Page 4 of Savoring Christmas (Sugarville Grove #8)

Reese and Abby shared a smile.

“Thelma, would you like to go next?” Mia asked.

Thelma nodded, eyes glassy, clearly moved by what she’d heard from her first two classmates.

“I’m Thelma Tully. I lost my husband last year, just after the holidays.

This is my first Christmas season without him, and it’s been really hard.

Both of my children, a son and a daughter, moved away for their careers.

They’re busy and don’t need me calling them every five minutes.

But without my husband, I’ve been struggling.

My daughter thought it might be good for me to get out a few evenings a week—you know, just to get through December. So here I am.”

“Oh, Thelma, that sounds so hard,” Abby said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, dear. It was unexpected. One day he was asking for more strawberry jam for his toast and the next he was gone.” Thelma dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.

“Have you done much cooking over the years?” Mia asked.

“Sure. For my family. But nothing gourmet, I can assure you,” Thelma said. “I’m looking forward to learning from a talented chef. I do confess to watching a lot of cooking shows.”

“Me too,” Abby said. “But so far they haven’t made me a better cook.”

That drew a chuckle from the group.

“Harold, tell us about yourself,” Mia said.

“I’m Harold Jensen, and I’m here for the same reason as Thelma.

I lost my wife two years ago around this time and I’m determined not to have another Christmas crying into my warmed-up can of soup.

My wife loved Christmas and cooked through the entire month.

So many delicious treats and meals. Frankly, I took them for granted.

But now that she’s gone, I thought it might be a way to honor her memory to learn how to make a few new dishes.

But, like Thelma, it’s also a way to get out of the house and meet some new folks.

My kids all live far away, too, so it’s just me and my dog.

” He smiled in Abby’s direction. “Milo’s doing great on his new medication, by the way. ”

“Good to hear,” Abby said warmly.

“Thank you for sharing such a personal reason for being here,” Mia said. “I hope it will be fun for you.”

“I’m sure it will be,” Harold said.

All eyes turned to Logan, who shifted from one foot to the other. Mia tilted her head, studying him. “Logan, what brings you here? Other than some ribbing from your brothers?”

He gave a half-smile, shrugging sheepishly.

“I’m afraid my reason isn’t nearly as poignant as the rest of you.

I come from a big family, and we all love to gather together to eat.

It’s always someone’s birthday or a holiday or whatever, and I’m the only one who never hosts.

Mostly because I’m afraid to poison my family.

My brother Luke, Abby’s husband, challenged me to a bet at trivia night.

If I lost, I had to take this class. I lost. Obviously.

I want to apologize in advance if I’m the problem student.

” He paused, glancing around the room. “My last try at cooking nearly burned my mother’s house down. ”

Everyone laughed.

“Well, that’s a good enough reason right there. We really don’t want to burn anyone’s house down, especially our mother’s,” Mia said.

“Why did you offer the class?” Reese asked. “Just to raise money for the food bank?”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to answer.

But everyone had been so honest, she felt like she should be too.

“I’m naturally a shy person and have trouble meeting people.

When I owned a restaurant in New York, I was so busy that it was only my staff that I hung out with.

Now though, living here, I have more time for fun and friends, yet I haven’t really been able to meet anyone.

The last four years have been lonely. I thought this would help me meet some new people. ”

“That’s wonderful,” Thelma said. “I think this is going to be a very sweet experience for us all.”

“Maybe savory too?” Kris asked, chuckling at his own joke.

Mia clasped her hands, laying them on the counter.

“All right, let’s get started. Tonight, we’re starting with something every Italian kitchen considers essential.

” She paused for dramatic effect, feeling loose after the students’ heartfelt explanations for attending.

“A classic tomato sauce. It’s not difficult to make at all, so please don’t be nervous.

It requires two things—fresh ingredients and love. ”

“Love?” Harold asked. “What do you mean?”

“When we cook, it should always be anchored in love. For our own nourishment.” She nodded at Reese.

“And for the nourishment of others. But it’s not only about nutrition.

Food also feeds one’s soul. It brings people together.

It provides a way to express love. All of which you mentioned tonight in your introductions.

I can tell by what you said that you’re here for the right reasons, and I can promise you—excellent sauce cures many ails. ”

Thelma shook her head. “In all my years cooking for my family, I never thought of it that way. It was more of a chore than a demonstration of love.”

“Well, we’re here to change that approach. And I hope we have a lot of fun while we’re doing so. Let’s start first by learning how to use our knives properly.” Mia demonstrated how to hold the chef’s knife, her movements clean and practiced, as she chopped up her onion.

She motioned to the cutting boards laid out at each station. “All right, your turn. Half an onion per batch, diced. If possible, every piece should be the same size so they cook at the same speed. If they’re uneven, some will burn, some will stay raw, and your sauce will taste confused.”

A few chuckles broke out.

As knives began moving, Mia circled the tables. “Good—Abby, that’s perfect. Kris, maybe keep your fingertips behind the blade. I’d like you to leave with the same number of fingers you came in with.”

“I’d like that too,” Kris said.

When the onions were diced, she guided them to the garlic. “Two cloves—three if you love garlic. Slice thin. Crushing it will make it cook faster, but we want to coax the flavor out gently.”

At her station, she poured a ribbon of olive oil into a heavy-bottomed pan, the scent blooming as it warmed. “If the oil’s too hot, the garlic will burn.”

Logan opened a notebook he’d brought with him. “How do we know what temperature the oil should be? How long does it cook exactly?”

“Listen for a gentle sizzle,” Mia said

“I don’t know what that means,” Logan said, sounding slightly irritated.

“Great question. Here’s how you can tell.” She tilted her pan so everyone could see. “When the oil shimmers—see how it moves like liquid glass—that’s your cue it’s hot enough. Now, add the garlic and listen.”

She dropped the sliced cloves in, and they gave a soft, steady sizzle. “If it’s hissing loudly or spitting at you, it’s too hot. And watch the edges. When they just start turning the palest gold, like the color of straw, that’s when you move on. Any darker, and it’s bitter.”

She pointed her spoon at his pan. “See that? Yours is quiet, which is good. But the moment you hear it talking at you, take it off the heat.”

“Okay, got it.” Logan wrote in his book.

Once Mia’s garlic softened, she added the onions. “Let them go translucent. But no color yet. Color means sweetness, which is fine in some sauces, but tonight we’re going for balance.”

She passed around bowls of crushed tomatoes. “Canned is fine if it’s good quality. San Marzano is the best for sauces, if you can find it. It’s what I use in my restaurant. I know Max carries them in his store.”

“Yes, I’ve seen them there,” Abby said.

As the tomatoes went in, the sauce began to simmer, filling the room with rich, sweet warmth. Mia added a pinch of salt to her pot. “Season lightly now—we’ll taste and adjust later. You can always add more salt, but you can’t take it out.”

Logan scribbled into his book again.

Finally, she tore fresh basil leaves into each pot. “This goes in at the end. Basil hates heat.”

“Why?” Logan asked.

“Think of it as perfume. You wouldn’t leave perfume in the oven, would you?”

“Goodness, no,” Kris said.

“All right. Your turn now,” Mia said. “See if you can emulate what I just did at your own stations.”

They all began. As the room filled with the sizzle of garlic hitting hot oil, Mia circulated between stations. The familiar sounds and smells loosened the knot in her shoulders. This was actually fun.

By the time their marinaras were simmering, filling the room with the rich, sweet smell of tomatoes and herbs, her students seemed to be enjoying themselves too.

Although they were concentrating on their task, they chatted among themselves.

Even grumpy, slightly scary Logan seemed to be getting into the fray, laughing with Harold at their failed attempts to cut their onions evenly.

Mia stopped at Logan’s station, wincing at the leafy carnage on his cutting board. “Do you remember how I showed you to cut the basil into ribbons?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Um, yeah. Aren’t these ribbons?”

Mia shook her head, smiling. “Not any I’ve ever seen. Your basil looks like it went through a wood chipper.”

He laughed, a low sound that made her pulse tick up. “It kind of does.”

She stepped closer, picked up his knife, and rolled a few fresh basil leaves into a tight bundle. “The trick is a gentle hand and a sharp blade. What I’m showing you is called a chiffonade —it’s a classic technique for cutting herbs or leafy greens into long, delicate ribbons.”

Thelma frowned from two stations over. “What now? I’ve never heard that word in my life.”

“It’s French,” Mia explained with an easy smile, raising her voice so the whole class could hear. “ Chiffonade just means ‘little ribbons.’ The idea is to keep the leaves stacked and rolled so the cut is clean. It’s easier than it sounds, I promise.”