Zelda had devoted most of her adult life to becoming a fantastic cook. Her mother had led her to believe this would be a fail-safe plan—after all, the best way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.
So far, it had proven fruitless. Her batches of coq au vin lasted a long time, but were delicious. She knew that when she found the right man he would be very impressed. She wouldn’t even demand that he be totally faithful. Even if he had wandering eyes, his empty stomach would always bring him home again.
Until then, she sharpened her skills. Tonights’ rendition was particularly exquisite. She noted the particular bordeaux she used for future reference. She made a shopping list for next week’s Beef Wellington, knowing she’d be sick of it by the time the pot was empty.