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Stirring
the senses
By Deborah S. Hartz
Food Editor
Posted January 8 2004
After eating risotto in many restaurants, I didn't
understand the attraction. I had heard people wax ethereal over this
creamy rice dish. They crooned of its elegance and finesse. But what
arrived on my plate was a lump of rice.
I'd heard how difficult it is to make risotto with its constant
stirring and critical timing. And I thought, why bother?
That is until I ate risotto in Lombardy, Italy. No matter where we ate
in that region -- from a neighborhood pizzeria to Ville d'Este's
elegant Veranda dining room -- risotto was on the menu. And I finally
understood its appeal.
A taste and we discovered the distinct and barely tender grains of rice
that stay intact as their creaminess spreads across the tongue. It is
like a rich, savory rice pudding, once again proving that the simplest
dishes are best.
Back home, I read many risotto recipes. They all told me to add arborio
rice to a pan with oil in it. Stir until the rice is well-coated. Then
add 1/2 cup simmering broth and stir very frequently until the liquid
is absorbed. At that point I am to add another 1/2 cup broth and
continue this process about 30 minutes until all the broth is absorbed.
That sounds easy so I try it. I even make my own broth. But the
resulting risotto is dry -- more like a pilaf. I think perhaps I
miscalculated the total amount of broth added.
My sister wants to help so she sends me a recipe for risotto made in
the microwave. She had tried it years before she started counting carbs
and she remembered it works.
It doesn't.
Once again, I try making risotto on the stove top being careful to
record the amount of broth added. This batch proves a little better,
but the rice still isn't creamy like I remember it in Italy.
Disappointed and hungry, I am not ready to give up.
I call Angelo Elia, chef/owner of Casa d'Angelo in Fort Lauderdale. He
grew up in Tuscany, where he learned to make risotto from his mother.
His mother still visits his restaurant and prepares this dish.
As a young chef in Italy, he was responsible for preparing five or six
pans of risotto at a time. "They'd all be bubbling away on the
burners," he says as he demonstrates the wrist and hip action needed to
stir them all at once.
Now, he prepares about 30 servings a night.
"I love to make risotto," he says. "But it took a few years for me to
perfect it."
That is not reassuring. Then he warns, "Cook it a minute too long and
you ruin it."
I get up my courage and ask the chef if I can watch him prepare this
dish. He is happy to oblige.
I stand next to him in his restaurant kitchen as he heats olive oil in
a well-worn saucepan. He adds chopped shallots and swirls them around
in the oil with a spoon.
"You have to use a wooden spoon for risotto or it ruins the taste," he
says. His spoon looks like it's stirred many a pot.
As the onions soften and their edges take on the merest hint of color,
he adds the rice.
The rice is particularly important. It must be a short-grained rice
that has lots of starch, which dissolves in the simmering broth to form
the creamy sauce, according to Williams-Sonoma Kitchen Companion (Time
Life, 2000).
The most common variety of Italian short-grain rice is arborio. But
Elia swears by carnaroli. He says it holds its shape better and becomes
creamier than other varieties.
He adds the carnaroli to the pan. When the grains are carefully coated
with oil and the shallots distributed among them, he adds a splash of
white wine that hisses as it hits the pan.
When the wine evaporates, he starts adding cupfuls of simmering, rich
homemade broth.
This is where I start to learn something.
When I tried making risotto at home, I had been careful to constantly
stir the rice over medium heat. But Elia leaves the heat relatively
high and actually walks away from the pot a few times.
"You can't go far, but you can leave it," he says.
The trick is to be sure the "bottom of the pan stays smooth," he says.
Stir just enough so the rice doesn't stick.
As the broth evaporates, craters form where the bubbles in the
creamy/starchy sauce burst. And you can see the bottom of the pan when
you pull the spoon through it -- it looks a little like the parting of
the Red Sea.
Elia adds more broth, keeping this up for about 20 minutes. Part way
through the cooking time, he adds salt and a few grinds of black pepper
"through the center of the pan."
As the end of cooking nears, he adds a little less broth each time so
that he doesn't swamp the rice.
To check for doneness, he removes a few grains on the end of a small
wooden paddle. He puts them between his teeth, bites into them checking
for the anima, or "soul" of the rice. That's the hard starchy kernel
left at the center of the grain.
"I like to feel the grain in my mouth," he says.
If you cut into the grain, you'll see this as a white core. If any of
this core remains, he continues cooking.
When the rice is al dente, he can bite through a grain comfortably, and
there's plenty of creamy sauce in the pan, the chef stirs in parmesan
cheese. "Be sure to use Parmigiano-Reggiano," he instructs. He also
adds a bit of butter and cream.
"That holds it together," he says. It also makes the risotto incredibly
rich and velvety.
I beg for a taste.
He places a wooden spoonful on a plate, adds a sprinkling of cheese and
a drizzle of high-quality extra-virgin olive oil. He takes a mouthful
and a look of heavenly happiness crosses his face.
"You don't want to overcook the rice or overpower it with flavors. You
want to see every grain. And when you put it in your mouth, you should
feel each grain individually," he say.
I take a taste. And I too am in heaven -- or at least Lombardy.
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