Editor’s Note: Asiago and the Accomplice (Whine & Cheese Cozy Mystery Series) by Judy Volhart is now available. Click here to order your copy.

By now you know that sometimes, I like to change things up. This week, the Skinny Grape spritzers caught my eye, with their bright rainbow colored choices. I’ve had them in the past, but I’d never seen the Sangria Sizzler before, so naturally my hand shot out and grabbed a four-pak.

They come in a number of other flavors as well; Peach Mango, Blueberry Pomegranate (the best!), Strawberry Pineapple, and Key Lime Lemonade. At only 90 calories each, they’re not only mouthwatering and thirst quenching, but refreshing. Don’t they all look great?

While I went on the hunt for meat, my boyfriend set off to choose the cheese. My only instructions were to avoid the blue cheese, as I was not yet ready for that. He chose a lovely L’artisan Oka that pleased me as it’s not one that I’d ever tried before. I had made eye contact with it a number of times over the years, but never mustered up the courage. It smelt promising, a bit stinky in a Swiss cheese type of way, with the odd dimpling in its otherwise smooth texture. It wasn’t super strong, but definitely had a bite and after taste to it.

By now, you’ve likely guessed that I’m a carnivore. I’d selected a Reserva roasted garlic salami. These things cost a small fortune, but is well worth the price. You could smell and taste the garlic instantly, so if you’re not a garlic fan, avoid it. If you are, you’ll be in heaven. As always, I cut them into fairly thick, juicy hunks. While this salami had some more pronounced fatty pieces in it, we weren’t too concerned; after a day of walking, cycling and bowling, calories weren’t of concern. Plus, I was drinking the Skinny Grape 90 calorie spritzer so that hardly counted, right?

Cheers, my friends.
Judy

Could the place really run without me? Could I trust my mother in the kitchen? What if she clogged everyone’s arteries by cooking everything in pig fat, or worse yet, gave everyone fried chunks of pig fat to eat (a Hungarian specialty) and my entire clientele perished in the blink of an eye? I dashed to the kitchen to see what was on the menu.

Mum was singing to herself in Hungarian as she coated the chicken pieces with her special blend―the same one used for the schnitzels―and I could not help but smile. Oh, yes! She was going to make her fried chicken. I suppose I could allow that. Saliva began to pool in my mouth as I anticipated my supper. I knew how to make it but have never divulged the “secret” recipe. Of course, mine never turned out quite like my mother’s.

—Excerpt from Asiago and The Accomplice (Whine & Cheese Cozy Mystery Series)