Dave Nakayama (licensed under Creative Commons)

Macaroni never tasted this good when Agatha made it herself. The recipe was the same - no rocket science after all. But there had to be something that maami (that's what she called her nanny) did differently. Agatha thought about it as she savoured the rich smell and softness of the cheese. Perhaps it was voodoo. Maami looked quite formidable after all - her skin wrinkly and her eyes narrow, rather like a witch. Agatha giggled at the idea. Maybe maami muttered spells under her breath as the macaroni rotated in the oven. Or perhaps, there was a magic herb she added to the sauce. "There's nothing magical about it," Maami said, stirring ferociously in the chilly winter noon. "It's called rosemary and that's what adds the flavour to my macaroni." "What does it look like?" Agatha asked. "And does it have anything to do with roses or someone called Mary?" Maami laughed, the ladle pausing to shake along with her merriment. "Rosemary means 'dew of the sea' in Latin." She cocked her head to look at Agatha. "People used to believe it could ward off witches." The young girl gasped. "Did you just read my thoughts, maami?" "Why, what were you thinking?" Agatha considered. If maami already knew, this was just a trick question. She decided to go with the truth. Even if maami was a witch, she wouldn't hurt her, Agatha was certain. "I was wondering if you might be a witch." The soup had now reached a boil. "Well if I was, the rosemary wouldn't let me stay here, would it?" That did make sense. Satisfied, Agatha went back to her macaroni while Maami shook her bemused head.