How to Make Risotto

I have been told, by persons who shall remain nameless, that my recipes are too vague, that they fail to provide enough detail to allow someone to follow along and recreate the dish. Well, my response to that is, tough shit, this isn't a recipe book, its an outlet for my narcissim, in which I preen and pose and show off all my wonderful opinions about food; my opinions amuse and fascinate me endlessly, so they must do the same for everyone else, no?

Having acted out and given voice to my petty rebellion, I will now address the valid criticism by offering an in-depth, opinionated, guide and master recipe for the making of risotto.

Risotto is wonderful, and once you have made one risotto, you can make them all. You can make them dry-ish, you can make them wet and soupy, its a wonderful comfort food, a main course or a luxurious side dish, its great leftover for lunch the next day, its simple, but sophisticated, its just cool. If you aren't much of a cook and can only make 3 or 4 dishes, risotto must be one of them. For the bachelors out there, trust me, invite her to your place for a dinner of ceaser salad, a risotto, and one of those oozey little chocolate cakes, and you will be in there, guaranteed.

I am going to describe what I call "plain" risotto, I really don't know what it is properly called, but its risotto with cream and parmesan cheese. Its mac and cheese, really; whats the difference? A starch, milk, cheese, same texture, essentially identical. Thats a theme I will be returning to over and over, there are only about a dozen dishes in the world, 99% of the recipes out there that claim to be unique and different dishes are just minor variations on a very few basics. Spotting the relations is fun, like discovering the cognates in the languages descended from Indo-European.

Step One: Assemble the Ingredients

Anthony Bourdain, whom I worship, worships the mis en place. Literally, he does. It is a chef's expression which means "everything in its place," more or less, and it refers to the process of gathering all necessary ingredients, measuring the appropriate amounts, and arranging them in reach. It is more than half the work of cooking.

1 cup arborio rice (fat round rice)

5 cups chicken or vegetable stock (no purist here, canned, boullion cubes, homemade, whatever)
The stock must be in a pan, on the stove, simmering.

1 whole large shallot, minced fine

2 tablespoons of butter (Or olive oil, or your fat of choice, I could imagine using toasted sesame oil or rendered beef fat, for some really interesting flavor nuances)

1/2 cup heavy cream

1/2 cup grated parmesan (I do care about this, this is the main flavor of this dish, and the difference between Kraft and real imported Reggiano is the difference between Applebees and Lutece.)

Step Two: Saute the Shallot

Melt the butter in a medium saucepan. Add the shallots and gently sweat until soft and translucent, its not really sauteeing here, I just liked the alliteration.

Step Three: Fry the Rice

Now add the rice to the pan, raise the heat a little, and stir constantly for a while, you will be familiar with this step if you have ever made Rice-A-Roni. What you are doing is partially cooking the outer layer of starch, so that the rice grains, as they cook, will retain their independence and not clump into a glutinous mass, an essential characteristic of Risotto, so this is an important step. The rice is ready when all the grains have become slightly translucent; NO BROWNING ALLOWED, its a soft process, low heat. The butter should not turn brown.

Step Four: Add the Stock and Stir

Now you are going to spend about a half hour pouring in the stock, a little at a time, and stirring almost constantly, let it alone for no more than a minute or two at a time. Add the hot, simmering stock about a half a ladleful at a time, and stir until its almost all absorbed by the rice, then repeat. Over and over.

Now comes the tricky part: deciding when its done. Its tricky, because you have to make your determination before its done; you have to decide when to stop adding stock before the rice is completely cooked, because you are going to add more liquid, the cream, in a minute. Well, its not that hard, really, because you can always add more, but you know, if you want to do it with panache, you don't want to mess around like you never made it before.

You have a broad range of discretion, and you have options with regard to two completely different attributes; one is the toothiness of the rice, and the other is the soupiness of the risotto. Some like their rice to be quite toothy, chewy, distinctly hard on the inside. Others like their rice to be nice and soft, and somewhere in between is always a safe choice. You determine this by testing, chewing on samples until you like what you feel in your mouth, but not quite, because you also have to compensate for the fact the rice is going to continue to cook for some time after you stop cooking it. As to soupiness, this really is a distinct thing, you can, within limits, serve hard little al dente rice either soupy or dry, and likewise with the well done rice. Of course, the rice in all soupy risottos will tend with time to get soft. Soupiness is determined by how much liquid you add, and when.

Step Five: Cheese and Cream

Stir in the cheese, stir in the cream. Serve. Accept the slavish compliments of those fortunate enough to be witness to your performance art, to the transient beauty of your work.

The variations of this are endless. You can add lots of thin sliced mushrooms, the more flavory, the better, and hey, add a dash of truffle oil, why not!. Or add a cup or two of fresh grated pumpkin. Its October, steal one off your neighbors porch, or use up the pieces after your kids carve yours. Delete the cheese and add pumpkin spice so it tastes like pumpkin pie; I never did this, but it sounds good to me. Use different cheeses. How about a Humboldt Fog and Sensimilla Risotto, anyone?