I’ve written about this risotto before. It’s nothing special. In fact, I’d call it pretty prosaic, calling upon the simple flavours that an Italian sofrito (diced garlic, onion, celery and carrot) have to offer. But it’s always been a therapy for me. Perhaps even the recipe that made me realise how impactful cooking could be. The soothing stir of the spoon. The constant attention it requires. The way I would stand in front of the hob, the act of it taking my mind off the swirling thoughts. I only thought of the process of osmosis – how the rice would swell with stock, rather than the way my heart was swelling with pain. I know it sounds dramatic. I’m prone to melodrama. Which is why I like this risotto in particular. It’s subtle. Simple. If anything, a little boring. My favourite thing was to leave leftovers and fry the risotto in a pan full of hot oil the next day for the lunch, so the bottom gets crispy. In fact, I’d be tempted to cook the risotto just so I can do this – early enough in the day (after lunch, so you’re not starving whilst stirring), for it to cool a little, then fry it up for a solo dinner.
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