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Quote by Anoir Ou-chad

“I was haunted by a painful desire for her, like the thirst of a voyageur in the desert. My feelings burst. Regret panged within me.”

Quote by Anoir Ou-chad

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Lemon Twist

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Anoir Ou-chad

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“Lela wußte von alledem nichts. Sie hatte nur Augen für Fritz, der sich jetzt zur Seite wandte, wo eine junge, blonde Frau am Flügel saß und zu ihm aufschaute. Als Lela dieses neue Gesicht sah, erstarrte etwas in ihr. Unwillkürlich rückte sie auf ihrem Stuhl etwas vor, um näher hinsehen zu können. Was war das? Diese Frau hatte Fritzens Gesicht – nur schöner, weicher, liebreizender, und jetzt lächelte sie ihm aufmunternd zu, und er lächelte mit einem kurzen Nicken des Kopfes zurück. Die beiden verstanden sich, und nun wußte Lela auf einmal, warum Fritz keine Angst hatte. Natürlich – sie war da, und wenn sie da war, war alles in Ordnung.”

“He let his fingers tease her until she uttered soft cries. Stella spread her legs further and wider as his hand explored, touched, and pleasured every part of her womanhood. She untied her outer bodice and lifted her breasts so they spilled from her corset. Her hands rubbed and played with her nipples. She knew what excited Bartolomeo. He continued to pleasure her while she touched herself, and he stroked his erection until he was near to bursting. Finally, he pulled her forward and slid into her, and her exclamation was louder than either of them expected. She clamped a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed. He did not release her. Instead, he slowed his motion, and once he felt sure no one could have heard them, he began to rock against her, deeper and harder. The bed began to creak, but he was lost in the depths of his desire. When she reached her climax, her cries more urgent and sustained, he lost control and spilled into her, his hips bucking a few more times. His legs threatened to give way with pleasure and exhaustion.”

“The evening Bartolomeo left her the radish rose, he also ignored the words of her gray-haired mother and gave Stella an extra serving of pappardelle, made fresh from ricotta, eggs, and goat milk, fried to perfection and dusted in sugar. They were called "gobble-ups" for a good reason, and the principessa was pleased to indulge, that is until her mother bade Bartolomeo to take the plate away. She glared at her mother and snatched one last fritter. Sugar coated the edge of her pretty lips and Bartolomeo thought he might swoon. He would give anything to kiss the sweetness away. The rose was gone when he went to clear the plates. He could only hope she had secreted it away in the finely embroidered saccoccia hanging at her hip.”

“We had sausages of pheasant, sweet melon relish, and a patina of small fry. Was that your doing?" I gathered my courage and hoped my voice did not shake. I remembered that patina- an egg custard of which Maximus was quite fond. "Yes. The sweet melon relish was something new that I was trying." "How long did you work for Maximus?" "I ran his kitchen for a year before he died. He was fond of entertaining." My mind raced. Apicius was certainly interested in my cooking but what if this man was as cruel as Bulbus? Apicius raised an eyebrow at me. "Can you make roasted peacock?" "Yes. I have a recipe for peacock with damson raisins soaked in myrtle wine. It works equally well with partridge or duck. I'm sure you would find the dish to your liking." I wiped sweat off my brow. "What do you consider your specialty?" "There are three," I answered, raising my voice in order to be heard over the din of the market. "My ham in pastry, with honey and figs, has often been praised, but I have been told it is equaled by my truffles with pepper, mint, and rue. I can also make you a dish of roasted salt belly pork with a special mixture of garum, cumin, and lovage.”

“Vatia was no longer looking at me; she was rolling a round of dough around one of the hams, which had been scored, smeared with honey, and stuffed with figs. Her method was precise and the dough formed perfectly around the meat in a way I had never been able to achieve before. "I see what you mean about chilling the dough," I said, amazed. "This is what I wanted to show you." She directed my gaze toward a few strangely cut pieces of dough in front of her. "I don't understand." "Watch." She picked up the pieces and attached them to the pastry-wrapped ham, her thin fingers carefully sealing the pieces of dough to the ham by dipping them in water. In a few moments she sat back. "It's a pig!" I exclaimed, pleased with the ears and snout she had added to the ham. "I hoped you would like it," she said, her voice filling with pride. "I had the idea when you first told me what we were doing. I had a pig pictured in my mind and thought it might be pleasing to guests if I could re-create it." "Do you think they will bake without issue?" I asked, worried. "They should. Also, I thought I would brush them with egg so they are shiny when they come out of the oven." "Please do." I could not take my eyes off the little pig. It was brilliant and I wished I had thought of it.”

“What's next?" he asked. "We need to grind some pepper." I pushed the mortar toward him, then poured a generous handful of peppercorns into the stone basin. "And silphium?" I gave him a genuine smile then. Silphium was a precious herb I used in many of my dishes, but in recent years it had become quite scarce and costly. It had a taste that was reminiscent of leeks, garlic, and fennel, but smoother and more aromatic. It was one of Apicius's flavors. "Definitely silphium.”