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Whenever someone tickles the hair-trigger of my seemingly congenital guilty conscience, the response to my reflexive mea culpa is that I am s-o-o-o Catholic. Well, yes, I hope so. Then again, the Pilgrim tradition of my youth is no slouch when it comes to guilt, so I can’t say as I took that on with…

…Especially if it’s the Pope’s Risotto. Sure, we’re sweltering here in New York, and it’s likely worse elsewhere. But summer is still a few days away–officially–so before it gets hotter or later, let’s whip up a steaming plate of the risotto that Lidia Bastianich made for Benedict XVI when he visited in April. I can’t…
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