They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
What about a woman? I don’t know about you, but if a man cooks for me…*swoon*
garnish me with parsley, I’m his!
In my new book, ROCK SOLID, my hero, Maximo Vega cooks a
delicious Italian dinner for Emily Baskins. I loved adding this extra facet to
Maximo’s considerable charms. He seems to have many varied and, might I say,
stunning talents!
So I thought
I’d share one of Maximo’s recipes with you today. After starting with a fresh caprese salad followed by cacio e pepe, he served involtine di polo. Here’s the recipe he learned at the knee of
his Italian Nonna:
Involtini di Pollo con Prosciutto e Fromaggio
(Stuffed chicken breast with prosciutto
and parmesan)
3 whole, boneless chicken breasts
6 slices of prosciutto
6 tablespoons freshly grated parmesan
3 fresh sage leaves
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 cup milk
3 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 cube chicken bouillon, crushed
1 cup dry, white wine
Salt and pepper to taste
1/3 cup heavy cream
Split each chicken breast in half. Put one slice of prosciutto and one
tablespoon of parmesan, plus half a sage leaf on each breast. Roll up and
secure with a wooden pick. Dip each chicken breast in milk and roll in flour to
lightly coat.
In a large skillet, melt butter with oil. When butter foams, add chick
breasts. Cook over medium heat, turning often until golden brown on all sides.
Add bouillon and ½ cup of wine. Season with salt and pepper and cook until wine
is reduced by half.
Add remaining wine, reduce heat and cover. Simmer 15-20 minutes, turning
chicken several times and adding a little more wine if sauce becomes too dry.
Place chicken on a serving platter. To skillet, increase heat and whisk
in cream to deglaze the pan. Taste. Add more salt and pepper, if needed. Spoon
sauce over chicken. Serve.
Yum! Maximo
Vega is yummy on all levels! And wait until you read how he likes to eat his dessert
-- aranci in salsa di marsala.
So are you the
cook? Does your significant other do the cooking or surprise you with a special
meal? Maybe you can take a page from ROCK SOLID and make Maximo’s dinner. I am!
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BLURB:
MAXIMO VEGA is a “rock” star! The
media proclaimed him 'The Sculptor for the New Generation,' but he’s a
reclusive artist ensnared by fame. Driven and intense, his isolation only adds
to his mystique. Couple that with his smoldering good looks and rich Italian
accent… Fans sigh his name.
EMILY BASKINS is a gifted graduate student at the Stoddard School of Art. To land an internship at the Vega Studio is her golden ticket. All she has to do is follow the rules. And stay out of trouble. Two things Emily has never been able to do.
As Max becomes trapped in the glare of the limelight, he discovers his greatest muse. He teaches Emily to breathe passion into clay and give marble a soul. But is their fiery relationship as rock solid as they believe? Or will a lie shatter the illusion?
EMILY BASKINS is a gifted graduate student at the Stoddard School of Art. To land an internship at the Vega Studio is her golden ticket. All she has to do is follow the rules. And stay out of trouble. Two things Emily has never been able to do.
As Max becomes trapped in the glare of the limelight, he discovers his greatest muse. He teaches Emily to breathe passion into clay and give marble a soul. But is their fiery relationship as rock solid as they believe? Or will a lie shatter the illusion?
EXCERPT:
Maximo Vega gathered his composure. He wore a black
T-shirt, gray across the shoulders with dust, worn jeans, and heavy boots under
a thick leather apron that reached to his knees. Hanging his head and bracing
his hands on his hips, he was a study in frustration. The sleeves of his shirt
hugged defined muscles of steely arms. And his hands…they were artist’s hands.
Sculptor’s hands. Beaten by stone and scarred by tools. They spoke of years of
rugged, blistering work.
He was tall. His shadowed jaw, rigid with anger,
cut sharply against the tanned column of his neck. Maximo slapped the chisel on
his leathered thigh. “I pay you. You find me good hands! Not idiota!”
“I’m sorry, Maximo. He’s gone. You’ll never have to
work with him again.”
“Good.”
The great artist’s gaze slid over Emily. His eyes
stopped at the white-knuckled hold she had on the large black portfolio.
He waved a hand toward her. “What are you?”
Emily’s throat slammed shut.
“A new intern possibly,” offered Dante. “She’s here
from the Stoddard School of Art.”
Deep brown eyes the color of rich coffee, no cream,
speared her beneath frowning brows. He flipped his hand toward the portfolio.
“Come. Show me.”
Emily shot a look to Dante. He gave her a tiny
nudge, like a parent pushing a frightened child toward Santa’s lap.
“Come, come, come.” He snatched the portfolio from
her numb fingers, unzipped it and laid it open across a crowded worktable. He
used the rag in his hand to wipe the sweat from his lip as he flipped through
photos and sketches of her latest works.
“Nice. Hmm. No.” A nod for this one. A shake of the
head for another. “Yes. This one is good. Good.”
He looked away from her sketches and gave her a
hard stare before looking down the full length of her and back again in a slow appraisal.
Emily released the breath she was holding.
“Let me see your hands.”
She held them out and he grasped her wrists and
examined first her palms before turning them over. “Cold,” he said just loud
enough for her to hear.
The smell of the heat of his body and the spice of
soap drifted past her.
“Nervous.”
He lifted a quick eyebrow. “Good.”
**********
BUY LINKS:
BIO:
Lisa A. Olech is an artist/writer living in her dream house
nestled among the lakes in New England. She loves getting lost in a steamy
book, finding the perfect pair of sexy shoes, and hearing the laughter of her
men. Being an estrogen island in a sea of testosterone makes her queen. She
believes in ghosts, silver linings, the power of a man in a tuxedo, and happy
endings.
You can find her at: www.lisaolech.com, Facebook: www.facebook.com/Lisa.A.Olech.Writer, Twitter: www.twitter.com/LisaOlech
(Recipe adapted from Biba’s Northern
Italian Cooking)
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