Hello, dear reader.
While waiting for Violet's next adventure, I decided to take a small pause and write this bonus chapter.
I was sitting by the window of my room at the inn, my gaze lost outside and my mind full of thoughts, when I realized I wanted to tell you a little more about Mela.The young girl who, every day, tidies my room, makes my bed, and prepares such hearty and delicious meals that they make me forget the weariness of the journey.
So, without too many plans, I decided to improvise this short story.It was written in one breath, just as it is, shortly before being shared.
I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed taking a moment to stop… and listen to the scents coming from the kitchen.
Mom always used to say that a stew isn't cooked out of hunger, but out of patience.
Waking up early (Mela always rises at the first light of dawn), and after finishing tidying the counter and lighting the fire, the innkeeper headed toward the back of the inn.
There, behind a slightly crooked fence and a few stubborn weeds, lay her small garden. Nothing elegant, nothing orderly. Just dark soil, dirty hands, and potatoes.
Crouching down to observe the plants, she noticed a few tubers already ripe, poking out of the ground.
Vegetables grown by your own hands have a different taste. Papa, who was a farmer, always used to say that if you cultivate something yourself, you pass your emotions on to it. It sounds strange, but it's true. It's as if they can hear the words you speak, or as if they absorb your feelings.
After checking the state of the plants, Mela began harvesting some of the tubers that looked the most mature, placing them between her legs and resting them against her apron.
Then, a sudden sound—faint and persistent.
Turning sharply, Mela fixed her gaze on a small creature that, still half-asleep, was leaning against one of the leaves, lazily chewing on it with its eyes still closed.
Grrrrrrrr…
"What the hell do you think you're doing???"
The caterpillar jolted, its eyes snapping open as it stared at Mela in terror.
Mela, grabbing the poor creature, brought it close to her face, staring it straight in the eyes and baring her fangs.
"Are you seriously eating my plants? Are you trying to ruin my entire harvest?"
Rising from the ground and heading toward the fence that surrounded the yard, Mela made a wide motion and sent the poor caterpillar flying. It let out a cry as it traveled a short distance through the air before landing softly on the grass beyond the fence.
"And don't you dare show your face around here again!"
With the small intruder dealt with, Mela finished harvesting the potatoes she had chosen, then headed back inside the inn.
She plunged the potatoes into a large pot filled with water, quickly washing the dirt off them, then placed them on an old wooden cutting board and, taking a long knife in hand, began peeling them.
"If you rest the tip of the knife and turn the potato in your hand, you'll see it peels itself, little Mela…"
Her mother's words echoed in her mind every time she repeated that motion.
Mom was a very gentle woman. When she cooked, she always wanted me to help her.
"Becoming good at cooking is the best way to catch yourself a good man, little Mela…"
She always said that, perhaps because out of all my siblings I was the only girl. Not that I really cared about men, to be honest, but every time I cook, it always feels like coming home.
Once she finished cutting the potatoes, she gathered them up by the handful and placed them into a large bowl, then focused on the other ingredients.
Papa, on the other hand, was always so funny. He was always joking and explaining things to me. In the evenings, when we gathered around the fire to listen to his stories, Papa always had me sit on his lap, while my brothers sat on the ground.
He always told me I was his favorite.
"Now comes the important part."
She took a large bundle and placed it in front of her. Opening it, she revealed a thick, succulent piece of meat and began to sniff it.
Sniff sniff…
"The meat has to be fresh, little Mela, otherwise the bad flavor will end up ruining the whole stew."
Satisfied after smelling the cut of meat, Mela took a thick-bladed knife and plunged it in, cutting it into several pieces and then, little by little, reducing them into smaller chunks.
Once that was done, it was time for the onions.
After cutting them, Mela gathered them on the cutting board.
She prepared a large pot and set it to heat over the fire.
"First of all, you need to add a knob of butter and let it warm gently…"
Mela took the container of butter and, reaching the pot, poured it in without worrying too much about the amount, watching as it melted while she twitched her ears, listening to the crackling sound.
"Then you add the onions, my dear…"
She took the onions and poured them in, beginning to stir carefully and attentively.
"The heat must be low; it's meant to make the onions sweat…"
…They must not color: only soften and turn sweet. This is where the aroma is born. If you burn this step, you've lost…
"The marinated meat goes in after that, only long enough to 'seal' it. Not to cook it. It's meant to lock in the juices and give depth to the stew, little Mela."
Gathering the meat, Mela poured it in, stirring slowly and carefully smelling the steam rising from the pot to make sure it wasn't burning.
At home, I always had to fight with my brothers. When the meat started giving off its aroma, they would always come stretching their hands toward the pot, trying to steal some. I don't know how many times I had to yell at them to chase them away, and yet they always managed to steal a few pieces…
Once she was satisfied, it was time for the potatoes.
The ones from the garden, cut into large chunks. They need to be mixed into the hot base so they're coated with flavor before the water goes in. But not all of them—only some, so they break down and absorb the flavor of the meat. The others are added later, when the stew calls for them. This step is fundamental; it's Mom's secret, and we'll never tell anyone!
"The stew grows in layers, just like people, my dear. And every ingredient must enter only when it's ready."
Mela remained watching everything cook slowly, observing the bottom of the pot until the meat took on a sufficiently browned appearance.
Good. Now the water!
"Never too much, never too little! The secret is to cover the ingredients just to the edge—barely."
Mela, lifting the waterskin, began to pour the water slowly into the pot, letting it run along the sides.
It has to be done when the pot starts to sing.
It's meant to lift the fond and bring everything together.
If you wait too long, it burns.
If you do it too early, you dilute everything!
No more water until the broth begins to complain…
"If the water evaporates too quickly, the heat is wrong.
If it stays watery, it's because someone was afraid to let it reduce.
And when the final potatoes fall apart, it's not magic: it's the right amount of water doing its job."
Remaining there watching the stew until it began to bubble, she finally poured in the legumes, letting them fall in without much care and giving a quick stir.
They're perfect for binding the flavor of the meat and adding body to the broth—Mom always used to say that.
She let the stew simmer for hours, stirring only when the silence became excessive. Every so often she tasted it, adding salt, spices, or a small piece of potato "just to be safe."
"The potatoes hold everything together. If you get those wrong, the stew won't forgive you."
Then came noises from the upper floor, accompanied by the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Violet and Nainai reached the hall.
"Good morning, Mela."
"Hi, Violet!"
The innkeeper, turning toward the girl, greeted her with a smile, wagging her tail enthusiastically.
"Heading out?"
The girl looked sleepy, and the dwarf behind her watched with a curious expression, lingering on the pot bubbling over the fire.
"Yes, well… we're heading to the guild. We'll be back later…"
"Then I'll be waiting for you. Try not to be late!"
"Yes… we'll be back for dinner…"
"Perfect. See you later, then…"
With a quick bow, the girl and the dwarf took their leave and exited the inn.
Left alone, Mela returned her attention to the stew.
Now I can add the rest of the potatoes…
"Now I'll leave you here to cook calmly…"
Mela spoke to the pot as she moved away to take care of the other chores.
"Violet likes her meat tender, the kind that falls apart in your mouth, so don't disappoint me…"
I still wonder how a girl that small can eat so much…
Mela set those thoughts aside.
Alright. Now I need to remake the beds, clean the floors, and dust the furniture. Ah, and I have to go to the market—I'm almost out of milk.
Taking a large rag and a bucket of water, Mela headed toward the upper floor, climbing the stairs.
In the hall on the ground floor, the large pot continued to bubble calmly.
The secret of a good stew isn't just the ingredients, my friends. Cooking isn't only about skill at the stove or calculating quantities. To cook well, you need to use your heart, your ears, and your nose—and wag your tail, wag it constantly, thinking of the people you care about and the look on their faces when they taste what you've patiently cooked for them.
I hope you enjoyed this small bonus chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.
We'll meet again soon, with the next adventures of Violet.
Thank you for your patience, and a warm greeting to all of you.