Page 31 of Savoring Christmas
Mia took a bite as well. Abby wasn’t lying—beneath the darker crust, the chicken was perfectly tender, and the Marsala sauce had a rich complexity that spoke to his careful attention during the deglazing. “She’s right, Logan. It’s delicious.”
Logan snorted, but his shoulders relaxed slightly. “You’re both just being nice.”
Harold’s flambéed creation landed in front of Kris, who cut into it with enthusiasm. The chicken released a cloud of wine-scented steam that made everyone at the table lean in slightly.
“Harold, I love this,” Kris said, grinning. “The wine really penetrated the meat—that little fireworks show actually did something magical.”
Harold’s chest puffed with pride. “Really? I thought I’d ruined it.”
“No way,” Kris said.
Abby’s potatoes found their way to Reese, who took a careful, small bite. The lumps had indeed softened with the added cream, creating a texture that was more homestyle than restaurant-smooth but delightful just the same.
“These remind me of my grandmother’s potatoes,” Reese said softly, and something in her voice made the table go quiet. “She never made them perfectly smooth either. She said lumps meant they were made with love, not a machine.” Her eyes brightened slightly. “They were my favorite thing.”
Abby’s eyes misted. “Your grandmother sounds wonderful.”
“She was. I miss her every day,” Reese said. “Thank you for bringing a bit of her to me tonight.”
When Reese’s flawless dish made its rounds, the praise was genuine and effusive. The chicken was golden and succulent,the sauce glossy and perfectly balanced, the potatoes piped like something from a cooking show.
Mia cut into the tender meat and took a bite. “The seasoning is spot-on, and look at this plating—you’ve got a real eye for presentation.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Logan added, tasting the sauce. “And the flavor balance is incredible. You sure you haven’t done this before?”
Kris nodded enthusiastically through a mouthful of the creamy potatoes. “These are like silk. How did you get them so smooth?”
“I’m not sure. I just did what Mia told us,” Reese said, humbly.
“This is the kind of dish I’d order at a fancy restaurant and be happy paying thirty dollars for,” Harold said. “And anyone who knows me knows I’m a tad on the frugal side.”
Reese ducked her head, color rising in her cheeks, but she was clearly pleased.
Kris’s dish, when it arrived at Mia’s place, was solid and well-executed—perhaps not as refined as Reese’s, but showing real understanding of the techniques. The chicken was properly cooked through, the sauce had good consistency, and the potatoes were creamy and well-seasoned.
“Kris, you nailed the fundamentals,” Mia said approvingly. “This is exactly what I was hoping to see—you understood the process and implemented it cleanly. Well done.”
Thelma’s dish, when it made its way around the table, drew impressed murmurs from everyone. Her chicken was perfectly golden, the Marsala sauce rich and velvety, and her potatoes were smooth as silk with just the right amount of garlic.
“Thelma,” Mia said, cutting into the tender meat, “this is absolutely beautiful. The sauce has incredible depth—did you add something extra?”
Thelma’s weathered hands smoothed her apron, a small smile playing at her lips. “Just a tiny pinch of fresh thyme from my garden, and maybe a touch more butter than you called for. Old habits.”
Logan took a bite and closed his eyes appreciatively. “This tastes like something my mom would make. There’s something about it that’s like a hug.”
“That’s from years of cooking.” Harold raised his fork in salute. “You see, Thelma, we might be old but look what experience has provided.”
Thelma flushed. “I suppose this old girl still has a few new tricks.”
As the plates continued their circuit, the conversation flowed with the wine Mia had opened—compliments genuine despite the varying levels of success, encouragement mixed with gentle teasing, the kind of warmth that only came from shared effort and mutual support.
“You know what?” Abby raised her wine glass as the last plates found their way back to their creators. “I think we should be proud. This was a hard dish but we all made it through.”
“That’s right,” Mia said. “And every time you make it, you’ll get better.”
But as they settled in to eat their own creations, Mia noticed Reese’s fork hovering above her plate, trembling slightly in the fluorescent light.
Logan must have noticed too, his own bite pausing halfway to his mouth. “Something wrong, Reese?” he asked gently.
