Right, risotto. Two things about risotto, in my book. ‘Secrets’, if you will. The first is to use the best-quality dried porcini or wild mushrooms you can get your mitts on. I swear I’m not being a food snob here – it really does make all the difference. Ideally some big, impressive ones imported from Italy that cost the earth from the deli blah, blah, blah, rather than chibbily little supermarket ones. And, assuming you don’t fess up, that way you’ll fool your diner into thinking you can make plain ole mushrooms and rice taste magnificent through your genius cooking skills alone. Do you see?
(Sorry, that was a crap secret, wasn’t it? A bit like when my granny revealed that the ‘secret’ to her famed asparagus soup was, erm, adding some fresh asparagus to a packet soup. Bless her. The second’s coming up and is better, I promise...)
INGREDIENTS
1 tbsp dried mushrooms
100ml Madeira wine
100ml boiled water
Olive oil for frying
400g mushrooms, sliced (I like a mixture of chestnut, button and portobello)
1 tbsp fresh or dried thyme
1/2 onion, finely diced
1 clove garlic, crushed
180g risotto rice
Dry white wine (see note)
1 pint vegetable stock
2 tbsp parmesan cheese, grated – plus extra to serve
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
METHOD
1) Soak the dried mushrooms in the Madeira and boiled water for at least half-an-hour until soft and rehydrated. The Madeira is optional, but it really does complement the nuttiness of the parmesan and mushrooms so I urge you to try it, but just double the water if you do want to omit it. Remove the mushrooms from the liquid and run a knife through them until they’re roughly chopped, just to make their flavour and texture go that bit further. Reserve the liquid, leaving it to settle as there’s often a bit of grit on the dried mushrooms that you don’t want in your risotto.
2) Soften the onion in some olive oil and salt in a large saucepan. Take your time to do this – by sweating them for a good 10 minutes until translucent and golden they’ll be melt-in-your-mouth rather than left with a bit of a crunch. I tend to add the garlic a couple of minutes in to prevent it from catching. Next, add the risotto rice and stir for a couple more minutes on a gentle heat.
3) So, here’s secret number two – drum roll, please... Open a decent bottle of dry white wine, pour a glassful and chuck it over the rice. Now – and here’s the really important part – refill your glass and drink. Maybe pour a glass for your guest if you’re feeling generous. Either way, having a glass of vino to-hand is vital to making a good risotto, I reckon, as you have to stand there over the hob for around half-an-hour, stirring, stirring, stirring. Which is extremely dull and quite sweaty.
4) When the wine has been absorbed by the rice, carefully add the mushroom liquid, being careful not to let the sediment at the bottom slide in too. Next, add the vegetable stock a ladle at a time. This is the point at which stupid people who think using jars of Dolmio and bags of Aunt Bessie’s constitutes cooking complain risottos are hard to make – well, they’re not. You just have to slowly add liquid, constantly stir until it’s absorbed and then add some more until it’s cooked. Der!
5) When you’re about half way through the stock, fry your fresh mushrooms in some olive oil with some fresh or dried thyme and seasoning. In theory, this should coincide with the precise moment your rice is cooked to perfection, but I am rubbish with timings so I won’t stake my life on it. Just set them aside if they’re done a little early.
6) Once all the stock is added, your rice should be pretty much there – taste to check. I don’t care whether you prefer it al dente or well-done – each to their own. Add a bit more boiled water if you need to cook it a little longer.
7) The moment you’re happy with your rice, stir through the mushrooms and parmesan. At this point, a TV chef (I’m talking to YOU James Martin!) would tell you to add buckets of butter, olive oil, maybe some mascarpone, etc... But if you’re at all like me and your muffin top is in constant danger of spilling over into a Yorkshire pudding, I figure why get used to food filled with those sorts of calories? This is delicious as it is, but go ahead if ye dare.
8) Oh, yeah – serve. With some cracked black pepper and parmesan shavings. And that’s it.
Adolf tentatively tucked into his risotto... In hindsight, I can see he was one of those boring, bland vegetarians surviving solely on macaroni cheese. Yawn. He even accused my mushrooms of being too mushroomy! But I consoled myself with the thought that I’d at least get a half-decent shag out of it. I say half-decent, because that’s all it had been to-date – but my worst fears were confirmed. Because there was something else Adolf wouldn’t eat, if you get my drift... And that’s just not cricket, as far as I’m concerned. One does develop a taste for these things, like coriander.
But if you’re not prepared to man-up and get down, then it’s bye-bye. So I dumped him.
Illustration by the marvellous Bex Barrow.
