Cooking with my Daughter

She walked into the kitchen after her shower, her long, dark-brown hair, still wet, hanging over her shoulders. I was standing at the counter chopping onions and she stood beside me. "Can I help?" I considered my answer. I didn't want to say no, unlike my son, she rarely asks because she's usually busy with activities near dinnertime and not available. I spoke against my inner inclination with an uninspired, "sure".

I let her stir the simmering chicken broth and then measure out the arborio rice to pour into the simmering pot of onions and olive oil. I tell her to stir until the rice is coated in oil and she wants to know why. I think it's for flavor, I tell her. Then, she suggests an all-purpose seasoning that I have begun to use in everything--she loves it. Good idea, I tell her, as I have overlooked this seasoning and it's sure to make the dish.

I add the broth cup by cup and she stirs it in each time until the rice is soft. Then we add our spinach and artichokes and she stirs the pot one final time. While I take over, she pulls some bowls from the cabinets for me to fill with our time-together dish. I suggest a picnic on the living room floor and both kids cheer--"you're the best!"

Spinach-Artichoke Risotto has taken on a new meaning for me. It has become a dish that I made with my daughter one night. The dish we made together when I thought I was too tired to find anymore enjoyment in a long day. We carved out a memory from the mundane and were both filled with more than risotto when our bowls were clean.