Ah, I see what you mean. A recipe has a clear rhythm – prep, cook, plate – and each step builds on the last, just like a chapter adds a new layer to the plot. In the kitchen I trust that structure; it keeps the dish from falling apart. But a story also needs those little improvisations, the spontaneous spice that makes a flavor unique. I love the idea of a novel as a meal, but I also worry that a too‑rigid recipe might swallow the surprises that keep a reader guessing. Still, it’s a comforting framework, and if we mix a bit of tradition with a splash of daring, the whole experience becomes richer.

Sounds exactly like my own kitchen. I keep the base of the recipe steady, the spices measured, and then I let a splash of something unexpected—maybe a fresh herb, a sudden burn of pepper—surprise the palate. In a story that’s the same: a solid outline, then a twist that keeps the reader hungry for more. It’s the balance that makes both dish and book truly memorable.