Escarole and Preserved Lemon Risotto

That banana layer cake and its seven-minute frosting were only the conclusion of our blow-out dinner party on Saturday night. We started out with a risotto I made following the technique in our new book, COOKING KNOW-HOW.

I often make the first courses, partly because I tend to go for foofier stuff than Bruce. He does sturdy dishes; I go for flights of fancy. Like this risotto.

I started off by warming 10 1/2 cups vegetable broth, 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme, and 1/4 teaspoon saffron in a large saucepan over medium heat--not until it was simmering, just until it had a few puffs of steam off the top. I need this broth mixture to be quite warm--but not boiling--as I add it to the rice. More on why in a bit.

I then heated 2 tablespoons olive oil and 2 tablespoons unsalted butter in a large, deep pan. OK, I used a risotto pan from Williams Sonoma, a house-warming gift from Bruce's mother when we moved to the country. Under normal circumstances, I'd use a high-sided sauteuse. A skillet won't do--too shallow, the sides slope in ways that encourage quick evaporation--and a saucepan is just too deep to allow the rice to cook properly.

I added three finely chopped shallots and 3 minced medium garlic cloves, stirred them about a minute over the heat, then added one whole, chopped, cored head of escarole, a bitter, lettuce-like green that will work wonders against the creamy rice to come. The escarole was a little tough to clean, dirt on every leaf. Before I started cooking, I cored it, then separated the leaves and put them in a stoppered sink filled with cool water. I agitated them several times, let them be for a minute or so, then inspected each for grit under running water before chopping them up. Needless to say, it was a hefty mound in the pan. I used tongs to turn the greens again and again until they'd wilted a bit.

Now I stirred in 2 1/4 cups Arborio rice, the only possible rice to use for risotto. Arborio is a medium-grain rice, a term that has nothing to do with the shape of the grain but instead with the amount of amylose (a starch) in each grain. (There's a medium amount in Arborio.) Amylose is a dense, heavy starch, stacked in tight layers. It is balanced in all rice grains by amylopectin, a secondary starch that is gangly and sticky, like little microscopic spikes all around the grain which soften and become tacky, familiar from the stickiness of short-grained sushi rice. That's a long way around saying that Arborio rice has about 15% less of the hard starch, off-set by a little more of the sticky stuff, and thus the perfect rice for this technique. The grains will hold their shape but also give up some of their sticky starch. More on all that to come.

I waited just until the rice grains had turned a little translucent all around their perimeters, then I poured in 3/4 cup Riesling (what everyone was drinking before dinner) and stirred just a minute or two until the wine had reduced to a glaze.

Now I began the fabled technique. I reduced the heat under the rice mixture, took a ladle of my warmed broth (about 1/3 cup), poured it into the pan with the rice, and stirred until almost all the liquid had been absorbed, perhaps a couple minutes. Then I added another ladle and did the same thing. And then again. And then again.

The only trick was the heat. I had to keep it low so there was no simmering (or God forbid, boiling) in the risotto pan. Just a bubble now and then, but no more. Here's the whole shtick in a nutshell: add some broth, stir until it's almost gone, add some more, stir some more. Eventually, the rice begins to mound and thicken, more than doubling in volume.

OK, here's the science: by stirring constantly, I'm slowly abrading that amylopectin from the outside of the grains and getting it into the sauce (that is, the reducing broth). By keeping the heat low, at the mere bubble in the pan, I'm making sure that I can get the amylopectin off the grains before it breaks down over the heat and becomes useless. The more starch I stir (or abrade) into the rice, the thicker the eventual sauce will be. I don't want the rice to cook too quickly (breaking down too much starch) but I do want it to be warm enough--just a bubble or two at a time--that the starch softens and so comes off the grains and thickens the broth while the more tightly packed amylose in the grains slowly softens. A balancing act supreme.

Yes, the party went on around me. Yes, I refilled my drink. Yes, I stirred. And stirred. Ladle after ladle. About 1 hour and 10 minutes in all. Yes, I got tired. But I knew it would be worth it. Guests dropped over, looked at the stove. One kind soul gave me a back rub. But mostly I had Dreydl for company as I kept going. (One note: admittedly, it took a little longer than usual to get the rice tender and the sauce thickened because I'd doubled the batch called for in the book. In general, I plan on about 45 minutes for risotto stirring.)

The only real way to know when risotto is ready? Pull out a grain or two and taste them. They should be creamy with just a slight chew at the center--no crunch, for goodness sake. Just a little chew, a little give.

At the end, I stirred in 1 cup finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano and 1/2 preserved Moroccan lemon, rind only, finely minced. These preserved lemons are quite salty, wonderful little spikes of savory flavor found at most high-end markets and almost all East Indian markets. Of course, you can make your own. For more about that, check out Foodgal's discussion.

I plated the risotto and grated some nutmeg over each serving. Comfort food deluxe. Yes, it took time. Yes, it involved my standing at the stove. But yes, it was totally worth it: creamy, light, a little lemony, the bitter greens just a hint of spice in the dish, the perfect start to the meal.

Comments

[diana p.]

I just made butternut squash risotto last night for a vegan friend from out of town. Though my technique is a little more slapdash then yours (I tend to keep everything a bit warmer and add the broth in larger increments), it comes together a little more quickly. However, I always seem to add just 1/2 cup more broth then necessary, resulting in good risotto, but not great -- it lacks the resistence you write about. Any suggestions on how to know when risotto is "done.:

(P.S. I find keeping snacks like tapenade, cheese and bread in the kitchen means that the cook gets lots of company while stirring, which I am also fairly slapdash about, since I want to be both drinking and eating at the same time!)

[Mark Scarbrough]

Diana: Yep, that last bit can make the difference. To be honest, I keep a stack of spoons near the pan and as the thing nears done, I just keep testing by tasting. Of course, if no one were in the kitchen with me, I'd use just one spoon over and over again--but I want to look a little like a pro and not gross everyone out! At the end, keep tasting--and also slow down on your broth additions, putting only about 1/4 cup in as it starts getting tender. Also, turn down that heat at the end, to just the barest bubble. I'd advise it all through--but at the very last is better than nothing! It's really a complicated balance between starch solubility and broth evaporation. (And yes, there were snacks in the kitchen that night, but I was trying to save myself for dinner ahead. Wait until you see tomorrow what the main course was!)

[Carolyn Jung]

Oh yay! Another dish that will put my homemade preserved lemons to good use. I like that touch of nutmeg at the end. I would have never have thought of it, but I can imagine how good that is.