Rosalie had inherited their mother's recipes and she doled them out one at a time to her sister. It was sort of her "I'm not svelte and sexy any more so at least I have this to share with others."

There was a time when Rosalie and her husband would cook together before making love. It was nice at first, having him there, chopping and dicing and stirring and holding out tidbits of stroganoff to her lips. Then it got weird and she didn't care to go along with his odd ideas about sauce and spaghetti.

Such a simple food should simply be eaten.