Page 39 of Savoring Christmas
“Logan and I are working together to help them,” Mia said. “We’ll keep you all posted. But for now, I want to hear how everyone’s doing. Aside from Reese, is anyone cooking at home?”
Thelma adjusted her reading glasses. “Harold and I have been practicing our knife skills together. I think I’m improving.”
Harold grinned. “She’s just being modest. Her julienne is quite sexy.”
Everyone laughed. Except for Thelma, who blushed like a teenager. Cannoli tilted her head at the sound, as if even she found Harold’s comment amusing.
“I never thought of proper slicing as sexy but who am I to judge?” Mia asked. “How’s everyone else doing?” She retied her apron strings. “Does anyone else have a cooking success story to share before we get going?”
“I tried the Marsala at home,” Abby said. “Luke loved it so much he asked if we could put it on the Christmas Eve menu. Which is a very big deal in the Hayes family. I finally have something to contribute. I’m so happy with myself.”
“That’s wonderful. I’m so pleased and proud. All right, we should get going.” Mia clapped her hands lightly. “Let’s see what we can do with a little flour, some potatoes, and an egg.”
She held up a warm russet potato. “Tonight’s challenge: homemade potato gnocchi. Four ingredients—potatoes, flour,egg, salt. Simple in theory. Tricky to master. But you’re all going to do splendidly.”
Kris groaned good-naturedly. “Famous last words.”
“Our goal tonight is light, pillowy gnocchi—not the heavy kind that sinks like stones.” Mia hauled out the two ricers she’d brought from her restaurant. “And we’re going to learn how to use this bad boy.”
“Is that some kind of torture device?” Logan asked, brow raised.
“It’s a ricer,” Thelma said. “I’ve had one for years that I never use.”
“Well, let’s change that tonight. First, we have to peel the cooked potato. You want them still warm but not hot enough to burn your fingers.” Mia demonstrated, steam curling upward as she slid the skin from the potato. “Baking instead of boiling keeps them dry. Moisture is the enemy of good gnocchi.”
Cannoli gave a hopeful sniff toward the counter, as if she thought potatoes might somehow lead to dog treats.
Mia pressed the potato through the ricer, the soft pile falling onto the board.
“I always wondered what one of these did,” Abby said.
“It’s a must if you want fluffy gnocchi,” Mia said. “You put the salt, flour, and egg in the middle of the potato. And then we fold it together gently. This is not bread dough, so we don’t want to overwork it. The dough should feel soft, almost delicate. If it starts feeling tough, you’ve gone too far.”
Abby peered at the mound. “What happens if it starts out too sticky?”
“Light dusting of flour should fix it,” Mia said, brushing her fingers over the counter. “But don’t go crazy. Too much flour makes them dense.”
Logan scribbled away in his notebook. Mia bit back a smile. Cannoli strolled by and rested her chin on his knee, clearly more interested in attention than gnocchi-making technique.
She divided the dough into portions. “Now, this is where the fun starts. We roll each portion into ropes. About three-quarters of an inch thick. No thinner or they’ll fall apart in the water, no thicker or they’ll be gummy in the center. Think of them as little snakes that actually taste good.”
Kris grinned. “That’s an image I didn’t need. Postmen hate snakes.”
Mia demonstrated, rolling the dough under her palms with even pressure. “See? Gentle. You don’t have to rush it. Let the dough tell you when it’s ready.” She lined up the rope neatly. “Once you’ve got your rope, we cut them into pieces. You can leave them as is or roll them over a fork for ridges. The ridges aren’t just for looks—they help catch the sauce.”
Thelma nodded. “I knew there was a reason.”
Mia smiled. “There’s always a reason. Okay, everybody, go for it. I’m here to answer questions.”
Soon they were all hard at work, quiet conversation weaving between stations. Cannoli made a slow lap of the room again, stopping just long enough to sniff Harold’s station before moving on, as if checking that everyone was following instructions.
“Do you guys want to hear some gossip?” Abby asked.
“Always,” Kris said.
“You’ll probably already know this, Kris, but it was news to me,” Abby said. “There’s someone new in town. A mysterious billionaire. Name of Grant Stratton.”
Logan raised a brow. “How do you know?”
