As some of you may have seen me tweet, I visited the Daylesford Farm Shop on Monday. This is probably a good opportunity to correct a small factual mistype: when I said I escaped having only spent £40, that should have read that the boyfriend escaped having only spent £40. Whoops.
As a small apology for making such a catastrophically erratic tweet, I made a risotto for him last night with two of the ingredients I (/he) bought there: a block of pancetta, and some asparagus. I've been meaning to get hold of pancetta in the piece for ages now; I love the idea of cutting my own lardons to just the size I want them. Supermarket packs always cut them far too small. This block did not disappoint, from the gorgeous smell when it came out of its pack, to the melting texture once fried. It's not that expensive, either - about the same as you'd pay for one of those supermarket packs of ready-teeny-cubed pieces.
Pancetta and asparagus risotto
c. 200g off a block of pancetta, sliced into large lardons (or a pack if that's all you can get your hands on)
Large onion, peeled and finely chopped
c. 200g asparagus spears, tough ends broken off, tips sliced off, and main stem chopped into three or so bits, about the length of the top two joints of your thumb
125g risotto rice
Small glass white wine
500 ml chicken stock (see previous rant here)
50g parmesan, grated
In a small saucepan, heat your stock with the tough ends of the asparagus spears until simmering, then keep warm.
In a larger saucepan, fry your pancetta lardons over not too harsh a heat, so that their fat renders down and they begin to crisp up. This should take 5 minutes or just over. You shouldn't need to add more oil, unless you have some exceptionally lean pancetta on your hands (I didn't!).
Once the pancetta is crispy golden, throw in the chopped onion, stir, and fry for a further 5 minutes or so, until the onion is softened and beginning to get slightly golden itself. Tip in the rice, and stir for a couple of minutes. Tip in the glass of wine and simmer furiously until almost entirely gone.
Add the first ladle of stock, and the chopped bits of main asparagus stem (but not the tips yet). Stir. Leave to simmer. Stir again. Add another ladle of stock when it starts getting a bit dry. Repeat.
After about 10 minutes, throw in the asparagus tips, and keep adding stock and stirring. After about 15 minutes, taste the rice - it should be nearly done, with a slight bite but no chalkiness in the middle. If it needs a little longer, give it a little longer, and taste again in a couple of minutes.
Once the rice is how you like it, stir in the parmesan, and perhaps a little black peppper; with the pancetta and parmesan, it shouldn't need salt.
Serve, with more parmesan at the table.
Showing posts with label risotto. Show all posts
Showing posts with label risotto. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 June 2011
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Not for one
It is, frankly, impossible to cook risotto for one person.
I've tried it a couple of times in the last few months, and just produced enough for two people anyway. Rather like Salad Nicoise, there are too many individual components. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing: leftover risotto can be pretty good, even (especially?) when eaten cold from the fridge at 2 a.m..
Although, although... risotto has always been such a labour of love for me, so much something to be shared, that I've found myself slightly reluctant to make it for just myself. I think this lies partly in the time it takes, the forty minutes or so of standing at a hot stove working your arms muscles for all they can give (and that's before we get onto the stock; more on that beneath): you need someone you love waiting at the other end of that. The other aspect is its soft, warm, comforting texture. I've made fresh-tasting risottos before (see here for a lemon/chilli/prawn one...), but what really makes me happy is the kind of risotto that simply smothers you in a giant cuddle.
And now I find myself cooking for one less and less often, and cooking for two more and more, and I want to cook food that says "I love you" more and more. There's just one problem: my favourite risotto contains mushrooms, and the boy in question is allergic to mushrooms.
So, I have to find a new comfort blanket of flavours, and let go of the old habits. For the rest of you lovers, here's the recipe I won't be cooking in the future. In essentials, it's what I remember from standing at my mother's knee since before I can remember, although she'd never have added the truffle oil at the end, and she always used arborio rice. I like vialone nano these days - the shape takes slightly longer to cook, so it's easier to catch at the al dente stage, but carnaroli is good (better than arborio) and more widely available.
I learned my snobbery about homemade stock at my mother's knee, too, although *guilty look* I do sometimes use the shop-bought fresh stuff, which can often be sufficiently glutinous, and you could do the same here if for some reason you've let your freezer run out of homemade. Stock cubes and their many variants simply won't cut it - risotto needs the juice of animal bones (preferably those of a free-range or organic bird that's been running round strengthening them all its life) to be really good.
Chicken and mushroom risotto, for two
1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, crushed
A dessertspoon or so of butter, and a drop or two of olive oil
A couple of handfuls of mushrooms, sliced
150 g risotto rice
A glass of white wine, or half a glass of dry sherry if you're not planning on opening a bottle to drink with dinner anyway
A couple of handfuls of leftover chicken
750 ml - 1 l chicken stock
Another dessertspoon of butter
50 g grated parmesan, plus more still in block to grate over at the end
A teaspoon (or maybe more...) truffle oil
Heat the butter and oil in a large saucepan over a medium heat, and, once the butter starts to fizzle a little, add the onion and fry gently for five minutes or so until it goes all translucent, but doesn't colour. Add the garlic, fry for another minute without letting it catch on the bottom of the pan, then tip in the mushrooms. You'll probably need to add a little more butter here, as the mushrooms will absorb quite a bit, and this is a good stage to do an initial seasoning: I would just use a little pinch of salt here (don't forget you'll add parmesan later, which will also add salt), but my mother would have added lots of pepper, and you could too, if that's your thing. Fry for another couple of minutes until the mushrooms wilt a little and start releasing their juices.
At the same time, pop another saucepan on to heat and stick the stock in there. Don't bring it all the way up to a boil, but get it suitably steamy.
Add the rice, and fry for another minute. This is important, and most recipes won't tell you to do it, but you're aiming to get the rice to soak up some of the butter and to also toast a little. Then tip in the wine or sherry and allow to bubble furiously for a minute until you don't get instantly drunk if you accidentally inhale the steam.
Then comes the steady stage of adding a ladleful of stock, stirring, waiting for it to be absorbed and to evaporate slightly, and repeating for fifteen or twenty minutes. The time and quantity of liquid required depends on so many variables (the exact heat of both the risotto and stock pans, the variety, age, etc, of the rice, how often you stir, etc, etc...) that your only option after about ten minutes is to taste, and taste, and taste again, until the rice has reached whatever your preferred level of dente might be.
At this point, turn the heat off and stir in the extra butter and the initial lot of parmesan (this is what you'll sometimes hear called mantecare, or feeding the risotto - I like the latter term because it hints that the risotto is now a living creature in need of food, which is how I see it). Leave to sit for a couple of minutes, then stir in the truffle oil, and check for seasoning again.
Serve in wide bowls with plenty more parmesan to grate over.
PS. Diane Henry's wonderful and inspiring book, Food from Plenty, has a promising recipe for Chicken and Parsley risotto. Wish me luck.
I've tried it a couple of times in the last few months, and just produced enough for two people anyway. Rather like Salad Nicoise, there are too many individual components. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing: leftover risotto can be pretty good, even (especially?) when eaten cold from the fridge at 2 a.m..
Although, although... risotto has always been such a labour of love for me, so much something to be shared, that I've found myself slightly reluctant to make it for just myself. I think this lies partly in the time it takes, the forty minutes or so of standing at a hot stove working your arms muscles for all they can give (and that's before we get onto the stock; more on that beneath): you need someone you love waiting at the other end of that. The other aspect is its soft, warm, comforting texture. I've made fresh-tasting risottos before (see here for a lemon/chilli/prawn one...), but what really makes me happy is the kind of risotto that simply smothers you in a giant cuddle.
And now I find myself cooking for one less and less often, and cooking for two more and more, and I want to cook food that says "I love you" more and more. There's just one problem: my favourite risotto contains mushrooms, and the boy in question is allergic to mushrooms.
So, I have to find a new comfort blanket of flavours, and let go of the old habits. For the rest of you lovers, here's the recipe I won't be cooking in the future. In essentials, it's what I remember from standing at my mother's knee since before I can remember, although she'd never have added the truffle oil at the end, and she always used arborio rice. I like vialone nano these days - the shape takes slightly longer to cook, so it's easier to catch at the al dente stage, but carnaroli is good (better than arborio) and more widely available.
I learned my snobbery about homemade stock at my mother's knee, too, although *guilty look* I do sometimes use the shop-bought fresh stuff, which can often be sufficiently glutinous, and you could do the same here if for some reason you've let your freezer run out of homemade. Stock cubes and their many variants simply won't cut it - risotto needs the juice of animal bones (preferably those of a free-range or organic bird that's been running round strengthening them all its life) to be really good.
Chicken and mushroom risotto, for two
1 onion, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, crushed
A dessertspoon or so of butter, and a drop or two of olive oil
A couple of handfuls of mushrooms, sliced
150 g risotto rice
A glass of white wine, or half a glass of dry sherry if you're not planning on opening a bottle to drink with dinner anyway
A couple of handfuls of leftover chicken
750 ml - 1 l chicken stock
Another dessertspoon of butter
50 g grated parmesan, plus more still in block to grate over at the end
A teaspoon (or maybe more...) truffle oil
Heat the butter and oil in a large saucepan over a medium heat, and, once the butter starts to fizzle a little, add the onion and fry gently for five minutes or so until it goes all translucent, but doesn't colour. Add the garlic, fry for another minute without letting it catch on the bottom of the pan, then tip in the mushrooms. You'll probably need to add a little more butter here, as the mushrooms will absorb quite a bit, and this is a good stage to do an initial seasoning: I would just use a little pinch of salt here (don't forget you'll add parmesan later, which will also add salt), but my mother would have added lots of pepper, and you could too, if that's your thing. Fry for another couple of minutes until the mushrooms wilt a little and start releasing their juices.
At the same time, pop another saucepan on to heat and stick the stock in there. Don't bring it all the way up to a boil, but get it suitably steamy.
Add the rice, and fry for another minute. This is important, and most recipes won't tell you to do it, but you're aiming to get the rice to soak up some of the butter and to also toast a little. Then tip in the wine or sherry and allow to bubble furiously for a minute until you don't get instantly drunk if you accidentally inhale the steam.
Then comes the steady stage of adding a ladleful of stock, stirring, waiting for it to be absorbed and to evaporate slightly, and repeating for fifteen or twenty minutes. The time and quantity of liquid required depends on so many variables (the exact heat of both the risotto and stock pans, the variety, age, etc, of the rice, how often you stir, etc, etc...) that your only option after about ten minutes is to taste, and taste, and taste again, until the rice has reached whatever your preferred level of dente might be.
At this point, turn the heat off and stir in the extra butter and the initial lot of parmesan (this is what you'll sometimes hear called mantecare, or feeding the risotto - I like the latter term because it hints that the risotto is now a living creature in need of food, which is how I see it). Leave to sit for a couple of minutes, then stir in the truffle oil, and check for seasoning again.
Serve in wide bowls with plenty more parmesan to grate over.
PS. Diane Henry's wonderful and inspiring book, Food from Plenty, has a promising recipe for Chicken and Parsley risotto. Wish me luck.
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