A Simple Labor of Love
Risotto is not a solo affair. Not that it can't stand alone, can't deliver sustenance and satisfaction sotto voce. Quite the contrary. But it's at its best, sings the most expressively in its role as primo pare excellence, a bridge between the antipasto's summoning of palate and appetite and the savory, satiating majesty of the secondo. It offers creaminess as counterpoint for bright flavors and savory richness alike, who return the favor by bookending its lovely, nuanced simplicity. Elegant, simple, eloquent. Art in the kitchen, with inimitable Italian style.
Just as risotto shines in the company of other dishes, its charms are all the better enjoyed (and prepared) in good company. It's a labor of love, and as we all know, the fruits of love need to be shared (which applies to the stirring as well as the savoring). What could be better than a glass or two of lovely wine and a great friend to laugh with (and spell you at the stove while you fire up the grill) in anticipation of a feast?
It's been ages. Maybe it's the effort, the vigilance and the uninterrupted attention that good risotto requires. Perhaps it's the possibility of failure, the chance of chalky mediocrity or a gooey mass of glop, that make the task seem daunting. But, the idea dawned the a few weeks back while tasting an enchanting pinot nero vinificato in bianco (pinot noir vinified as white wine) -- and it won't go away. It's haunted me, along with fantasies of morels and white truffles, for days now. Finally, I'm hungry as hell and can't take it any more. The funghi can wait, but risotto can't. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Time to learn, practice, perfect. And to eat and drink along the way.
The table is set. literally and metaphorically. My good friend Brooke (aka The Teacher) is en route, with what turns out to be an astounding assortment of vividly flavored verdura from her garden (and the critical stick of butter I forgot). The shallets are minced, the stock is a-simmering, the Parmigiano Reggiano is grated and the rice awaits, shimmering like a dish of small, ovoid pearls. There remains but one box to check, one puzzle to solve, a small riddle, but nonetheless quite likely the crux of the affair: what shall we drink?
Stefano Inama's lovely, lovely Vin Soave? Or Cleto Chiarli Lambrusco Vecchia Modena? Something to refresh our palates and offer a just-so accompaniment to the rice, while setting the stage for grass-fed beef on the grill ... which of course begets another set of delicious possibilities to ponder.
A fine dilemma, non? How lucky are we?
Stay thirsty, amici. Ciao.