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Gratitude Number 3
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Risotto tutto giallo
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by Gustav Ericson, for B.W.
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Often, on these stark
December days, the gauzy gray sky only lightens at dusk when the work
is done and the wheelbarrow is put away. Sometimes, the western sky
will burst into an exultant sweep of deep salmon and brilliant
eggshell, recalling July’s spectacular sunsets. More often it is a
narrow strip of soft spun gold under the billowing steel gray of early
winter. I often work up in the woods under a canopy of bittersweet,
brilliant against the gray sky, startling against the blue. The
bittersweet is taking over the lower woods now, twisting around the
locusts in elegant loops and tight, choking spirals. Such is life.
Luscious dichotomies: in town an hour ago, with the smells of
over-roasted coffee and Chinese food on the crowded streets; whereas
out here there is only the damp, peaceful and cold smells of the earth,
moss, trees and ferns awaiting winter. In a moment five extensive vees
of geese will take over the sky, headed ESE, filling this hitherto
noiseless little world with their squeaky mechanical clatter, a
familiar and cherished cacophony each year about this time. Solitude.
These moments- the pink-gold sky, the drooping canopy of bittersweet,
the pair of cardinals that sits exquisitely and momentarily in my birch
trees- these moments, like someone that you really love- make you want
to be, and do, better.
Because I have no art, I know of no better way to be better than to
make a better dinner, so I do, always, looking for a better way. There
are many whom I really love,
and they are often hungry. This predilection for the culinary tweak has
carried me down a circuitous road strewn with almost-perfect palmiers
and their big imposing relative Monsieur Pithivier ; years of Coq au vin and Boeuf Bourguignon in every
permutation; a frightening foray into crèmes both bruléed and
carameled; omnipresent Salades Niçoises; fervent searches for the best nuoc mam, salt-preserved capers,
bird’s nests, angelica, jars of obscure mustards, smoked black tea and
eels, violets candied and jammed, and chocolates of every origin and
intensity. I have obsessed over puttanesca, ciabatta, shortbread and
polenta. I have discovered that it is always worth the effort (because
you have to eat, anyway)and that cooking is usually better than going
out to dinner.
Cooking is wonderful and makes you better, no matter what else is going
on. This became apparent to me in a recent long foray into the realm of
risotto. Risotto is never quite perfect when you order it out- and I’ve
tried it at some no-slouch beaneries for sure. At home, with your
music, and the curious peace of early winter settling around the house,
it can be perfect, and your attention to its idiosyncrasies will,
indeed, make for many “better” moments. Inexpensive yet utterly
satisfying risotto can involve all your senses and all your tastes-
from sweet to the au courant
umami- if you pay attention. As you hear the sizzle of the garlic and
onions when they hit the hot butter you might remember the dramatic
splutter of the tandoori onions as they arrived at the table, with a
taciturn waiter, in a murky Indian restaurant long ago. You know that
the aroma of the onions will fly to the four corners of the room and
hang there all night, and you somehow take comfort in that. You might
have learned to remove the onions with a slotted spoon when you toast
your rice, so that they will not overcook. You heat your wine, because
warm wine will not shock the grains of Arborio or Canaroli the way cold
wine would, and because you like the sweetly acid smell of warming
wine. You might think of the little vineyard in the Veneto from which
it came, pruned carefully now, awaiting winter and rest. You encourage
each grain to become enrobed in the butter and/or oil, watching as they
turn opalescent and then opaque, and cook the rice until it “burns”
your fingers (you might remember Madeleine Kaman, and how she would
explain the physical reaction of starch in fat and heat, and you miss
her). You might add half the simmering broth to the toasted rice, as
many people prefer, but how laborious is it, really, to stand over a
pot of buttery, winey, oniony pearls and stir them? Particularly as
your ballad, or ballade, wafts through the house and the lights come up
past the woods. There are far worse ways to kill an evening. You watch
as the rice ingests each ladle of simmering broth, and make sure to
never let the rice dry out before adding another ladleful. You don’t
mind stirring, like when you make polenta, because you respect
tradition and know that certain idiosyncrasies have their raisons d’être or perhaps their ragione d’essere. You know that
your goal is distinct, pearlescent, creamy grains of rice with an
ever-so-slight al dente core,
enrobed in a silky, flavorful, thickened broth, alla onda, or “on the wave”. The
discerning Venetians prefer their risotto molto alla onda, almost like a
soup, and have countless variations of piscatorial risotti. Their most
famous version is comprised solely of the rice (they prefer the vialone nano type) and an
unseasoned fish broth, and is reportedly the best risotto in the world.
I will get back to you on that soon.
Staying home in winter and cooking- yes-
that first blast of chorophyllic green as your big knife descends into
the pile of parsley, and you shave your Parmagiano into a feather
light, pale gold shower, which you turn into your rice slowly and
voluptuously. If you’ve gotten into butternut squash risotto- as I have
lately- you take pleasure in roasting the cubes of squash with olive
oil, sea salt and fresh ground Telicherry pepper. You roast this in a
400° oven and toss the golden cubes around occasionally until they
caramelize. You can add half the squash into your rice after you add
your warmed wine, and fold the other half in just before you add the
cheese at the end. The moist ingredients that you add to your basic
risotto, be they squash, mushrooms, meat or shellfish, are called il intogolo, and you add them to
your rice when they are at the same stage of doneness. (Remember the
culinary law of “like into like”, as earlier exemplified by the warm
wine going into the hot rice). I have learned to dilute the broth,
about half and half water to broth or stock, so as not to overwhelm the
delicacy of the sweet onions and rice and whatever intogolo. I like grated Moliterno
with a squash risotto better than Parmagiano ; fried sage leaves or a
side of quickly sautéed garlicky spinach make perfect accouterments. I
have developed certain risottic traditions
as far as cheese is concerned: with R. Milanese, P. Reggiano is
virtually imperative; with asparagus, I like Piave; with spinach and
pine nuts, try a wonderful pecorino Toscano. My favorite lately has
been a crimini mushroom-saffron risotto with subtle, slightly fruity
Montasio and a smattering of white truffle oil. Why go out, indeed?
You can trust me when I advise you that the pleasures of saffron are
myriad, and that I have written about 100 single space pages on that
treasured spice. Let me say here only that saffron is best infused in a
fatty substance like butter or oil or cream, and that you will never go
back to a hot water infusion once you try the more oleaginous one. The
complexities of saffron cling better, apparently, to fat than to water.
The classic Risotto Milanese, with or without the bone marrow, is a
study in simplicity and Northern Italian attention to method and
ingredient. When you infuse a few tablespoons of cream with a big pinch
of saffron, and add it to your risotto at the end, along with your
cheese and butter, you have not only created a mantecato (enrichment) but you
will have created one of the most luxurious yet simple dishes we know.
As comforting as pot roast or rice pudding. Whether cooked “alla ondo”
or to a firm, less soupy consistency, always serve risotto forthwith,
to fully savor the various aromas, tastes and textures before they
escape. Although this is a cardinal risotto rule, I have eaten leftover
risotto and certainly survived - quite well, actually.
Some observations about risotto that I need to offer here: Don’t forego
the wine. Risotti made without wine are rather flat and I go for a full
cup of Pinot rather than the usual half cup for two cups of rice. Our
Donna Quinn likes a white Bordeaux; the ladies at the London River Café
like extra dry white vermouth; Carmella Soprano apparently likes
champagne with her truffled risotto. I usually rely on Pinot Grigio or
prosecco. A soothing and luxuriant risotto, always a favorite, is a
leftover prosecco and leek risotto with Parmagiana Regianno. You can
also use leftover champagne-how bad could that be? Remember all those
champagne and mushroom omelettes?
The Silver Spoon has thirty risotto variations, my old Venetian Cookery
suggests that there at least one hundred twenty versions. I have made a
lot of them, and every version was better than the last. I will happily
share my old risotto with porcini recipe with you-just ask. I would
like to thank Susan Garth and Don Brown for their generosity with
risotto/butternut inspiration and acumen. I know that a blue bowl of
simple Risotto alla Milanese with someone you love can hold you like
that early winter sunset or a Mahler second movement, or a little Rilke
poem. We all try to find a way to be better, to live up to the
cardinals in the birch tree.
One thing about our beloved Honest Weight, through all its travails, is
that, for an ardent foodie of any stripe, it is the place to go when
you need to tweak your recipe or improve your larder or, perhaps, you. Il Co-op has every rice, stock,
onion, squash, herb, cheese, spice, cream, and flesh needed for your
own personal favorite risotto. There are chicken legs and beautiful
leeks for a stellar stock; at least a dozen varieties of sea salt;
mushrooms both fresh and dried; truffled oils and butters; spinach and
chard and artichokes-- all the ingredients for whatever invogolo your heart desires.
Everything except the prosecco,
and anyway it’s fun to go to the wine store. Honest Weight, to the
delight of many, provides it all, like nowhere else in these environs.
We can also offer you any risotto counsel you need, so stop over soon
for that, or a taste of Montasio. Nuture those you really love-if only
with a bowl of rice-and have a wonderful winter.
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