Risotto Nero Novels & Stories

I was ready. She knocked. I answered the door and said, "Key not working?" "Oh, I forgot I had it," she said breezily. And then she saw the dining room table. White table cloth. Steam rising from two large, shallow pasta bowls. Candles lit. She turned to me. "Black truffle risotto," I said. "The season is in full swing. I got them in from New York."

"Yes. Velina is so good. This household doesn’t deserve her." Nero’s gaze burns a hole into the side of my face so I know my plan is right on track. Quickly picking up the serving silver spoon, I pile a generous portion of the braised meat and creamy risotto onto Adriano’s plate, making sure he gets the tenderest cut. Adriano hesitantly lifts his fork, to take a small bite. "I’m really new to Italian delicacies..." He chews, and his eyebrows lift. "Oh. Wow, this is wonderful." He goes in for a second mouthful with enthusiasm this time.

We made little conversation just to pass out time and arabella was really accomodative. “Arabella where do you keep the soy sauce” I asked as we were preparing an italian-Asian fusion risotto. Arabella said it was a creamy Arborio rice with umami-rich soy sauce. It was a savoury dish from what i was able to pick up. “The top cupboard at the right” She said stir frying the shrimps. “Okay” I said. However, i had an issue i couldn't reach the cupboard. I tried reaching for it but i couldn't and the kitchen stool was on the other side of the kitchen.

He roared. "I'm fine now Adriano. Can you please tell me the names of these foods? I'm curious about it." "Okay, my dear queen. The names of these food are; Olive Ascolante (Ascoli olives), Sardine in Saor, Tiramisù, Fritto misto piemontese, Fiorentina, Minestrone, Frico, Arrosticini and that one you are eating is called I formaggi." He pointed at my plate.

But now, my stomach didn't care about any of that. I placed the nylon bag on the counter and opened it. It was risotto alla Milanese, golden and creamy. The rich smell of saffron hit me first, warm and buttery, like comfort wrapped in luxury. It looked expensive. The kind of food served in big restaurants in Italy. My mouth watered.

Nicholas extended the menu towards her and dismissed the waitress to give Isabella sometime. Isabella scrunched up her nose because she couldn't understand anything; all the dishes were written in Italian and she wasn't able to understand a single word. Nicholas snickered at her scrunched up nose which made her to pass him a glare and he clipped shut his mouth. She tossed the menu towards him annoyingly. He shook his head at her antics and gestured the waitress to come closer without even looking at the menu. Isabella looked at him in confusion. "Baked ricotta with cherry tomatoes and basil; mashed cannellini beans with garlic and rosemary on toast." he said while Isabella looked at him like

"They import their seafood fresh daily from the coast. The scallops are solid, but if you want actual flavor, you should look at the truffle-infused risotto." I leaned over slightly, peering past Kendra to look at her screen. "Wait, let me see that section. What about the braised short ribs? It says they're slow-cooked for twelve hours in a cabernet reduction." "Twelve hours?" Kendra’s eyes lit up, a mock-serious expression taking over her face. "Now you're speaking my language. After living on iced coffee and pure panic for the last week, I need something that requires zero effort to chew."

Dona Amélia said, already placing the ingredients on the impeccably clean counter. The cook smiled, already used to her employer’s affectionate manner, while Mary and Jussara exchanged curious glances. Both were eager to learn. "First lesson: the rice. Don’t use just any rice. For risotto, Arborio is ideal. It has more starch and gives that wonderful creaminess," Dona Amélia explained, holding up the package of rice. As she spoke, Mary stepped closer and began chopping the vegetables with the agility of someone who spent a lot of time in the kitchen. Jussara, on the other hand, watched attentively, absorbing every detail.

Eve then stretched from her seat after some minutes of silence to explain. “It was the fastest we could get, seeing that there’s an Italian restaurant not too far away. That one that looks like soup somehow is called minestrone. That one is called Penne all’arrabbiata, my favorite! The third one is called cacciuco. You should know the spaghetti. And The last is risotto. They’re all nice actually, Italian is a regular in our family.” I smiled at her as I stared at the food, not having the heart to complain.

The waiter placed the plates in front of them carefully. Sophia’s Risotto alla Milanese looked like a golden masterpiece, creamy and rich, with saffron giving it a beautiful yellow hue. Dante’s Ossobuco, a slow-cooked veal shank, looked just as perfect, served with roasted vegetables and a savory gremolata on top. The waiter poured them fresh glasses of champagne before stepping away. Sophia took her first bite and let out a satisfied hum. “This is amazing.” Dante smirked, cutting into his meal. “I only take you to the best.”