Saturday, October 4, 2014

A Recipe for Murder

It debuted September 30. Do you have your copy?
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Go here (upper left column) STIRRING APP
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By Katie Casey
From Stirring the Plot, the 3rd in the nationally bestselling Cookbook Nook Mysteries

A recipe for murder…

Man does not live by recipes alone. I mean, cookbooks are nice, and reading recipes and looking at pictures fun, but one needs to eat to survive. I also need to cook. There is something about entering a kitchen that turns me on. Lights my fire. Flips my flapjacks. I love it. The anticipation as I put on an apron or a chef’s jacket is almost overwhelming. I start to mentally taste the food that has been whirling in my brain all day. Stir-fried potatoes, wine-laced risotto, Cheddar soup, chocolate anything.

I’ve always felt like this in the kitchen. See, I started cooking at the age of five. My mother…she wasn’t a cook. Neither was my father. Someone had to stir up dinner—I was getting tired of cheese and mayonnaise sandwiches paired with canned tomato soup.

So I poured over cookbooks. Yes, we had those. My father had bought dozens of them. I think he’d hoped they would ignite the fire in my mother. They hadn’t. But she was a reader. I remember sitting at the kitchen table and she’d read the recipes to me, elbows propped on the table, her brow furrowed. She could pronounce all the words, even the French ones, but they meant nothing to her. They absolutely sang to me.

Julia Child said, The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking you've got to have a what-the-hell attitude.”

I had no fear, and I definitely had a what-the-heck attitude. I dove in with both hands, tackling Julia’s Coq au vin and Boeuf Bourguignon. Her Proven├žal onion tart was to die for.

My mother, bless her, loved every morsel I made. She didn’t criticize how it looked. She savored the flavors and, though she couldn’t cook, she had a good palette. She could tell me when things went wrong.

I’ve always felt at home in a kitchen. Now, take me out of it, and I’m out of my element.

Like today, Jenna asked me to come to the faire for the Winsome Witches. They’re not really witches. They’re a group of women who fund-raise for a great cause. The faire is pretty cool, but me, in a black dress and a witch hat? Awkward. I like color. I like my apron. And I like my toque.

And, just between you and me, I’m getting a feeling at this faire. Like something is off. I can’t put my finger on it. I'm sure Jenna's aunt Vera could. But where there’s smoke there’s fire, right? Please tell me, this whole event is not a recipe for...

Do you ever get to an event and feel out of place? Do you smell danger?

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  1. This did the trick! I am forever finding myself literally in the wrong place and the worst time. Love the sound of this! Getting my wish list out!

  2. I read Stirring the Plot over this past weekend and loved it!