Why Risotto Stone? Am I some sort of risotto aficionado? No. Have I ever made risotto or even attempted to make risotto? No. Do I crave risotto morning, noon and night? No.
At this point in the conversation I'm starting to lose you. You're getting bored and wondering why you decided to visit me here. I'm actually starting to bore myself and also wondering why I decided to visit me here, as well. Oh, right, I don't have a choice, but you...there's still time for you to save yourself. Run away! Okay, enough with the dramatics. Here's the scoop.
Every Sunday night, Kirk and I, play host and hostess for Sunday dinner. Attendees include, of course, Kirk and myself, but also my sister, Patricia, and her boyfriend, Sean. It's usually a grand evening of fine dining, delicate china, polished silver, and scintillating dinner conversation sparkling with intellectual wit and just the right amount of joie de vivre. Okay, so it's not quite like that. In fact, I didn't even know how to spell "joie de vivre" until a few seconds ago when my little buddy, Google (the smartest person I know), whispered it in my ear. Truth be told, Sunday Dinner is more likely to be eaten on battered white plates, using water-spotted cutlery, the likes of which would make Martha Stewart turn beet red with shame. Come over early and you'll receive the added bonus of a show before dinner, by being able to witness the cooks irritating each other in the kitchen. If you listen closely, you'll also hear the occasional obscenity being bantered about...a lot. In other words, it's a hell of a good time.
On this particular Sunday, Trissi was in attendance, as was our friend Drew, who is back in town after abandoning us for 2 or 3 years. They were playing the "catch up" game where the participants ask each other questions about current events in each other's life in order to feign interest. Maybe they were truly interested in each other's answers, but really, how often do you get to use "feign" in a sentence? I couldn't resist. Soon the topic turns to jobs and perks, as it often does, and Trissi mentions that her employer is providing access to the Rosetta Stone Spanish language program. In all seriousness, that's a pretty great thing, but let me pause and provide a bit of background before I go on.
I like words. They are fun. I am particularly fond of puns, homonyms, alliteration, non-tradtional contractions, and just plain old made up words that don't exist anywhere except inside my crazy tiny brain. To entertain myself, I will frequently listen in on a conversation, pick up on a word, and then interject a word that sounds similar to it, but either changes the meaning or makes it completely nonsensical. I've played this game with myself for a long time and thought myself a little kooky until I met Kirk, who does the same thing. Years later, I met my friend John, who again, does the same thing, but has elevated it to an art form.
Back to my story, we're standing in the kitchen...Trissi and Drew are having a completely respectable conversation and then I hear the phrase, Rosetta Stone come up. Maybe I wasn't loved enough as a child, I don't know, but all of a sudden, I can't control myself and I feel the uncontrollable need to interrupt, so I blurt out "RISOTTO STONE"! No response, just blank stares and raised eyebrows that read, "girl, you crazy", so I say it again "RISOTTO STONE"! Still nothing, maybe a few crickets chirping in the background, so I do it one more time, "RISOTTO STONE"! Finally, maybe in an effort to put a stop to my insanity and my pathetic plea for attention, Kirk says, "You know, that would be a great name for a food blog". After thinking about it for a couple of days, I decided he was right. So this is my blog equivalent of blurting out "RISOTTO STONE" in the middle of your conversation. Enjoy ;D