Drench the Wench
Ginger took a deep breath as she made her way down the main cobblestone road that snaked through the village. The round brown stones where slick with dew that fell in the night. As she breathed in, she breathed in the scents of the village. Whole chickens, basted with garlic, red pepper, sea salt and sage where roasting on a spit over a bed of gray coals in a near by shop. The smell made her mouth water. The cooking of course was done behind a counter. The patron’s dinned out in the open, with simple wooden tables and chair provided. Along with pewter plates and blunt forks and knifes.
Beside the chicken roasting shack, there could be seen another eatery. This one was kind of a pizza place. Large brick ovens with a roaring fire in the back, backed the paper thin pizzas in a matter of seconds. They where then served up, piping hot.
For a minute Ginger stood there, peering at the chicken’s turning on there spit’s and the pizza baking in the brick