Anna's Risotto

Author Notes

Years ago, when my brother and I each left home for our respective first times, we found ourselves living in the same town. As kids we'd fought like proverbial cats and dogs. But now, each of us alone and lonely, we started sharing homemade dinners on Saturday night, family recipes that reminded us of home, satisfying our hunger for more than a good meal.
One of these was risotto, a dish our mom had learned growing up in a farming village in the Italian Alps. It was peasant food – no saffron, no shaved truffles, no Arborio rice – a molten mound of rice, capped with drifts of grated Parmesan cheese, eaten in concentric circles as it cooled.
I still have the recipe Mom sent, written a half-page of yellow legal pad, with this note: "You know I never measure my ingredients, so use your own judgment if you find it isn't up to your taste."
As if. —CMarie