Sense and Elegance

Cooking is sensory. Professional cooking requires you to focus upon and use all five senses everyday, to be truly aware of your environment and the flow of service around you. Casual cooking is not necessarily so, but you would benefit greatly from learning to open your ears and refining your touch with food. You can learn so much more about food than just with your eyes and your tongue. An example,

I've watched sushi rolls being made since I was about 7 years old when my mother added a sushi bar to her Chinese restaurant. Not only was that just an extremely popular idea for Chinese-American restaurants in the 90s, but it was endless entertainment for fat kids (i.e. myself). The perpetually semi-drunken sushi chef, the gristly "ewww-that's awesome!" appeal to young boys of butchering fish, and the underrated food porn power of sushi were great babysitters while my mother tended to restaurant needs. As long as it kept me from playing "He-Man vs. Optimus Prime on Planet Hoth!" in the ice chests behind the bar, she was happy. But I've always found sushi intriguing and even though I watched for years without the intent of learning to do it, when the time came for me to actually try I felt more than prepared.

I was disappointed to find it was not quite so simple. I know the process of rolling out maki like the back of my hand. Clean bamboo mat, sheet of nori, gently distribute the sushi rice with moistened hands, place ingredients in the center, roll carefully, tighten in to a cylinder, slice precisely in half then thirds. But during my first attempt I saw the sushi rice clumped up in the wrong places, the cylinder wasn't exactly solid and then this obviously affected the precision of the cutting. What the eff, bro? Well even though I had watched for so long I really only learned half of the process. Feeling and knowing when the cylinder is tight enough to slice, feeling how perfectly cooked sushi rice responds to your fingers, and feeling your knife react to various ingredients is something you learn only by doing, and doing often.

The same goes for Western cooking. I watched the line cooks at Oceanique and Va Pensiero cook busy nights for months before I ever got the chance to do it. Watching so much gave me the proper preparation to have a basic idea of what I needed to do, so I didn't start out clueless, but I still had a long way to go in terms of becoming proficient at it.

So for you ambitious home cooks you should start learning to tune all of your senses in to the creation of a dish. I think risotto is a good dish to try out your Chef-Spidey-sense-in-training on as properly made risotto requires the use of all five. Risotto is challenging, but it has an overly intimidating reputation, making many cooks shy away from the thought of it. It requires patience and being highly observant, but equipped with some basic knowledge you can make a fantastic risotto and bring elegance to your dining table (read: impress some hoez. Let's be honest now, so many cooks are hoping to increase their domestic and sexual appeal at the same time). But of course I need to talk your ear off first about what risotto is, and then subtly add obscure sci-fi/fantasy references to further cement my social status as an unequivocal nerd.

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What is risotto? For those of you who haven't had it or who have only had mediocre risotto at best, what it should be is a delectable rice dish that creates a natural creaminess unlike any other starch or grain. There are various types of rice that are used, the most popular being carnaroli and arborio. The former is usually considered superior to the latter, but arborio rice is cheaper and more widely available. You will also need to select the grain size type as they range from superfino to fino. The grain size does not reflect quality and you can make a wonderful risotto with any type and size. Some are better for certain applications, but for standard risotto it mostly comes down to personal preference.

The special thing about risotto is that the grains are covered in starches that are released by cooking in liquid and by the physical mechanics of stirring. When you add a proper amount of liquid, a risotto reaches a beautiful equilibrium of starch and liquid that results in a creamy, satiny consistency. When the rice is cooked perfectly to al dente then you have a dish that gives you a little bit of bite suspended by a smooth finish and a wide range of flavor possibilities.

Risotto is traditionally served on its own, mixed with small cuts of meat and vegetables, or occasionally paired with a meat entree, like osso bucco. Personally, I think it is best suited as a small appetizer, or maybe as a starch to go alongside braised meats. The creaminess and richness seems too redundant to me when eaten in large portions, but I find it a rather dynamic vehicle to deliver a small bit of powerful flavors. The texture can go alongside nicely with a succulent, fall-apart braised dish as well, being more texturally interesting than mashed potatoes. I can think of nothing more "rib-sticking" or warming in winter weather than a long braised short rib placed atop a small mound of creamy risotto. Also, risotto is almost always finished with fresh grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and butter in Italy.

So why all the fear and dread surrounding such a luxurious yet simple dish? Why in almost every cookbook I own does the chef-author acknowledge an initial nervousness with this grain? I mean it's not like something out of Harry Potter's Advanced Potion Making textbook (oh yeah, I'm going there). There isn't a precise number of counter-clockwise stirs to make, or an exact moment to clarify with gurdyroot to achieve Felix Felicis perfection (as some old school cookbooks would have you believe). I think most of it has to do with the almost constant observation it requires. Once you start a risotto you can't really stop, you have to guide it through every baby step, gauging doneness and tasting every step of the way. But we can break it down here for you in to a few simple sections, and you'll be on your way to getting your OWLS in risotto in no time (my inner nerd says yes, and yet my dignity says, please kill me).

This is your prep list, you'll need:

Carnaroli or arborio risotto (3/4 dry cup goes a long way, you'll probably have extras)
1 yellow onion, very finely diced (uniformly please, practice your knife skills)
A cup or so of dry white wine (remember what Riesling does to sauces, kids)
Freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano (that powder in a Kraft tube doesn't count)
1-2 quarts of chicken stock (preferably homemade, remember those chickens? Eh? Do it)
Unsalted butter (the creamier, the sweeter, the better)

That is the basis for almost all risottos. You can change the cooking liquid to pair whatever ingredient you are presenting with the risotto, not that you have to present any. But if you want to focus on vegetable flavors (or just go vegetarian) you could use vegetable stock or even water. You could use beef or veal stock if you're going with a beef or veal dish, red wine if you want a more noticeable wine canvas to build your flavors on so to speak, so on and so forth. But remember all that collagen/gelatin/gooey goodness in chicken stock (beef/veal stock also have a good amount of this stuff so long as it's homemade) helps to bolster the creaminess and flavor of the finished product. I would recommend starting out this way and then adding flavors on top of this foundation as it is fairly neutral and holds up well to modification. I've never heard of using fish fumet or shellfish stock to make a seafood risotto, I think the fish flavor might get out of hand, but as I've yet to try it I won't pass judgment.

Here we go. Get ready to use all five of those pretty little senses you have. Making a good risotto will require all of them being tuned up and at attention.

Bee tee dubz ... you can use almost anything to cook a risotto in, but I would recommend a medium sized sauce pan. I've used everything from tiny saute pans to giant stock pots to get fairly consistent results, but I think the best risotto is made in medium proportions. You also need a trusty wooden spoon, obvi.

Step One: You Toast but .. then again you Don't Toast

(Edit: I lied .. the first step is to heat up your chicken stock. It doesn't need to be at a boil, but it does need to be hot before you start. Heat it and keep it in a sauce pan with a ladle on the adjacent burner.)

The first step is to sweat the onions. You can use any cooking fat (people use anything from canola oil to lard), but why not keep it real and use olive oil and butter? You're going to add butter later, so add just a little bit of it now to give richness and nuttiness to the onions. You don't want the milk solids to brown or burn, even minor flavor defects will present strongly in the finished product, just let it get hot over medium heat. Now listen...

Drop in your onions so there is a sizzle, there should not be a violent hiss. You can easily tell the difference when you're listening for it. When there is just a sizzle that means the vegetables are sweating, when there's a violent hiss that means they are searing. The difference is in the movement of water. Sweating, as you could imagine, just gently leaches out the water in the onions where a great part of their flavor is. Searing leaches that water out very quickly and evaporates it almost in the same instant. That's how you get fond and nice crusts, but we don't necessarily want that in this situation. You want the onions to give up their flavor in the natural, sweaty way (delicious, I know) as opposed to deglazing them off with the wine later. When you deglaze you get strong, caramelized onion flavors. You just want the more subtle sweated flavors because you shouldn't really taste the onion, which is why it's important the dice is small. You don't want to bite a big chunk of it. It will just support without you really knowing it's there (kind of like a Wonderbra).

Now watch, when your onions become translucent you are ready for the next step. Note: even Alton Brown had a hard time describing what "translucent onions" really are, because they certainly aren't see-through. You will have to learn by sight what that exactly means, but basically it's when they become .. less opaque. I'm sorry if that's vague but know that if they start to brown up a bit on the edges, you've gone a bit too far. Now drop in your rice.

The goal is to cover the individual rice grains with a bit of fat. You don't want to toast the grains here, none of them should color, but you do want them to absorb a little of that EVOO/butter combo (did I just use a Rachael Ray term?) They will kind of clump up at first but then when they separate back in to individual grains you will know it's time to drop in the wine.

If there are any browned bits I wouldn't worry too much. Just deglaze them off with your wine. I know I made it sound like you will ruin your risotto if you brown up your onions, but in all reality I doubt you would notice. But if you are going to make risotto you might as well make it perfect. Drop in your wine, stir your rice a bit to incorporate the liquid and smell...

When you cook alcohol you can feel the raw bite of it in the back of your throat as you breathe it in. You want to cook the alcohol off, I can't think of many food applications of alcohol where you wouldn't want to. Keep stirring, making sure your rice never sticks to the pan and keep getting your face in there to breathe in the vapors. Once it no longer has that alcoholic burn to it, you are ready for the next step.

Step Two: Never Disengage, Maverick

You guys know what I'm talking about? That scene in Top Gun where you think Tom Cruise pooses out on his wingmen and is cracking in the heat of battle? And the angry, bald man at the comm is yelling "Reengage Maverick! Reengage!" while smoking a manly cigar? And then finally Tom Cruise gets his shit together, stops crying over Goose, bangs Kelly McGillis and saves Iceman and the proverbial day?

Yeah ... NEVER DO THAT WHEN COOKING RISOTTO. GOOD MEN WILL DIE!

In other words, do not leave it, do not ignore it, once you have begun you cannot stop (until a certain point I will mention later... so I massaged the truth, big deal). Ladle in enough hot chicken stock to cover the rice in an even layer, nearing the top of the grains. How high your heat is will determine how quickly it cooks, but generally medium-high is desirable.

You will need to stir often with your wooden spoon. Now I told you earlier you don't need any precise set of motions like Polyjuice Potion requires, but generally scraping the edges up and then stirring the center is a pretty effective way to get everything to work. You don't have to constantly stir, but my guess is that some rice will begin to stick after 30 seconds of not getting any attention (I know, risotto is such a needy whore). Stirring releases the starches from the grains in to the stock and helps the rice absorb the stock evenly. It is the most essential mechanic to making this dish. Do it well.

When enough liquid has been absorbed and evaporated, and the rice is looking a little drier add more stock. You will be doing this several times throughout the process for about 10-15 minutes. The stock is both cooking the rice and providing a medium for the starch. Now get ready to get in there and touch...

Don't burn yourself but periodically pick up a grain of rice and squeeze it. When it is far from being done you can feel the hard, raw core of the rice. But check every time you need to add more stock and you will feel the rice softening around the core. Eventually you will reach a point where the core of the rice grain breaks in to 2-3 pieces. You will see a fragmented rice grain when squeezed between your thumb/forefinger. At this point in the game you are about 70% there.

At this juncture you can start testing doneness by biting in to a grain. When the rice is still just a bit hard to the tooth, you can now stop if you choose. This is about where restaurant cooks will stop. They'll pull it off the stove and cool it in the refrigerator at 85-90% done. Why? Because risotto takes 15-18 minutes to go from raw to done, it would be extremely impractical for actual dinner service. Doing it this way, when a ticket is called for risotto we put it on the stove and it can finish in about 3-4 minutes. You can do the same, preparing for dinner that night or even a meal a few days away. There is actually a potential benefit to doing this step and to explain it I'll turn to my boy, McGee.

"...the traditional way until it's just short of done, then refrigerating it. This allows some of the cooked starch in the rice to firm, giving the grain more resilience than it would have if cooked fully and simply rewarmed. Then just before serving, the chilled rice is reheated and finished with hot broth and enrichments." (McGee, 475)

The grain having a bit more bite is a good step in my opinion because risotto can easily reach a pudding like consistency. Clearly that's not what you want. You want a creamy semi-liquid that gives a bite. You want textural diversity, not textural uniformity. Do what you like but I think it's definitely important to at least be aware of this step.

Okay, so you've been ladling in the stock, you've been stirring it and catering to its every whim, you've brought it to near completion ... it's the final countdown...

Step Three: Finish Him!

Season your risotto with a healthy amount of salt and keep constantly tasting. In professional cooking we are tasting through every step of making a dish. It's the only way to keep track of what's happening with the food, the unique characteristics of every ingredient and the subtle changes produced by heat. You'll know when it's good, it will be ... surprise, surprise ... very creamy rice.

The traditional way to finish it is with a healthy handful of parmigiano-reggiano cheese, and a few knobs of butter. I recommend you do this almost regardless of what you're planning in the end. My chef makes a big point of this step and ragged on me for a long time to get it right. You've got to take the risotto off the heat. Kill the burner or preferably move the pot, it's time to say good night to the flame for now.

The liquid that suspends all that lovely rice is essentially a sauce. When the heat is on, and you add butter and cheese, it just melts and then you have some melted butter here, some cheese there. Now when you take it off the heat and you stir like a mad man, then you're making some magic. Stirring vigorously combined with the residual heat of the risotto will emulsify the butter and cheese in to this "sauce" that is your cooking liquid. Emulsification in food takes too long to explain properly here, but you are making a thicker, more balanced sauce. Basically,

The butter is physically beat and melted in to bajillions of tiny particles evenly suspended in the liquid, creating richness and thickness.

The stirring is releasing the final coatings of starch and further thickening your flavorful liquid.

The stirring evenly incorporates the cheese much like the butter.

Okay I guess that wasn't too hard to explain, so fucking do it. That's right, it's a command. God knows I've had that barked at me many a time.

Now spoon a bit of risotto on to a plate. Look at it, there shouldn't be liquid running away from the pile and the rice shouldn't look tight and sticky. Bite it, it should have resilience but otherworldly creaminess as well. Taste it, does it need more salt? Is it delicious? Listen to it ...

...

Okay just kidding, that won't help you.

Edit: If you make too much risotto for one meal it also kind of has a finicky storage policy. You should set aside extra at the 85-90% point, rather than completely cooked risotto. Thoroughly cooked risotto keeps cooking with its own residual heat and dries out and becomes a gooey mass. You can reheat it with stock but don't expect very fantastic results. Keep this in mind.

Step Four: The Step That I Probably Should Have Put Before the Other Steps

Now what can you do with the flavor of this textural wonderment that is risotto?

As I mentioned before, I think a small dish of risotto as a sort of appetizer is amazing. Maybe some of you can just eat a giant bowl of risotto and love it, but the creaminess can be overwhelming and eventually boring for me. But it can be such a powerful vehicle for flavors that its short burst potential is great.

You can steep saffron threads in to the stock to make a perfumed, shockingly yellow risotto. You can saute some shrimp or bay scallops on the side and fold them in to the finished product. You can spoon a dollop of basil pesto on top to give a punctuation of acidity and depth. You can mix in a more melty cheese like fontina or mozzarella for that lovely, stretchy texture and tangy flavor. You can mix in some roasted butternut squash (very popular combination) for a sweet and luscious wintry treat. I can keep using as many seductive adjectives until I run out and just tell you that the possibilities are endless. Oh wait, I just did.

The best risotto I ever had? BLT Market, New York City. Creamy white lobster risotto with fresh chervil, black truffles shaved on top at the table. Risotto is a famous vehicle for fresh shaved truffles. The funky aroma of truffles seems to explode from the shaving process, tantalizing a diner's nose from the get-go, and the creamy liquid and truffle flavor seem made for each other, embracing one another immediately and deliciously.

If someone is really bored, can they tell me how many times I used the word "creamy" in this post? Thanks. Over/under 50?

Happy cooking, this has been a test of the Panda Educational Culinary Blog Experiment.

EP6