and fresh herbs washed over her. The kitchen was massive, bustling with life, but the main cooking station was currently under the watchful eye of Marta, the head maid. Sitting at the long wooden prep table were Parsha and Jenny, two younger maids who were busy chopping root vegetables. "My Luna!" Marta gasped, nearly dropping a heavy copper pan as she quickly bowed. Parsha and Jenny immediately scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with surprise.

Vivo told André exasperatedly. I watched them in tension. "Eat while it's hot." Russo told me as he turned to him. He blocked his path and shot him a menacing look. "I don't care about your rules, Vivo. Whenever my wife is hungry, food must be served to her." Russo told him intensely. Vivo snorted and turned to me. My body tensed up. Amateo's smile broadened. Why was he creating problems for me? Vivo offered me a soft smile. "Hello, madam. I'm Vivo Gallo, the chef at the Moretti mansion. You don't need to worry about any rules. These are meant for the tough boys." He said waving his hand at them.

Fresh buns and two thermo glasses of hot coffee appeared from the bag that the cook gave to Zarq. I hurriedly shoved the food into my mouth without tasting it. All my thoughts were occupied by my father. We slowly climbed to the top. Zark was silent. I tried all the way to figure out where we were going. “Come,” Zark stopped abruptly and I ran into his back. - Where did you come? He gestured at a small slab of black marble near the top, stepping back so I could get a good look. On the stove in golden letters in the rays of the morning sun burned the inscription: “Alexander Kedano. Head of the Southern Clan."

The former Demon tried to hold back his loud wailing, only to make nearly as loud sniffles and snuffles. "No, I already knew you. At least, by reputation. There aren't many green creatures out there in the world. My name is Cook. I am Liam Martelli's husband." Cook's deep, strong voice hitched at the word. "His no-fur, I mean. Everyone probably knows I'm not really a tom by now."

“And from the looks of things, you could use it.” Hal returns shortly after they sit down for dinner, gathering at a low table on his floor, their priest occupying a space at the head of the table opposite Regina. Castile is a halfway decent cook, not as good as Hal, but it’s his turn tonight and he’s insisted. All of them are hungry enough after the day’s events that even if the food isn’t perfect, none of them complain.

“You. Come with me.” He led her not to the bustling main floor, but to a small, soundproofed office behind the kitchen. It was Spartan: a desk, two chairs, a cabinet. He closed the door. The distant music vanished. “Sit.” She sat. He remained standing, leaning against the desk, looking down at her. “Lia Moretti. Castellammare del Golfo,” he said. It wasn’t a greeting. “Tell me about the festival of Santa Fortunata. What’s the traditional dish served at the procession?”

Chapter 7: Scarlett “Bee?” Confusion clouded my mind as I stared at the boy, trying to decide if this was a joke or not, but before he could reply, the cook, came to with a basket full of ingredients. “I am Bantu, the head maid and just like Bee said, we are all at your service too.”