Several weeks ago, I ran into my favorite professor from college at the gym. For privacy's sake, we will refer to him as RR.
"RR!" I said.
"Hey, adrober!" he said.
We got to talking. One of our shared interests is food. I told him that I've been cooking more and more and that I'm getting quite good at it.
"Excellent," he said, nodding his head enthusiastically. Then, a bit quieter, he asked: "Have you made risotto yet?"
I turned several shades of pink and regretfully shook my head "no."
Things grew quiet.
"Ummm..." RR stammered. "Well, I better go work my pecs."
Tonight was not particularly ideal for risotto making. I needed to finish a short story for a short story contest that I'm entering. Plus, I have a pretty unpleasant cold, that keeps me in a constant state of sniffling. And my usual culinary guinea pig (having most recently consumed my disturbingly undercooked chicken) and roommate, Lauren, was out (perhaps intentionally) at a movie. My only audience was, in fact, Lolita my hard-to-please cat.
No matter. As some great chef probably said somewhere: "Risotto trumps all!"
PART ONE: INGREDIENTS
So first I cracked open my "Chez Panisse Cooking" book. Having bought it several months ago, this was (sadly?) the first recipe I've attempted from within its pages.
Next, I determined which ingredients I needed. I already had a heap of unsalted butter in the fridge, a huge box of kosher salt and several pepper balls left in my pepper grinder. I had 2 mini-bottles of dry white wine... well, I'm not actually sure if it was dry, but it was white and already purchased (Sutter Home, 2000, according to my sommelier). And I had 2 quarts of chicken broth in boxes that were eerily reminiscent of the box drinks I used to bring to school as a youngster.
Alas, still in need of 4 to 6 cups of wild mushrooms, 2 shallots, Arborio rice, pancetta, parsley and thyme, I headed down the hill to my local Whole Foods. (It's literally in my backyard). I ran through the store, scooping everything up like those guys on Supermarket Sweep. At the register, I impulsively bought a copy of Bon Apetit, to add to the stack of Food Magazines that I read once and never read again. The check-out woman eyed my Arborio rice suspciously. "What is this?" she asked. "It's for Risotto," I answered. "Ah," she said, still staring at it. "Umm, let's go here," I said to her in my head. She studied the rice several seconds more (did she suspect sinister Arborio activity?) and placed the rice in the bag. Grand total? $22.46. But without the magazine, it would have been like $4.
PART TWO: ALL MY MISE ARE EN PLACE
Call me old-fashioned (or French) but I like to have everything ready before I go. And, in the case of a rather intimidating dish like risotto, it seemed doubly-wise.
So: I diced the two shallots (my eyes, which are normally shallot-immune, began gushing forth huge quanities of water, making dicing quite difficult); I diced my pancetta (probably not small enough), I measured out my wine, and chopped the parsley and thyme. Here's what everything looked like when I was done:
PART THREE: SCREW THESE TITLES, THEY'RE UNNECESSARY
Anyway, so then I simply followed Alice Waters and Paul Bertolli's finicky but helpful directions.
1) I sauteed the mushrooms for 15 minutes:
2) I set them aside.
3) I melted butter in my large silver pot. I added the shallots:
They were supposed to "soften" for two minutes but since they were browning, I quickly jumped to step 4.
4) And I added the pancetta and the rice.
5) The sizzle was loud and highly enjoyable. I stirred it around for three minutes. Then, in a moment of true auditory pleasure
6) I added the wine!
7) I waited for the rice to suck that up and, when it did, I began adding the chicken broth.
This part was the most terrifying. Not necessarily because it was difficult, but because this seemed to be the most "built-up" of the steps, the one where Risotto either triumphs or joins a support group. I added the broth cautiously, always stirring, and always rereading the instructions in the book that cautioned not to let the broth go higher than the level of the rice.
This continued for 15 minutes and was rather soothing. Perhaps spas and health clubs should add risotto-stirring to their day long therapeutic beauty treatments?
8) So then, after the 15 minutes, I turned up the heat and stirred in the mushrooms.
Ah, now this was really the do-or-die moment. Alice and Paul are all like: "You better adjust your seasonings here! And add the right amount of broth! And taste it to make sure it's not too chewy or too tender!" Yikes. And, for the record, tasting scalding hot risotto rice does nothing but numb your tongue and the roof of your mouth.
In any case, after five minutes, all seemed copacetic. I stirred in the butter and the herbs:
PART FOUR: SAY WHA?
Ok, so let me get this straight. Stir rice for 15 minutes and you have risotto?
My goodness, look what I had before me:
I carried it over to the TV table and sat down with Lolita, contemplating.
She gave me a look that said: "Well, go on, eat it!"
So I scooped up a spoonful. Steam billowed off it and I carried it slowly to my mouth. First taste impression: Mmmmm. It was such a wonderful, earthy combination of flavors. Standing out the most? The thyme, pancetta and wine. Their combination really made this taste like nothing I'd ever tasted. The whole thing was a terrific fusion of flavor and texture and justified all the risotto posturing of my favorite professor, RR.
When I finished the bowl I looked around me, taking in the world, and sighing. That non-existent chef whose quote I made up before really was right. Risotto DOES trump all.
THE END ?!?
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