Risotto of any sort usually sends most people into spasms depending on whether they're about to cook it or eat it. Eating it is one of the pleasurable things known to the dinner table. The soft, slupperiness of the rice gently billowing over your tongue; the way it seems to genuinely caress whatever sits next to it on your plate; the easy way it slips around (in this case) the mushrooms. It is an enveloping dish. Love made tangible.
Cooking it on the other hand is among the most frustrating, hate-inducing activities a cook can put themselves through. Or at least it's supposed to be, isn't it?
Call it luck, call it (ahem) culinary genius, call it what you will, but I must confess the only hate-inducing thing I've experienced when concocting this feast for the gods is reading other people's recipes for it. All that mindless stirring, the trembulous attention it demands, ON THE GRAVE OF YOUR GOOD MOTHER YOU WILL DIE attitude towards deviating from the carved in stone instructions generally presented. My own mother flatly refused to make risotto for nearly twenty-five years after a dinner party mishap before I was born. Much like the memory of a failed Beef Wellington, the mere mention of risotto was enough for a torrent of hail stones of anxiety to rise up and force you to take cover.
So when I decided the only thing that would curb an inexplicably sudden risotto craving was to bite the bullet and make it myself. And it turns out they are all WRONG. I have since decided that whoever wrote that the making of risotto was synonomous to living death was likely a chef in some schmancy restaurant who didn't want his/her custom driven back into their own kitchens.
The big hush-hush secret is this: you don't need to stir. Not the whole time in any case. Just enough to make sure it doesn't stick to the bottom, a little 'fluff-work' if you will, and let the pot do the rest. The recipe below is adapted from Nigella Lawson's book, How to Eat, which is a marvellous read even if you don't cook.
ingredients
2 tbsp butter
2 tbsp olive oil
3 small shallots (or 1/2 onion or 5in of one leek), finely chopped
175-200g risotto rice (I used arborio, but any Italian risotto rice is fine)
3 shot glasses of white wine (making that 75ml??)
4-500ml piping hot vegetable stock (I would have used stock made from the rest of the leek were I using leek, but I wasn't, but feel free)
100g chestnut mushrooms (which is roughly 5-6 small-medium sized), thinly sliced
a good fistful of rocket, very thoroughly washed (spinach is an easy substitute here)
shredded basil leaves and a light dusting of parmasean cheese to top it off
method
For a recipe such as this, most pundits will advocate the use of the heaviest-bottomed saucepan you've got, and I agree. It keeps the heat at once more gradual and more intense than a thin-bottomed one, and will allow you to cook more evenly without burning. Also, pre-preparation on stock, chopping and chosing a bottle of wine to use are all highly recommended here.
Right, so heat the olive oil and one of your tablespoons of butter on not-to-high-heat. Once melted down a bit so that it begins to spread, add the shallot (or whatever you've decided to use) and cook for a few minutes until softened. Add the rice, gently toss the pan so that every last grain is covered and then toss a bit more just to make certain. Stir in the white wine until it is nicely absorbed. (Try to make sure the bottle is already uncorked and ready to go otherwise you'll end up imitating my wild panicked shouting at Matthew to get the damn thing corked already because it's going to be RUINED! I have a feeling a pre-corking would have done us both a lot better. At this point also feel free to have a glass of said wine, which will also help calm the nerves.)
Now for the vaguely tricky bit. Stir in a ladleful of (the piping hot, remember) stock. If you've not got a ladle, just splash a bit in, about 100ml. Stir thoroughly so that you can see it start to absorb. Add in the mushrooms and mix well. Follow up with another ladleful/100ml stock and stir a few times then put the lid on and do something else for five minutes. The washing up maybe. Read the news. Over the next twenty minutes check its progress every few minutes, adding stock and stirring as needed. I didn't use all my stock, which is why I've only suggested making half a litre; however, if you find you've run out of stock and the rice still isn't puffy enough, a little hot water will do the trick.
Having tasted and decided the rice is perfect and removed the pan from the stove top, stir in the rocket leaves. This has a dual affect: firstly, it will encourage the rocket to wilt and, secondly, it help fluff the rice even further. I know, it's almost fanatical this fluffing talk, but it is so worth it you'll want to be fluffing the fluff all night long. As your last flourish, a dusting of basil and parmasan over top.
Serve it up.
I'm not sure how many this is supposed to be for, but Matthew and I managed to wolf this lot down in one. Maybe we're just piglets, maybe it was just that good, but if you're cooking for more than two double it all up as many time as there are couples.
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