Free 44: Book Three by Jools Sinclair Page B

He handed one to me and then pulled out a couple of cutting boards.
    “It’s full of passion and flavor and you can’t get better than that,” he said. “I start with an onion.”
    He started cutting it up like the chefs did on the TV shows as I watched.
    “Looks like you’ve had some training,” I said.
    He smiled.
    “Yes, actually. I’ve taken quite a few specialty classes and I’ve even been to culinary school.”
    “What happened?” I asked. “How come you’re not a chef at some five-star restaurant? You’re really good.”
    “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve always just considered it more like a hobby. I don’t know if I would want to work in those professional kitchens. They seem pretty brutal.”
    I laughed.
    “Yeah, you mean like on those reality shows?”
    I used to watch Top Chef once in a while.
    “Yeah,” he said. “Like that one with that Gordon character always screaming at the top of his lungs. I think it’s like that too. But I guess my love for cooking really started to take off when I was in college studying to be a scientist. The dorm food pushed me over and I started learning how to make some decent dinners for myself.”
    “Do you like being a scientist?” I asked.
    He stopped chopping and looked at me.
    “Well, yes, I do. But to be honest, I like cooking more. And here I get a chance to do a lot of it. And in such a beautiful location.”
    He went back to the onion.
    “Okay, your turn now.”
    I started cutting, but I was slow and clumsy. But he patiently watched and didn’t correct me.
    “Can you show me how you do it?” I asked. “I’d like to go faster, like you were doing.”
    “Of course.”
    He gave me some pointers. After a few slices, I got the hang of it and was done in no time.
    “Do you mind if I play a little music?” he asked as I wiped the tears out of my eyes and backed away from the counter. “I usually play something while cooking.”
    “Sure,” I said. “Do you want me to put it in?”
    “That would be great,” he said. “Everything is over on the counter. How about some Tony Bennett?”
    I smiled. It reminded me of something Kate would listen to. But it was cool. I liked it.
    “I’ll put on the duet with Lady Gaga for you,” I said, smiling.
    “One of my favorites,” he said, chuckling.
    We chopped parsley and I grated a chunk of parmesan cheese as Tony sang about how the lady was a tramp and later about how his ship had come in. Simon took a bottle out of the wine rack and opened it. He brought over two glasses.
    “You too, Abby,” he said, pouring just a little for me. “It’s an important ritual of fine cooking.”
    I shrugged and took the glass from him.
    “Chianti Classico,” he said. “One of the best wines, in my opinion.”
    I smiled awkwardly and tried a little.
    “Someday you’ll like it,” he said, studying my expression.
    “I have chicken broth warming up over here. It’s important to always use hot liquid when making risotto or it won’t turn out like it should. I used a homemade chicken stock that I had in the freezer, but if you don’t have any, you can use an organic stock from the store I suppose.”
    He then went to the pantry and pulled out a large container of rice.
    “Always use Arborio rice, from Italy. It’s a must when making risotto.”
    He handed me a wooden spoon.
    “You know how to sauté, right?” he said.
    He brought over the chopped onions and slid them in with some butter. Then, after a few minutes, he dumped the rice in.
    The smell of the onion and butter and rice cooking together was amazing.
    “We are going to cook the rice in the stock, adding just a little bit at a time and stirring constantly. Each time the liquid evaporates, add some more.”
    He poured some of the broth into the pan and it sizzled as it hit the rice. I kept stirring as it cooked and evaporated and after a few minutes added another ladleful of the broth. This went on for about 20 minutes. Simon poured in a