Inside the condo, all was light and warmth and jazz. An almost-Christmas compilation played in the background, and as this was the last time I would be over before the holiday mayhem I decided to get the bulk of the decorating done. (This year’s Boston Children’s Holiday Hour has been planned and loosely scheduled, as has my Holiday Stroll with Kira.) And on such a frightful evening, bringing out the lights and the garland and the mantle pieces lent it a coziness that would have otherwise been missing. Grateful for the activity to pass the time until Kira arrived, I assembled the smattering of holiday decorations that I’ve amassed over the years. I lit a few candles that smelled of pinecones and tassels (at least according to the Yankee Candle company) and the decorating work was done.
As it was cocktail hour, I sliced off a peel of orange and conjured a Negroni for the fall evening. It was time to set about to making dinner, and I chopped some onion and fennel for the risotto, opened the white wine, and lit the fire beneath the chicken stock.
Risotto is all about the continuous stirring and ladling of the hot stock. It’s slightly monotonous, which gives it a soothing aspect, and a cold night when the wind and rain were whipping about just outside the window, there was no happier exercise in which to indulge. The steam rose around me as the rice slowly took in the stock and flavors of the onion and fennel. The hard white-gray pellets softened and gave up their chalkiness, melting into a creamy but firm consistency, and by the time Kira rang the buzzer, it was almost complete.
I’ve cooked for Kira a few times, and it’s one of my favorite things to do. She has taken up the knife and pot and tried some new things on her own, but for the most part she enjoys the clean-up, while I do the food-and-mess-making. She taught me a few things about how to make a wrinkle-free bed, so it all evens out in the end. On this evening, I made the risotto and we feasted on that and the wine, and all was well with the world.
Outside, the storm raged. A steady downpour ripped the leaves from the trees, while the wind moaned and did its best to infiltrate whatever cracks or crevices age and time had worked to widen. Inside, we basked in the glow and heat of a dinner just cooked, and a multitude of candles giving light and warmth to every corner. This, then was fall. This was coziness. This was comfort. This would be how we made it through another winter.
