The Taste Of Country Cooking の小説・ストーリー

Jaxon held her gaze for a long moment, his hand sliding across the table to lace their fingers together. “Good. Because I’ve got a strict no-trespassing policy when it comes to my girl.” She smirked. “Don’t worry, Brooks. You’re the only one I’m letting slide anywhere.” He choked on his soda. That evening, the scent of chili welcomed them back home—warm and peppery, a signal that her dad was in the kitchen again. Country music hummed from the old radio by the window. They walked in just in time to see her dad stirring a big pot on the stove, a wooden spoon in

she said calmly. I took a spoonful and slowly chewed up. Shamelessly, I was afraid of being poisoned by my own cooking. Gradually I felt the taste of the wonders I served on a plate. It was almost plain, no enticing flavors like Irene's cooking. “It's almost tasteless," I admitted honestly. Irene took another spoonful and smiled.

she says, "in my hometown, we used to cook outside with firewood. You can't imagine the taste of food cooked that way." I grin, licking my spoon. "Wasn't it too hot?" "Oh, it was! The smoke would sting your eyes, and you would cry even if you weren't sad." She laughs again, the kind of laugh that fills a room. I find myself smiling, listening to her stories as she talks about her little village here in Italy, about the festivals, the children running barefoot through the fields, the sound of drums, the smell of roasted meat. Her voice paints pictures in my mind, vivid and colorful, and for a brief moment, I forget about everything else.

I was starving, anything would work. There was a bowl of chicken soup with French bread and orange juice. I was surprised that he even had normal food, but I guess as he planned to take me, he had been preparing for it. “So, how is the food?” I heard Cassius behind me. Of course he would sneak in, that bastard. “It’s good,” I said between gritted teeth. I could feel his breath next to my ear, sending chills all over my body as I tried to hold back the disgust I felt for him.

"Or do you just think you can because nobody's ever told you otherwise?" He grabbed a wooden spoon and pointed it at me like a sword. "You're both are mean." "We're honest," Mila corrected. "Which is basically the same thing to people like us." The three of us fell into this easy rhythm. Jayson actually did know how to cook — he made this incredible garlic butter sauce that made my kitchen smell like heaven. Mila kept making jokes about his billionaire hands doing manual labor. I played mediator while trying not to burn the pasta. At one point, Mila grabbed my phone from the counter and started scrolling through my photos.

I immediately straightened my legs, hoping she hadn’t seen me tiptoe. “How’s my little rebellious daughter doing?” She asked, coming forward to give me a hug. I patted her back, the smell of curry and all the spices she’d used to cook which was strong on her apron flooding my nostrils. “I missed you. We both missed you. Now,” she said, dragging me to the dining room. “Tell me all about your day. Make any new friends? Meet any new boys at school?” She winked. I rolled my eyes.

I take a deep breath and savor the moment, knowing that the day ahead will be filled with challenges and obstacles. Just as I take a bite of the crispy bacon, I can't help but feel a sense of comfort and familiarity. The taste reminds me of my parents' home, of lazy Sunday mornings spent with my family. Charlett's cooking is exceptional, and I can tell that she has put great effort into preparing this meal.

Mad added, finding my hand under the table. As the dinner progressed, Olive suddenly became the icebreaker. She whispered, “Why are you smiling? Why? What is this?” She looked confused, staring at the main course on her plate and back at me. “You asked it.” I hid my smile. “That’s cod. Many countries serve mountain oysters, too.” “Yes, that’s a cow’s penis. Our very own national dish,” Mom joined me. “But it doesn’t taste like penis.” Her brows furrowed as she tried hard to describe the taste.

I will just think that he is a different person here in the countryside. When we stepped into the cozy living room, my eyes immediately locked on the feast laid out on the table. Green tea, perfectly crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and an array of homemade jams and jellies glistened invitingly under the morning sunlight. My eyes practically turned into heart shapes, and I swear I could almost hear my stomach cheering in anticipation. This spread looked like something straight out of a countryside dream. Everything just screamed deliciously. I could already feel myself starting to drool.

"Your food, you shouldn't even call yourself a chef talkless of a cook, this food taste so awful, I mean, we shouldn't judge a book by its cover, it looks good but it tastes bad" "It brings some kind of garbage taste and the texture is ao hard, gosh! I can't even chew" "Don't cook this again, don't ever cook again" "Are you talking to me?" Was I too rude?