Page 48 of Savoring Christmas
On the class held the night of the tree lighting, Mia’s intrepid students arrived aglow with the magic of the season. The tree lighting was a much-loved tradition in Sugarville Grove. So much so that Mia agreed to have class the same night so they could all head out after class to enjoy the festivities together.
Mia smiled as everyone found their stations. Cannoli completed her evening rounds before claiming her usual spot, dark eyes scanning for any changes.
Mia clapped her hands lightly. “All right, everyone. Tonight’s dish is Holiday Risotto with roasted butternut squash and sage. Cozy, comforting, and exactly the thing to have before heading to the tree lighting.”
Thelma adjusted her glasses. “Out into the snowy night with full bellies sounds like a good plan to me.”
Mia held up a cube of golden-orange squash. “I roasted the squash earlier so we wouldn’t have to wait on it tonight. But here’s the process—tossed with olive oil, salt, pepper, and roasted until tender and caramelized. Golden edges mean flavor.”
Kris leaned in to peer at the tray she’d brought out. “That’s a lot of squash.”
“You’ll be surprised how it shrinks,” Mia said with a grin. “Risotto has a reputation for being fussy, but, really, it’s just about patience.”
Logan’s brow arched. “Patience? That may be hard for some of us.”
“Yes, but it’s important in cooking, as it is in life,” Mia said.
“Some of us are a work in progress,” Logan said, his answering grin sending a flutter through her chest.
She moved to the center station where everyone could see her, setting a pot of broth to warm on the stove. “Step one: warm broth. Arborio rice needs it hot so it can release starch withoutshocking the grains. Arborio is short-grain, high-starch—that’s what gives risotto its creamy texture.”
Reese tilted her head. “Is it true you have to stir it the whole time?”
“Not the whole time, but you do need to keep an eye on it.” Mia held up a wooden spoon. “Risotto is like friendship—it thrives with attention.”
“How true,” Kris said.
“Romance too,” Harold said, with a wink at Thelma, who blushed like a teenager.
As the onions softened in the butter, the scent of sage and roasted squash filled the air. Mia demonstrated adding the rice, stirring until it looked translucent at the edges. “This is called toasting. It deepens the flavor before we start adding liquid.”
She glanced up to see Logan staring at her rather than the pan. It was hard to focus with him looking at her as if she were a delectable treat.
Regardless, she kept it together, deglazing the pan with wine, the hiss of steam curling upward. “This is my favorite moment. The wine goes in, the rice drinks it up, and suddenly everything smells so good.”
By the time the first ladles of broth went in, conversation flowed easily around the room—Thelma and Harold debating the merits of sage versus rosemary, Abby asking Reese about her children’s Christmas recital at her studio, Kris telling Logan about a funny exchange with a six year old who had visited Santa’s village earlier.
The risotto slowly thickened, silky and fragrant. Finally, they were ready to share their first attempts at Risotto. As they plated the risotto, each bowl crowned with golden squash and fresh sage, Mia instructed them to taste one another’s.
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Harold said, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “My mouth’s been watering for ten minutes.”
Thelma’s risotto was creamy and well-seasoned, though she gave a self-deprecating sigh as she handed it to Harold. “It’s a little thicker than it should be. I think I was afraid of undercooking it.”
Harold tasted and gave an approving nod. “If this is a mistake, it’s the kind I could eat a lot of.”
Abby’s had the right texture but leaned a bit heavy on the salt. She grimaced when Mia took a bite. “Too much salt, right?”
“Just a touch,” Mia said gently. “But the texture is beautiful — silky—and the rice is cooked perfectly. You’ve got the technique down.”
Kris’s bowl was a little looser than the rest, more like a risotto soup. “I think I got nervous and added too much broth,” he admitted.
Logan, who had the misfortune of tasting it first, grinned. “It’s delicious. Perhaps drinkable would be a good way to describe it.”
Kris laughed, shaking his head. “I’m going to have to try this one again at home.”
Logan’s risotto was hearty but slightly clumpy, like the rice had decided to stick together. Mia suspected he’d gotten distracted talking to Kris about the high school football team’s record year. She scooped a forkful, the flavor rich and balanced. “The taste is perfect,” she said, smiling at him. “Just a little more stirring next time.”
As usual, Reese’s risotto was the picture of textbook excellence—creamy, glossy, the grains tender but still distinct. The golden squash was folded in perfectly and the plate finished with a delicate scatter of sage.
