“All human history attests
That happiness for man, - the hungry sinner! -
Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner.
~Lord Byron, Don Juan, Canto XIII, stanza 99
Porcini Risotto
In Tallahassee, where I live most of the time, we have a hot sultry summer that is often very wet, and while everyone is running from air-conditioned cars to air-conditioned rooms, chanterelle mushrooms pop up all over the city. A friend has secret chanterelle spots, and I am often the beneficiary of her largesse. This was how I started making mushroom risotto. When the chanterelles weren't in season, I turned to making risottos with portobellos and oyster mushrooms from my local food coop, but nothing prepared me for the Italian world of mushrooms.
To cook from the market in Italy is like entering a terrestrial paradise. Florida State University has a study abroad program in Florence, and it has made living in Italy accessible for two academics. The first time we lived in Florence, I'd go to the Sant'Ambrogio market near our apartment to practice my Italian and learn about food. I spent a lot of time furious, because I had been a vegetarian for eleven years and didn't know about the glorious world of antipasti and how vegetables could be prepared so they weren't a greasy mess or edible cardboard. I learned that there was a world beyond salads and stir fries.
That first fall of 1992, a young woman at the market taught me about arugula and other wild greens I'd never heard of and came to love, crave, and grow in my own garden. Last year I became obsessed with wild mushrooms from the Sant'Ambrogio market. I made a mushroom risotto with porcini, and this year when we returned, the mushroom man at the Sant'Ambrogio market was one of my first stops.
This guy is all business until he sees how much you love his mushrooms. He usually wears a plaid shirt over his substantial belly, and his hands look as if he has dug some of his product out of the loamy soil. They are big hands with thick fingers. Often there's a cigarette pasted to his lower lip. I told him I wanted to make a "un bell risotto" with porcini, and he chose three medieval specimens for me. Here they are before I washed them, glorious and earthy.
And here they are washed and sliced:
I think the white mushrooms are fresher, and I discarded some of the yellow stems with holes, because they looked a little tough.
Making risotto is a very meditative activity. There's a lot of standing and stirring involved, so put on some music. My husband likes to cook to rhythm 'n' blues, but I prefer Mozart or Bach. The Goldberg Variations are my current crush with Glenn Gould humming away. This is also a great time to memorize poetry or recite the poems you've memorized. The rice won't care. I've memorized Hamlet's six soliloquies. Hamlet and Beethoven are a great combination. Or you can just surf along on your own internal waves. You're on your feet, so wear comfortable shoes. I've made risotto wearing flip-flops and lived to regret it.
I started making risotto with a recipe I found on line, but I simplified it immediately when cooking with chanterelles, because they are so delicate.
Click through for recipe and illustrated instructions
Ingredients
8 cups of chicken broth (I usually have a freezer full of different kinds of homemade broth, but I used two boxes of chicken broth I bought at the Sant'Ambrogio market. Vegetarians could use vegetable broth.)
3 Tablespoons of olive oil, divided
1 onion diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
I pound of porcini mushrooms sliced
2 bay leaves (I couldn't find these at the market so I left them out)
2 Tablespoons of fresh thyme (timo in Italian)
2 Tablespoons of fresh Italian parsley, chopped
2 Tablespoons of butter
2 cups of Arborio rice
1/2 cup of dry white wine
1/2 cup of fresh Parmesan cheese, grated
I'm living in a rented apartment in Florence, which is very well equipped, but every time I cook I realize how many pots and pans I have. At home I use two big skillets--one for the rice and the other for the mushrooms, but here I make do with one. However, before you do anything else pour the broth in a saucepan and heat it over a low flame.
In the skillet heat one tablespoon of the oil and add half the diced onions and garlic. Cook them until they are beginning to change color and soften. Don't let them brown. Add the mushrooms, herbs, and butter. Whatever you do, don't skip the butter. I don't know what it is, but mushrooms and butter are a magic combination.
Saute for five minutes and add salt and pepper to taste. Take the mushrooms off the heat and set them aside. If you only have one skillet, transfer the mushrooms to a bowl and wipe out the skillet.
Now it's time for the rice. Make sure the broth is warm on the back of the stove. The first step with the rice is essential because it keeps the grains from sticking together and being mushy.
Saute the remaining half of the onion and the garlic in two tablespoons of oil. Add the rice and stir until it is coated with oil and becomes opaque. This takes a minute or two. Add the wine and stir until it evaporates.
Now it's time to get your Hamlet and Beethoven in gear. Add one cup of the broth and cook, stirring until the rice has taken the broth into its inner sanctums. I find a glass of wine really helps the meditation at this point. When the broth has pretty much disappeared, add another cup of broth.
Repeat this step until the rice is done--one cup at a time. This usually takes twenty minutes or so. The rice should be creamy. Tasting is the only way to tell. It's a terrible job, but someone has to do it. When all the broth is gone or the risotto tastes like a concoction of the gods, it's time to mix in the mushrooms and the parmesan and cook for half a minute to melt the cheese.
Garnish with parsley, and dinner is on the table.
My husband likes a light red wine with this dish, but I prefer a robust white wine. There are so many beautiful Italian whites. I love Greco di Tufo or a Falinghina. You can't go wrong.
For dessert I'd suggest a couple of apricots or a bowl of cherries. I love the soundtrack of Paolo Sorrentino's transcendent La Grande Bellezza to augment the carbohydrate haze that has settled over the world like an opium dream. Or you could just murmur "Kubla Khan" or "Ode to a Nightingale" to really launch your canoe on Lethe and set sail toward dreamland.
Barbara Hamby is the author of six books of poems, most recently Bird Odyssey (2018) and On the Street of Divine Love: New and Selected Poems (2014), both published by the University of Pittsburgh Press, which also published Babel (2004) and All-Night Lingo Tango (2009).She has also edited an anthology of poems, Seriously Funny (Georgia, 2009), with her husband David Kirby. She teaches at Florida State University where she is Distinguished University Scholar.
Much Depends on Dinner
What did we order in that French restaurant?
The one you guided me to, so nonchalant --
terrine de Foie Gras and creamy crepes
filled with comté and little brown cepes
all sauced in bordelaise.
It was the turn of the century,
and the walls were lined in baize.
We sat side by side in the window for all to see,
foreheads converging in our shared reverie
Over the little round table -- a mesa where our hands wouldn’t meet --
heads nodding, oblivious to the traffic on the main street.
Though later you thought our conversation intellectual,
really, it was about family, nothing cerebral, or even, sexual.
I shot the vodka down my throat while you sipped your espresso,
as we painted our future on vanishing gesso.
The sappers cleared minefields from between our legs
and when the waiter rudely interrupted,
a bomb went off that broke some eggs.
But you were smooth as mousse and uncorrupted.
You chirped, Bring the check, she’ll pay, I’ve forgot my wallet,
or perhaps, she picked my pocket.
I paid and paid and paid again and I’d pay and pay and pay again
just to hear you once more joke
in that little boite called La Belle Epoque.
Merilyn Jackson 2014
In honor of Margaret Visser and my dinner date
Posted by: Merilyn Jackson | June 09, 2019 at 02:04 PM