November 16, 2025 • 18 mins
Discovering her grandmother's journal reveals a horrifying pattern - the Blackwoods have been preparing people with the gift as Thanksgiving offerings for generations. As Ben's betrayal hands Adrian the inn for his Gratitude Feast, James and Nora desperately try a dangerous solution: cooking together to create emotional antibodies. Their combined power creates something beautiful and genuine that breaks through Adrian's false seasonings, but with the feast only three days away and dozens of people marked for consumption, they must decide whether to save the town or poison the entity it depends on for prosperity.
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Get more info from Caloroga Shark Media and if you have any comments, suggestions, or just want to get in touch our email is info@caloroga.com
Unlock an ad-free podcast experience with Caloroga Shark Media! Get all our shows on any player you love, hassle free! For Apple users, hit the banner on your Apple podcasts app. For Spotify or other players, visit caloroga.com/plus. No plug-ins needed!
Subscribe now for exclusive shows like 'Palace Intrigue,' and get bonus content from Deep Crown (our exclusive Palace Insider!) Or get 'Daily Comedy News,' and '5 Good News Stories’ with no commercials! Plans start at $4.99 per month, or save 20% with a yearly plan at $49.99. Join today and help support the show!
We now have Merch! FREE SHIPPING! Check out all the products like T-shirts, mugs, bags, jackets and more with logos and slogans from your favorite shows! Did we mention there’s free shipping? Get 10% off with code NewMerch10 Go to Caloroga.com
Get more info from Caloroga Shark Media and if you have any comments, suggestions, or just want to get in touch our email is info@caloroga.com
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:03):
Calaruga Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Romance Weekly and
Thanksgiving Seduction. This is episode three The Family Recipe.
Speaker 2 (00:43):
My grandmother's journal was hidden in the attic, wrapped in oilcloth,
and tucked behind Christmas decorations from the seventies. I wouldn't
have found it if I hadn't been desperately searching for something, anything,
to distract me from the craving. Three days since Adrian's dinner,
three days of James cooking every meal for me, trying
(01:06):
to flush the false emotions from my system with real ones.
Three days of shaking, sweating, wanting. You'd think emotional withdrawal
wouldn't have physical symptoms, but you'd be wrong. My skin
felt too tight. Food tasted like cardboard unless James had
made it, and the craving, God, the craving was eating
(01:30):
me alive. November eighteenth, nineteen sixty three, My grandmother's careful
script began. I can taste Harold's intentions in everything he cooks,
not just his love, but something else, something he's adding
that makes me feel things I know aren't mine. Mother says,
(01:51):
I'm imagining things, but I know the difference between real
emotion and what he's feeding me. He's preparing me for something.
I can feel it building in my bones, like seasoning
in a cast iron pan. My hands trembled as I
turned the page. November twentieth, nineteen sixty three. Harold says
(02:17):
his family has been in Westbrook for generations. Says they
have an agreement, a covenant. Every Thanksgiving they prepare a
feast of gratitude. But it's not the food that matters.
It's the people eating it, people whose emotional fields have
been properly seasoned. He wants me to be the centerpiece
(02:39):
this year, the main course, he calls it, though he
swears I won't be harmed, just shared my essence, fed
to something that keeps the town prosperous. Norah James's voice
from the attic stare you okay? Up here? My grandmother,
(03:05):
I said, voice hollow. She had the gift too, And
someone named Harold James climbed up, ducking under the low beams.
When he saw the journal, his face went pale. Harold Blackwood,
Adrian's grandfather. What the Blackwoods have been in Westbrook forever?
(03:29):
They run high end restaurants every few decades, always around Thanksgiving,
always leaving after something happens. He sat beside me, careful
not to touch. We'd learned that skin contact when I
was in withdrawal made the craving worse. May I. I
handed him the journal November twenty second, nineteen sixty three, Thanksgiving.
(03:55):
I'm writing this in case I don't come back myself.
Harold says. The entity that feeds on our gratitude isn't evil,
just hungry. Says it keeps the town safe, prosperous, special.
All it needs is emotional energy, freely given. But I
don't want to give mine. I don't want to be consumed,
even partially. Harold says, I don't have a choice, says
(04:19):
I've been too well seasoned to waste. He's coming for
me tonight. If anyone finds this, don't trust the Blackwoods.
Don't eat their food. Don't let them prepare you. Run.
She disappeared that Thanksgiving, I said, Maum always said she
ran off with some man, But she was fed to something.
(04:41):
James's jaw was tight, just like Adrian's preparing to do
with you. With all of us who've eaten at Harvest,
you only ate there once. Once was enough. I can
still feel it sometimes, like a mark on my emotional signature.
We're all tagged Norah, marked for consumption. I stood too quickly, Vertigo,
(05:06):
making me grab the beam. We have to warn people
who'll believe us that the hot new chef is seasoning
people for some thanksgiving entity, James steadied me, and the
brief contacts sent electricity through my system, not the good kind. Besides,
(05:26):
everyone who eats at Harvest regularly is addicted like you.
They won't want to believe. Then we stop him ourselves.
How we don't even know what the entity is or
how the feeding works. Your family's been here for generations too,
I said, remembering something he'd mentioned. What do you know?
(05:53):
James was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer.
My great great grandmother was brought here specifically to feed it.
She had the gift like us, but she figured out
how to cook emotions that would poison the entity. Instead
of nourishing it. She fed it rage instead of gratitude,
(06:13):
fear instead of contentment. It got sick, went dormant for
twenty years. Can we do that again? Maybe? But Adrian
knows about that incident. He'll be watching for it. James
helped me down from the attic plus poisoning the entity
(06:34):
doesn't solve the real problem, which is the town needs it.
Westbrook has been prosperous for two hundred years because of
this thing. Every business thrives, every harvest is perfect, every
family prospers, all because something feeds on our gratitude every Thanksgiving.
Speaker 1 (06:57):
We were in the.
Speaker 2 (06:57):
Kitchen now and James automatically started making me lunch, simple
grilled cheese. But I could taste his determination in it,
his protective instinct, real emotions, even if they weren't as
intoxicating as Adrian's manufactured ones. So the whole town is complicit,
(07:18):
not consciously. Most people don't know. They just know that
Thanksgiving in Westbrook is special, that they feel more grateful here,
more connected. He flipped the sandwich. But the old families know,
the ones who've been here longest, like yours, like mine.
(07:40):
He plated the sandwich, added pickle spears that tasted like resignation.
We're supposed to help make sure the feeding goes smoothly,
but I can't. I won't let him take you, Norah,
even though it means breaking centuries of tradition, risking the
town's prosperity. He looked at me, then really looked at me,
(08:03):
and I could taste his emotion in the air between us. Love,
genuine and terrified and determinedly ignored until now.
Speaker 1 (08:13):
Yes.
Speaker 2 (08:17):
Before I could respond, the kitchen door slammed open. Ben
stumbled in, my younger brother, looking haggard and wrong. His
emotional signature was chaotic, like someone had put his feelings
in a blender. Norah, he slurred, though I could smell
no alcohol. You have to come. Adrian wants he needs
(08:39):
you to come, Ben. What did he do to you?
Fed me? Ben laughed, high and unstable, fed me confidence, courage, decision.
I signed the papers, sold my share of the inn
to him. Mom doesn't know yet you what he needed?
(09:01):
A venue for the gratitude feast. The inn is perfect, historical, traditional,
Ben swayed, caught himself on the counter. You have to
come now. He says, you're suffering withdrawal, says he can
make it stop. The craving roared to life at the
possibility of relief. My body actually leaned toward the door
(09:23):
before James caught my arm. She's not going anywhere she
needs it, Ben said, and I could taste his second
hand addiction, weaker than mine, but still powerful. We all
need what he gives us. You don't understand because you
barely tasted it. But Norah, Norah, he prepared you specially,
(09:47):
you're the main course. Get out, James said, quietly, Not
without my sister, I said, get out. Ben lunged at James.
Move It's clumsy but desperate. James deflected him easily, but
the contact did something. Ben gasped, his eyes clearing for
(10:08):
a moment. Oh god, he whispered, what did I do?
The inn? Mom's going to Then his eyes glazed again.
Adrian needs Norah. The feast is in four days. James
physically removed Ben, gentle but firm. When he came back.
(10:29):
I was pressed against the wall, shaking with want. I
can't do this, I admitted, the craving it's getting worse.
Then we need to try something else. James pulled out
his phone. There's someone who might help my grandmother. She's
ninety three and half senile, but she remembers the old ways,
(10:53):
the ways to cook emotion as weapons instead of seasonings.
An hour later, we sat in Riverside Senior Care watching
James's grandmother, Edith, sought through recipe cards with spotted hands.
(11:16):
Emotional cooking is about intent, she said, voice stronger than
her frail appearance. Suggested. The Blackwoods use it to season people,
make them palatable, but it can also be used to
create antibodies. Antibodies, I asked, emotional resistance. If someone feeds
(11:36):
you false emotions, you can build immunity by consuming concentrated
doses of true ones. She pulled out a worn card.
This was my mother's recipe, not for food, but for
the emotion itself. The recipe was strange, not ingredients but feelings.
Truth braised with acceptance, Love reduced to its essence, Fear
(12:00):
clarified and skimmed of doubt, anger purified through righteous heat.
How do we cook emotions? James asked. Edith looked at
him like he was simple. You already do, boy, every
time you cook with feeling. But this, this requires both
of you, both two people with the gift, cooking together,
(12:26):
combining your emotional signatures to create something stronger than what
the blackwood boy can manufacture. She studied me with cloudy
eyes that seemed to see too much. You're already seasoned, girl,
can smell it on you like perfume. But it's not
too late. Cook together, feed each other truth, build your
(12:51):
resistance together, I repeated, looking at James together, he agreed.
That night, in the inn's empty kitchen, we tried standing
side by side at the stove, shoulders touching. We attempted
to cook pure emotion into being. Focus on what's real,
(13:14):
James said, his hand over mine on the spoon as
we stirred soup. What you really feel, not what Adrian
made you feel. The contact should have made the craving worse,
but something else was happening where our skin touched. I
could feel James's emotions flowing into the food, not manufactured
(13:36):
but genuine. His fear for me, his anger at Adrian,
his love that he'd been trying to hide. I can
feel you, I whispered, I know I feel you too.
The soup began to shimmer, actually shimmer with visible energy.
(13:57):
Our combined emotional fields were creating something new, something that
made my synthetic cravings recoil more. I said, we need
more contact. James moved behind me, his chest against my back,
his arms around mine. As we cooked together. The intimacy
(14:18):
was overwhelming, not sexual, but something deeper. I could feel
every emotion he'd ever felt about me. Layering into the food,
his first glimpse of recognition when I'd walked in, his
hope that I might understand him, his devastation when I
chose Adrian, his determination to save me anyway, Norah. He
(14:42):
breathed against my ear and my name carried the weight
of everything he felt. The soup was glowing, now actually glowing.
I dipped a spoon, tasted it, and gasped. It was
like drinking liquid truth, burning away Adrian's false emo, like
acid on paint. The craving cracked, faltered, began to fade.
(15:08):
It's working, I said, turning in his arms. James, It's
actually working. He was looking at me with such naked
emotion that it took my breath away. Can you feel it?
What's real?
Speaker 1 (15:25):
Yes?
Speaker 2 (15:27):
I reached up, touched his face. I can feel you,
the real you, and I I'm so sorry for choosing him,
for not seeing what was right in front of me.
You were drugged, manipulated. I was foolish. Even before his food.
I chose the excitement over the truth. I could taste
(15:50):
my own emotions, now clear and genuine for the first
time in days. I chose the dangerous stranger over the
good man. Who read my articles and made me cinnamon
rolls Norah. I kissed him, not with manufactured passion or
false desire, but with real feeling, gratitude, affection, the beginnings
(16:15):
of something that could become love if we survived this.
James kissed me back, and I could taste everything, his relief,
his joy, his persistent fear that we were running out
of time. When we pulled apart, the kitchen was full
of golden light from our combined emotional fields. We need
(16:37):
to cook more, he said, roughly. Build your immunity, make
you unpalatable to whatever Adrian's planning to feed you to together,
always together, from now until Thanksgiving. We cooked through the night,
our bodies touching, our emotions flowing into every dish. Soup
(17:00):
that tasted like protection, bread that tasted like hope, cookies
that tasted like rebellion. With each bite, I felt Adrian's
hold weakening, my true self emerging from under his seasoning.
But as dawn broke, we both knew it might not
be enough. The Gratitude Feast was in three days. The
(17:25):
inn had been sold to Adrian, and dozens of people
were thoroughly seasoned for consumption. What if we can't stop it,
I asked. James pulled me closer and I could taste
his determination like iron in the air. Then we'll poison
the whole feast, every dish, every bite. If that thing
(17:50):
wants to feed on Westbrook's gratitude, we'll give it something
that'll make it choke together together. Outside November, wind rattled
the windows, and I could have sworn I heard Adrian laughing.
Three days to save everyone, three days to break his
hold completely, Three days to turn gratitude into a weapon.
Calaruga Shark Media, Hello and welcome to Romance Weekly and
Thanksgiving Seduction. This is episode three The Family Recipe.
Speaker 2 (00:43):
My grandmother's journal was hidden in the attic, wrapped in oilcloth,
and tucked behind Christmas decorations from the seventies. I wouldn't
have found it if I hadn't been desperately searching for something, anything,
to distract me from the craving. Three days since Adrian's dinner,
three days of James cooking every meal for me, trying
(01:06):
to flush the false emotions from my system with real ones.
Three days of shaking, sweating, wanting. You'd think emotional withdrawal
wouldn't have physical symptoms, but you'd be wrong. My skin
felt too tight. Food tasted like cardboard unless James had
made it, and the craving, God, the craving was eating
(01:30):
me alive. November eighteenth, nineteen sixty three, My grandmother's careful
script began. I can taste Harold's intentions in everything he cooks,
not just his love, but something else, something he's adding
that makes me feel things I know aren't mine. Mother says,
(01:51):
I'm imagining things, but I know the difference between real
emotion and what he's feeding me. He's preparing me for something.
I can feel it building in my bones, like seasoning
in a cast iron pan. My hands trembled as I
turned the page. November twentieth, nineteen sixty three. Harold says
(02:17):
his family has been in Westbrook for generations. Says they
have an agreement, a covenant. Every Thanksgiving they prepare a
feast of gratitude. But it's not the food that matters.
It's the people eating it, people whose emotional fields have
been properly seasoned. He wants me to be the centerpiece
(02:39):
this year, the main course, he calls it, though he
swears I won't be harmed, just shared my essence, fed
to something that keeps the town prosperous. Norah James's voice
from the attic stare you okay? Up here? My grandmother,
(03:05):
I said, voice hollow. She had the gift too, And
someone named Harold James climbed up, ducking under the low beams.
When he saw the journal, his face went pale. Harold Blackwood,
Adrian's grandfather. What the Blackwoods have been in Westbrook forever?
(03:29):
They run high end restaurants every few decades, always around Thanksgiving,
always leaving after something happens. He sat beside me, careful
not to touch. We'd learned that skin contact when I
was in withdrawal made the craving worse. May I. I
handed him the journal November twenty second, nineteen sixty three, Thanksgiving.
(03:55):
I'm writing this in case I don't come back myself.
Harold says. The entity that feeds on our gratitude isn't evil,
just hungry. Says it keeps the town safe, prosperous, special.
All it needs is emotional energy, freely given. But I
don't want to give mine. I don't want to be consumed,
even partially. Harold says, I don't have a choice, says
(04:19):
I've been too well seasoned to waste. He's coming for
me tonight. If anyone finds this, don't trust the Blackwoods.
Don't eat their food. Don't let them prepare you. Run.
She disappeared that Thanksgiving, I said, Maum always said she
ran off with some man, But she was fed to something.
(04:41):
James's jaw was tight, just like Adrian's preparing to do
with you. With all of us who've eaten at Harvest,
you only ate there once. Once was enough. I can
still feel it sometimes, like a mark on my emotional signature.
We're all tagged Norah, marked for consumption. I stood too quickly, Vertigo,
(05:06):
making me grab the beam. We have to warn people
who'll believe us that the hot new chef is seasoning
people for some thanksgiving entity, James steadied me, and the
brief contacts sent electricity through my system, not the good kind. Besides,
(05:26):
everyone who eats at Harvest regularly is addicted like you.
They won't want to believe. Then we stop him ourselves.
How we don't even know what the entity is or
how the feeding works. Your family's been here for generations too,
I said, remembering something he'd mentioned. What do you know?
(05:53):
James was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer.
My great great grandmother was brought here specifically to feed it.
She had the gift like us, but she figured out
how to cook emotions that would poison the entity. Instead
of nourishing it. She fed it rage instead of gratitude,
(06:13):
fear instead of contentment. It got sick, went dormant for
twenty years. Can we do that again? Maybe? But Adrian
knows about that incident. He'll be watching for it. James
helped me down from the attic plus poisoning the entity
(06:34):
doesn't solve the real problem, which is the town needs it.
Westbrook has been prosperous for two hundred years because of
this thing. Every business thrives, every harvest is perfect, every
family prospers, all because something feeds on our gratitude every Thanksgiving.
Speaker 1 (06:57):
We were in the.
Speaker 2 (06:57):
Kitchen now and James automatically started making me lunch, simple
grilled cheese. But I could taste his determination in it,
his protective instinct, real emotions, even if they weren't as
intoxicating as Adrian's manufactured ones. So the whole town is complicit,
(07:18):
not consciously. Most people don't know. They just know that
Thanksgiving in Westbrook is special, that they feel more grateful here,
more connected. He flipped the sandwich. But the old families know,
the ones who've been here longest, like yours, like mine.
(07:40):
He plated the sandwich, added pickle spears that tasted like resignation.
We're supposed to help make sure the feeding goes smoothly,
but I can't. I won't let him take you, Norah,
even though it means breaking centuries of tradition, risking the
town's prosperity. He looked at me, then really looked at me,
(08:03):
and I could taste his emotion in the air between us. Love,
genuine and terrified and determinedly ignored until now.
Speaker 1 (08:13):
Yes.
Speaker 2 (08:17):
Before I could respond, the kitchen door slammed open. Ben
stumbled in, my younger brother, looking haggard and wrong. His
emotional signature was chaotic, like someone had put his feelings
in a blender. Norah, he slurred, though I could smell
no alcohol. You have to come. Adrian wants he needs
(08:39):
you to come, Ben. What did he do to you?
Fed me? Ben laughed, high and unstable, fed me confidence, courage, decision.
I signed the papers, sold my share of the inn
to him. Mom doesn't know yet you what he needed?
(09:01):
A venue for the gratitude feast. The inn is perfect, historical, traditional,
Ben swayed, caught himself on the counter. You have to
come now. He says, you're suffering withdrawal, says he can
make it stop. The craving roared to life at the
possibility of relief. My body actually leaned toward the door
(09:23):
before James caught my arm. She's not going anywhere she
needs it, Ben said, and I could taste his second
hand addiction, weaker than mine, but still powerful. We all
need what he gives us. You don't understand because you
barely tasted it. But Norah, Norah, he prepared you specially,
(09:47):
you're the main course. Get out, James said, quietly, Not
without my sister, I said, get out. Ben lunged at James.
Move It's clumsy but desperate. James deflected him easily, but
the contact did something. Ben gasped, his eyes clearing for
(10:08):
a moment. Oh god, he whispered, what did I do?
The inn? Mom's going to Then his eyes glazed again.
Adrian needs Norah. The feast is in four days. James
physically removed Ben, gentle but firm. When he came back.
(10:29):
I was pressed against the wall, shaking with want. I
can't do this, I admitted, the craving it's getting worse.
Then we need to try something else. James pulled out
his phone. There's someone who might help my grandmother. She's
ninety three and half senile, but she remembers the old ways,
(10:53):
the ways to cook emotion as weapons instead of seasonings.
An hour later, we sat in Riverside Senior Care watching
James's grandmother, Edith, sought through recipe cards with spotted hands.
(11:16):
Emotional cooking is about intent, she said, voice stronger than
her frail appearance. Suggested. The Blackwoods use it to season people,
make them palatable, but it can also be used to
create antibodies. Antibodies, I asked, emotional resistance. If someone feeds
(11:36):
you false emotions, you can build immunity by consuming concentrated
doses of true ones. She pulled out a worn card.
This was my mother's recipe, not for food, but for
the emotion itself. The recipe was strange, not ingredients but feelings.
Truth braised with acceptance, Love reduced to its essence, Fear
(12:00):
clarified and skimmed of doubt, anger purified through righteous heat.
How do we cook emotions? James asked. Edith looked at
him like he was simple. You already do, boy, every
time you cook with feeling. But this, this requires both
of you, both two people with the gift, cooking together,
(12:26):
combining your emotional signatures to create something stronger than what
the blackwood boy can manufacture. She studied me with cloudy
eyes that seemed to see too much. You're already seasoned, girl,
can smell it on you like perfume. But it's not
too late. Cook together, feed each other truth, build your
(12:51):
resistance together, I repeated, looking at James together, he agreed.
That night, in the inn's empty kitchen, we tried standing
side by side at the stove, shoulders touching. We attempted
to cook pure emotion into being. Focus on what's real,
(13:14):
James said, his hand over mine on the spoon as
we stirred soup. What you really feel, not what Adrian
made you feel. The contact should have made the craving worse,
but something else was happening where our skin touched. I
could feel James's emotions flowing into the food, not manufactured
(13:36):
but genuine. His fear for me, his anger at Adrian,
his love that he'd been trying to hide. I can
feel you, I whispered, I know I feel you too.
The soup began to shimmer, actually shimmer with visible energy.
(13:57):
Our combined emotional fields were creating something new, something that
made my synthetic cravings recoil more. I said, we need
more contact. James moved behind me, his chest against my back,
his arms around mine. As we cooked together. The intimacy
(14:18):
was overwhelming, not sexual, but something deeper. I could feel
every emotion he'd ever felt about me. Layering into the food,
his first glimpse of recognition when I'd walked in, his
hope that I might understand him, his devastation when I
chose Adrian, his determination to save me anyway, Norah. He
(14:42):
breathed against my ear and my name carried the weight
of everything he felt. The soup was glowing, now actually glowing.
I dipped a spoon, tasted it, and gasped. It was
like drinking liquid truth, burning away Adrian's false emo, like
acid on paint. The craving cracked, faltered, began to fade.
(15:08):
It's working, I said, turning in his arms. James, It's
actually working. He was looking at me with such naked
emotion that it took my breath away. Can you feel it?
What's real?
Speaker 1 (15:25):
Yes?
Speaker 2 (15:27):
I reached up, touched his face. I can feel you,
the real you, and I I'm so sorry for choosing him,
for not seeing what was right in front of me.
You were drugged, manipulated. I was foolish. Even before his food.
I chose the excitement over the truth. I could taste
(15:50):
my own emotions, now clear and genuine for the first
time in days. I chose the dangerous stranger over the
good man. Who read my articles and made me cinnamon
rolls Norah. I kissed him, not with manufactured passion or
false desire, but with real feeling, gratitude, affection, the beginnings
(16:15):
of something that could become love if we survived this.
James kissed me back, and I could taste everything, his relief,
his joy, his persistent fear that we were running out
of time. When we pulled apart, the kitchen was full
of golden light from our combined emotional fields. We need
(16:37):
to cook more, he said, roughly. Build your immunity, make
you unpalatable to whatever Adrian's planning to feed you to together,
always together, from now until Thanksgiving. We cooked through the night,
our bodies touching, our emotions flowing into every dish. Soup
(17:00):
that tasted like protection, bread that tasted like hope, cookies
that tasted like rebellion. With each bite, I felt Adrian's
hold weakening, my true self emerging from under his seasoning.
But as dawn broke, we both knew it might not
be enough. The Gratitude Feast was in three days. The
(17:25):
inn had been sold to Adrian, and dozens of people
were thoroughly seasoned for consumption. What if we can't stop it,
I asked. James pulled me closer and I could taste
his determination like iron in the air. Then we'll poison
the whole feast, every dish, every bite. If that thing
(17:50):
wants to feed on Westbrook's gratitude, we'll give it something
that'll make it choke together together. Outside November, wind rattled
the windows, and I could have sworn I heard Adrian laughing.
Three days to save everyone, three days to break his
hold completely, Three days to turn gratitude into a weapon.
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