Like an Arancino

Or: The Affair of The Handbag

Arancino kissed and made better.

Sometimes when I think of my grandmother, I think of arancini.

It's a weird association, since she never once stuffed and fried a ball of leftover risotto in her life. It hardly matters, since I don't think about her making them.

Instead, I think about her being one of them.

There is a particular story that everyone in my fa…