Page 8 of Savoring Christmas
“Maybe savory too?” Kris asked, chuckling at his own joke.
Mia clasped her hands, laying them on the counter. “All right, let’s get started. Tonight, we’re starting with something every Italian kitchen considers essential.” She paused for dramatic effect, feeling loose after the students’ heartfelt explanations for attending. “A classic tomato sauce. It’s not difficult to make at all, so please don’t be nervous. It requires two things—fresh ingredients and love.”
“Love?” Harold asked. “What do you mean?”
“When we cook, it should always be anchored in love. For our own nourishment.” She nodded at Reese. “And for the nourishment of others. But it’s not only about nutrition. Food also feeds one’s soul. It brings people together. It provides a way to express love. All of which you mentioned tonight in your introductions. I can tell by what you said that you’re here for the right reasons, and I can promise you—excellent sauce cures many ails.”
Thelma shook her head. “In all my years cooking for my family, I never thought of it that way. It was more of a chore than a demonstration of love.”
“Well, we’re here to change that approach. And I hope we have a lot of fun while we’re doing so. Let’s start first by learning how to use our knives properly.” Mia demonstrated how to hold the chef’s knife, her movements clean and practiced, as she chopped up her onion.
She motioned to the cutting boards laid out at each station. “All right, your turn. Half an onion per batch, diced. If possible, every piece should be the same size so they cook at the samespeed. If they’re uneven, some will burn, some will stay raw, and your sauce will taste confused.”
A few chuckles broke out.
As knives began moving, Mia circled the tables. “Good—Abby, that’s perfect. Kris, maybe keep your fingertipsbehindthe blade. I’d like you to leave with the same number of fingers you came in with.”
“I’d like that too,” Kris said.
When the onions were diced, she guided them to the garlic. “Two cloves—three if you love garlic. Slice thin. Crushing it will make it cook faster, but we want to coax the flavor out gently.”
At her station, she poured a ribbon of olive oil into a heavy-bottomed pan, the scent blooming as it warmed. “If the oil’s too hot, the garlic will burn.”
Logan opened a notebook he’d brought with him. “How do we know what temperature the oil should be? How long does it cook exactly?”
“Listen for a gentle sizzle,” Mia said
“I don’t know what that means,” Logan said, sounding slightly irritated.
“Great question. Here’s how you can tell.” She tilted her pan so everyone could see. “When the oil shimmers—see how it moves like liquid glass—that’s your cue it’s hot enough. Now, add the garlic and listen.”
She dropped the sliced cloves in, and they gave a soft, steady sizzle. “If it’s hissing loudly or spitting at you, it’s too hot. And watch the edges. When they just start turning the palest gold, like the color of straw, that’s when you move on. Any darker, and it’s bitter.”
She pointed her spoon at his pan. “See that? Yours is quiet, which is good. But the moment you hear it talking at you, take it off the heat.”
“Okay, got it.” Logan wrote in his book.
Once Mia’s garlic softened, she added the onions. “Let them go translucent. But no color yet. Color means sweetness, which is fine in some sauces, but tonight we’re going for balance.”
She passed around bowls of crushed tomatoes. “Canned is fine if it’s good quality. San Marzano is the best for sauces, if you can find it. It’s what I use in my restaurant. I know Max carries them in his store.”
“Yes, I’ve seen them there,” Abby said.
As the tomatoes went in, the sauce began to simmer, filling the room with rich, sweet warmth. Mia added a pinch of salt to her pot. “Season lightly now—we’ll taste and adjust later. You can always add more salt, but you can’t take it out.”
Logan scribbled into his book again.
Finally, she tore fresh basil leaves into each pot. “This goes in at the end. Basil hates heat.”
“Why?” Logan asked.
“Think of it as perfume. You wouldn’t leave perfume in the oven, would you?”
“Goodness, no,” Kris said.
“All right. Your turn now,” Mia said. “See if you can emulate what I just did at your own stations.”
They all began. As the room filled with the sizzle of garlic hitting hot oil, Mia circulated between stations. The familiar sounds and smells loosened the knot in her shoulders. This was actually fun.
