Sunday

            Chop, chop. Add the olive oil. Turn that knob, who cares of the inconsistencies of that electric range. Toast the rice. Don’t forget to shake those hips to the beat of the tremendous Cat Empire. Broth must be less watery. Oh tears of delight fall as onions work their magic and the sweet pain of white wine as it steams into each cavity. Don’t be too late with the broth. Wow Australian musicians never sounded so frantic until they hit the Bordelais air. Shallots wont dice themselves boy. Gentle stirs, and mind to not let it dry. Since when did wine and vinegar evaporate so quickly? Never mind, do not fret, quickly add more in the name of beautiful shallots and care of the tarragon tang. Stir. Oh where has all my chicken gone, that greedy bastard of a fridge, relinquish what is mine. Coat and prep the pan. Stir. The yolk begs for that concoction as it sits in a pot on a pot, so strain quickly and precisely. Stir. Whisk. Only a little butter at a time we cant let her get too wet. Stir. As the chicken slowly gains flavor I tenderly explain that I’m busy for the moment, but with enough time to change the track. Stir. A bit more butter as it’s needed for her to get saucy. Tarragon flakes to the béarnaise. Wine, veggies into the risotto, and add pepper all around, that dirty yet necessary village bicycle. Stir. Let out that risotto. The sauce is done. Check the chicken. Presque fini.

            Vegetable risotto with Camembert, and crushed peppered chicken covered in béarnaise sauce.