Risotto alla milanese
I will never forget the impact Italy has had on how I experience food. As an American transplant in northern Italy at the ripe old age of 12, I was both delighted and maybe a little overwhelmed when I saw how traditions around food were so deeply entrenched in everyday life and with friends and family there. I remember one Easter in the mountains in the little village of Exilles, Turin. My sister, mother stepfather and I were treated to a 10-course meal (or so it seemed) by relatives of my stepfather’s brother-in law. At first, my sister and I were enthusiastic about all the fragrant dishes being magically sent out of that tiny mountain house kitchen. But then we realized that our eyes were so much bigger than our stomachs, as children do. We both turned to my mother with a look of bewilderment on our faces and almost chimed in unison “When will we be finished Mom?”