Steps sounded behind me. I turned. Runa caught up with us. “Matilda said you would be out here. That child is odd.”
More like unsettling, until you got to know her. “She’s an animal mage. They are unique. Did something bad happen?”
“You mean in addition to everything else? No.”
We both watched Shadow sniffing at cracks in the asphalt.
“Whatever is cooking in the kitchen smells amazing. What are we having?”
“Lemon roasted chicken with rosemary baked potatoes, chive butter, kale and brussels sprout salad with tahini maple dressing, and an apple pithivier.”
Runa gave me a long look.
“I cook when I’m stressed out. It sounds more complicated than it is. In reality, it’s mostly season things, dump them in a baking pan, and stick them in the oven.”
“What’s a P.T.V.A.?”
“It’s a French pie-cake made with puff pastry. The traditional version uses rum and almonds, but nobody likes rum, so I make mine with apples.”
I learned about pithiviers by watching the reruns of the Great British Baking Show. Behold, you too can have an apple pithivier. Here is mine.
Here is the recipe. Mine isn’t as pretty as hers, but it was delicious.