The Taste Of Country Cooking Novels & Stories

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.

We sat down at the dining table, and Lisa had already piled plates high before we even sat: collards with pot liquor, mac and cheese with that perfect golden crust, ham sliced thick and glazed, cornbread still steaming in the cast-iron skillet, candied yams so sweet they looked like dessert pretending to be a vegetable. The smell was overwhelming in the best way. I ended up between Caleb and an aunt whose name I didn’t catch but who kept calling me “sugar” and passing me the hot sauce like we were already family. And directly across from me sat…

“I thought you don’t eat something like that?” I asked in surprise when he was about to finish what I had cooked. Just early he seemed to be disgust but now he’s greedy. “I ate something like this before when Nanny Daley cooked... I mean, I just tasted it a little. I don’t like the taste. I didn’t eat a lot, but why is yours delicious?” “Ahm, maybe it just depends on how it cooks,” I muttered. “Nanny Daley has even more experience in cooking because she is old. Hmm, do you like cooking?” why is he kinda talkative now.

Just then a little house far above the hill caught her eye. Made of stone with a chimney on the top of the roof, the quaint country cottage evoked a wistful feeling, reminded her of all the comforts of a home. She imagined a mother was baking some pies inside, with her children gathered around a square dining table with a shabby, flower-patterned tablecloth. It called one fine day in the past to mind, when the delicious aroma of a freshly baked pie filled almost the entire of her large country house, she could even smell it from the frontyard. Suddenly she realized just how much she missed her family. How much she missed home.

Anyway, out of curiosity, Mr Jones picked up a spoon and tasted a tiny bit of the soup himself to see if she was just exaggerating. But the second it touched his tongue, his face contorted into a visible grimace. He coughed and reached for his bottle of water, then with a look of disbelief, he asked her “How on earth are you eating this like it’s dessert?” he exclaimed with wide eyes. “That thing is trying to burn my tongue off”. Rachel burst into laughter when she saw his reaction that she nearly choked on potato due to its spiciness. “Dad, that's the best part. It's the spice and the sourness combined which gives it this unique taste.” She told him with a proud look.

My abode was here with them. I breathed deeply, concentrating on the small, everyday movements, adding salt, tasting the broth with my hand, blowing on it softly, trying to taste it for the first time. The flavor had not changed. Perhaps a bit less flavorful, but still maintaining the comforting taste I had. I looked towards the dining table. I observed Liam leaning back and holding his arms tightly from my perspective. He didn't say anything just watched. With the kitchen light he had his hair reflecting off it, and his face now looked much more grown up -- hard as it was but still soft.

He needed to know that he was loved. I smelled my grandma's Tomatie Bredie as soon as I stepped into the house. That smell was a highlight of many of my home-sick dreams. She sent me the recipe one year. Lucas and I tried to cook it a few times. It turned out pretty tasty after the fourth or twentieth time, but it never smelt quite like my grandma's food. She poured the soul of her people into every pot she made us. I could always smell the love before she even dished me a plate. I had missed her food. I wondered if it tasted as good as it did in my dreams.

Charlie grinned, “There’s no hurry. If I use my cutleries now, I won’t be able to help fill your plates anymore!” He took a piece of goose meat with skin as he said that. “Eating the goose meat with its skin tastes the best! You really should try it!” Kathleen nodded, and carefully blew some air on the meat before putting it in her mouth. She made sure the food wasn’t burning her lips before putting it in her mouth. Then, she started chewing slowly. Kathleen’s eyes widened in surprise at the first taste. A rich aroma filled her mouth and taste buds. The strong flavor, coming from a stew simmered in a wood-fired iron pot for a long time, was something she had never tasted in the United States

I dip my head, filling my mouth with the pasta. As soon as it touches my tongue, my lids fall shut. The flavors in the food explode on my tongue, giving my brain a satisfactory itch. As much as I dislike my fiancé’s cockiness, I can’t deny that his cooking is superb. What else is he good at except cooking?