Author's note: Mmm, I've been waiting to join this site forever. Now I'm 13, I can! Yay! I've been writing forever, and my first fanfic I ever read was Green Eyed Girl. 3 I loved it. Now, this is my own story, all about Ann and her love for cooking.

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Chapter one: Love at first taste

The kitchen has always been my favourite place in the whole wide world.

I love the sights – sparkling white sinks, smooth surfaces, that no matter how much you scrub them, will always have that lingering smell of long gone food and the light in the oven, when you know it's cooking your favourite dish of all time.

I love the sounds – a shake of pepper, a dash of sauce, the chatter of chefs and the ting! our oven makes when the dinner is ready, my personal favourite. I love the soft running of the tap, and the clean chop of the knife.

I love the smells – oh gosh, the smells, where do I begin! The buttery, sweet smell of baking, the savoury smell of melting cheese, strong tomato scents and vinegar and salt. I love that crispy cool waft of salad sinking into my nostrils. I could go on and on.

I love the feel of everything – the smooth surface of the plates, the cool touch of cucumber and when you dip your hands in a bowl of water, that cool wet sensation tingling right through your fingertips. I love running my fingers along the sharp edge of the knife.

And best of all, I love the taste. The hot tingle of pie, any pie, and the cool one of icy lemonade. I like any taste – spicy, sweet, savoury, cheesy, buttery, nutty, creamy, crunchy, anything. I'll eat any flavour, as long as that flavour is not called "plain". I have flexible taste buds. My taste buds are without a doubt the most beautiful part of my body. Taste is the most important sense when you're in a kitchen, that's our motto.

Even when I was a little girl, I'd clap my hands and coo with glee whenever I was brought into the kitchen. It was better than any toy, all my senses being used at once. It was love at first taste.

It's a shame that I'm only a waitress. It was fun when I was fourteen, and I got to have a fair share of money, but my passion for cooking is beginning to burn through. If only my papa would see that. We're a cooking duo, see, in our own inn. The best inn in town. The only inn in town. He would cook; I'd serve it up. I made a lot of friends that way. We're actually considered five star, y'know. But the cooking bug, it's got to me again.

It's woven into my genetics, see.

My mother was a cook, too. But she died. Yeah. I can't remember a thing, but I know she loved me a lot, so I guess I loved her back.

There's a picture of her on our television. She was pretty. She looked like me, I guess, but I don't judge my own appearance. She had flaming red hair, like me, like dad. His hair's a different type of red though, more ginger; now greying slightly. She had round pale blue yes with lots of eyelashes, like me. Full lips, like me. A few freckles on her nose and a really sweet smile. My eyes water a bit when I look at that photo, but I blame it on the onions.

My mother and my papa, both cooks. He employed a couple of people back then, when the village was really populated, to be waiters. It'd died down before she died, but he only started the father-and-daughter-cooking duo when I was nine. It was cheesy, but I loved it. He even dedicated a dish to me. Cheese fondue, my favourite.

He also dedicated a dish to my mother. Pumpkin pudding, it was her favourite. She loved the autumn, and she died in the autumn as well. I always take care of the inn when it's the anniversary of her death. She was ill and died in her sleep, peacefully. She had to let go. I feel a bit sad when I think about it, I just think about what my papa must have felt when he found her.

He goes up once a year in the autumn, and sits on the mountain. I take care of the inn, making the most of it. I always encourage diners to eat the pumpkin pudding, I tell them the story, and they always buy it. I wished he'd let me take care of the inn more often, on a less sad day.

So here's my story, all about me and my relationship with cooking.

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Author's Note: I love you if you got this far. :