Daily Life (7)

"It's time to turn it over," Cassandra reminded him softly from beside him.

Harry turned the chicken over. The other side was an even light golden color too, neither burnt nor undercooked.

He took the chicken out and set it aside on a plate, then added a small pat of butter to the pan. Once the onion chunks went in, they quickly softened in the hot oil, and a sweet, rich fragrance filled the Kitchen.

"Add the spices," Cassandra said.

Harry picked up the jar of homemade spices Pabbie had made and opened it for a sniff. It carried the blended scents of rosemary, thyme, and a little crushed chili.

He scooped out a small spoonful, sprinkled it into the pan, and stir-fried it with the onions a few times using the spatula.

The sweet richness of the cream mingled with the spices in the air, creating a scent that made people feel at ease.

Once the chicken went back into the pan, he lowered the heat, put on the lid, and let it simmer slowly.

Cassandra walked over from the counter and stood beside him, looking over the state of the pan.

"Looks pretty good."

"We haven't tasted it yet," Harry said.

"But it already smells right," Cassandra said with a faint smile. "You can tell half of whether a dish will taste good just by its smell."

Harry put the lid back on, turned, and leaned against the counter, standing beside her.

Tiny wisps of white steam seeped from the edges of the lid, carrying the scent of cream and spices through the room.

"When you stand beside me and watch me cook," Harry said, "don't your hands itch to do it yourself?"

"No. Watching someone else cook is much better than cooking myself," Cassandra said.

"Why?" Harry