Wild Mushroom Pseudo-Risotto

Dear Shelly, Jenny, and the world,


I'm working out of a writer's space in LA. It's called The Hatchery and the people are wonderful. I feel very lucky to have quite literally stumbled into this supportive and kind community in a city where I feel like an outsider and well, am an outsider. I don't watch TV or movies or theater or improv. I don't have the white teeth or youthful body of an aspiring actress nor the speedy creativity of a screenwriter. But I get to walk into this space at 9:30am every morning, and people smile and nod at me. I sit down and work in a space where I am respected as a serious writer, even though my parents are my only patrons.


One day, at the Hatchery, a cute Vietnamese lady introduces herself. I've caught her looking at me like I'm a fascinating specimen, probably because I spend 8-10 hours a day writing on the same couch, legs crossed in lotus position. I'm here longer than most people. She's a comedy writer who does corporate copywriting to pay the bills.
“Want to grab lunch?” she asks and sits at the table next to me out of her own volition (!).
This is epic. If this was Mean Girls, then THAT was the pivotal scene when she put herself on the line!


But because I am both awkward and inward I end up totally forget about lunch and sit next to her for hours typing grimly away at my thesis, which is overdue. 
Around 5, she gets ready to leave. She packs up her gear and glides past me, a disinterested stranger. I am not worthy of a goodbye.
Please be my friend! I want to tell her. I'm not snubbing you! It's just that my writer's face kind of resembles resting bitch face.


I wish I was a faster writer with a cutting wit and sharp investigative skills.
I wish people didn't say "give us more context" when really what they mean is: Why did you bother me with an essay about China/Asian-Americans when I've read The Joy Luck Club?
I wish I could finish my thesis in time, but I can't. I've worked pretty damn hard though and it blows.
I wish that I didn't feel like I'm proving my critics right by missing my deadline yet again.
I wish I shared my boyfriend's love of the big screen and could join in his enthusiasm and jokes.
I wish I didn't yell at him and say things I regret.
I wish I was a natural at anything.


Graham, my boyfriend, is the opposite. Like Midas, everybody he touches (roll with my metaphor here) turns into a friend or a mentor. He's been a month at his new job and his co-workers invite him out to all sorts of get-togethers – end-of-week whiskeys, team lunches, cocktail hour, Magic The Gathering. He doesn't know it but he's in his element. Last week, his boss stopped by to say, “Hey!
You've learned in weeks what it takes other people to learn in months! And everybody likes you.”


I check his phone - no, I'm not “that girlfriend,” I'm the girlfriend who doesn't wear a watch - and see that he and his co-workers already have in-jokes. But I am thankful he's not sending snapchats of his penis to the hot girl with the adorable dog in the marketing department.


“How do you just make friends that easily? Teach me now!” I demand, when I pick him up from work. The failure to befriend comedy writer girl is fresh.
“Aww, but I like you. Just be yourself. Share your story and ask them what their story is.”
“If I had an approachable gullible-looking happy baby looking face like yours, everybody would like me too and I wouldn't have to try AT ALL!” I rage, poking him in the nose.
(Actually I feel lucky all the time. In my mind, he is like a $2,000 Chanel bag that I snatched up for $20 before murderous hoards of other single women descended.)


You know what I do have?


The ability to cook pretty well, and most importantly, a loose hand when it comes to butter, garlic, cheese, and wine.


This is wild mushroom risotto. I use it to win friends and love.


Contrary to what people believe, risotto making need not be precise.
Addendum: I should say, this is wild mushroom creamy rice, not risotto. Use what you have and don't buy anything you'll use only once and never again. Listen to my voice of experience: don't go in expecting to create a risotto on par with anything you'd get in say, Tuscany or Napa Valley and you'll be very happy with the fruits of your labor. I'm no Michelin-starred Italian chef, ladies and gentlemen.


I used Chinese rice, which means I had no expectations toward authenticity from the start. This helps when one is rushed for time and of modest means.


Notes: I bought as many chanterelles and morels as I could afford at the farmer's market and dry-sauteed these wild mushrooms in the pan with a huge pile of cheap brown buttons from Trader Joes to disguise their provincial origins. Dry-sauteing the mushrooms is the delicious secret of this recipe – THE lack of oil keeps the mushrooms woodsy and slightly crisped. If you saute them in butter like I used to, the main flavor note will be butter. Potatoes pa-tat-oes I guess, but the textural contrast of the crisped mushrooms and the creamy rice is really, really wonderful and you should try it this way.


I'm excited to make this risotto again, but with even more mushrooms – I'm talking equal parts mushrooms to rice – and it's going to be so delicious like eating an entire forest.


*
Wild Mushroom Pseudo-Risotto


Ingredients
Uncooked rice
Oil
Mushrooms, scrubbed, sliced, and towel-dried (with wild ones you may need to soak them for 10 minutes to remove bugs)
Garlic
Butter
Hard cheese, grated (I used Asiago)
Wine (Marsala or Sherry if you have it, if not, any white wine)
Broth or water or water + bouillon cube
Optional:
Seasonings (thyme, rosemary, sage or any combination work well)
Milk
Lemon Pepper
Olive Oil


Let pan sit on medium fire for a minute. Add sliced mushrooms and dry-saute in batches if necessary, for several minutes until crispy, stirring frequently. Set mushrooms aside.
Add oil enough to coat rice. Add garlic. Cook rice with oil for several minutes. Continue to stir frequently. Add a healthy dose of one-ish cup of wine. Let wine sizzle down.
Stirring, add 1 cup milk and broth cup by cup. Taste the rice, checking for a chewable but al dente texture. When you're finishing up, in go the spices and desired amount of butter (I liked about 3 tablespoons of butter to 3 cups of dry rice) and desired amount of cheese (all of it). Stir to combine. Toss in all your beautiful, woodsy mushrooms. Stir gently. Just enough to combine.
Serve with a healthy grind of lemon pepper and a dash of olive oil. Or, if you're feeling fancy, parmesan crisps.


*
“Hey! I brought some leftover risotto for lunch.” BE CASUAL, JOANNE. “Want to try some?”
“Sure I'll have a taste.”
“Whoa, that is good!”
“You want some more? I made a pretty big batch.” BE NONCHALANT.
“Yea!”
“This is delicious!"
"Can I pay you money to make me lunch?” she jokes.
“Oh, thanks! It's just okay. The rice is kind of soggy. And I used Chinese rice, not Arborio.”
“What are you talking about? This is really good!”
Shrug. “Nah, I'll make it better next time. But I'm glad you like it. Want to grab lunch on Friday?”

Gnocchi, revisited

I finally learned how to make fucking *good* gnocchi.

I mean, goddamnit!  I’ve FINALLY fucking figured it out!

For those of you playing at home, gnocchi is a metaphor for pain and depression.

I can’t untie nurturing with gnocchi. When I knead dough, I think of handing little bits off to a little hand with little, pointed fingers and wide eyes peering behind the edge of the countertop. The smell of flour and sweet potato is soft and sweet like a baby smells.

“Mom, look!” the little hands and big eyes hand me a misshapen lump. "Dinosaur." I place the dinosaur as gently as I might place an egg into the salted, boiling water. I wait for it to float before placing it on a plate with some sauce in front of very little hands and very big eyes and a very large smile. "Careful, it's hot!" 

"Hot," the solemn eyes repeat as the timid, pointed fingers test the temperature of the lumpy dough. 

Then everything comes crashing down. Who the hell am I kidding. I am so far from being a mother. I don't even fricken date, how the hell am I going to have a child? What if I never get married? What if I am unlovable? What if it’s all my fault? What am I missing? Why can't I see what a monster I am? 

What if my whole life is an unending cycle of me holding my soft, squishy heart out and offering it to everyone, saying, here, have a bite! 

By the time the dough hits the boiling water, I come to the conclusion that my fears are stupid.  I will not be alone in the future because I am not alone now. And if I never have a child of my own, there are plenty of lost children out there who need good, strong mothers. I can be one. And the only way to learn happiness is to live with your soft, squishy heart in your hands, ready to offer to anyone. It hurts sometimes, but you get what you give. Sometimes it takes a shitty experience to bring the good things into perspective. 

It takes a lot of kneading to come to a constructive perspective. 

That’s how I got good at making gnocchi.

Recipe

1 cup sweet potato, mashed

1 cup flour

Mix the sweet potato with the flour until it forms a dough. Knead for 10 minutes. It's a wet, messy dough. Take your scraggly, moist mass of dough and put it into plastic wrap. Walk away from the dough. Go for a run. Take a shower. Get distracted by your roommate's cat's antics. 

After an hour, your dough is smooth and silky. It's like magic. But not magic. Science. Anyway. 

Cut the dough into quarters and shape into whatever gnocchi shape your heart desires. I like them rough and lumpy because they hold dough well. 

I like to boil my little gnocchi friends until they float and then fry them in a pan with oil and serve with a giant pile of shredded pecorino romano. You can freeze them on a plate and then put the frozen bits into a freezer bag for later on. I've never had any last more than one meal. 

Lucy Knisley alla Carbonara

Dear world,

I’m not sure that I can call this carbonara. It’s almost a carbonara, but I’ve learned, while sitting in many an Italian household that a carbonara has a pretty rigid list of ingredients.

I’d listen to women talk about their recipes in Italian. They’d layer on words and stories about cooking and pasta and the special things they do to make their recipes better. And I, well, I don’t speak much Italian, but when it comes to food, I *get* it.  You don’t have to turn to me and explain the difference in English. One woman doesn’t cook the pancetta. She puts it into the eggs cruda, raw, before adding the pasta. Another uses a special type of pancetta. She tries to explain to me what kind and I think of all the meats behind the counter of the grocery store where I talk to the man behind the counter, “Perdone, signore. Uh. Vorrei cucinare carbonara. Qual e the buono one?”

I don't tell anyone (I don't actually have the vocabulary to tell anyone) my secret: I already have the best recipe for carbonara; Lucy Knisley’s recipe for carbonara, from her book, Relish. Now whenever I cook or eat carbonara, I think of Lucy and how lovingly she created the recipe for her book.

I wanted to make a dish inspired by her, so naturally, carbonara.

But not just any carbonara. *pink* carbonara.  Instead of pancetta, I used beets and shallots. 

This is where we have a problem. I can’t call it carbonara anymore, because its *not* a carbonara. It’s something else. Like how it’s not a cookbook or a graphic novel. Relish is something else.

Shallots and beets go really well together in pasta. The caramelized shallots add more earthiness and bite to both highlight and cut the sweetness of the beets. Add the creaminess of eggs and cheese and you have something decadent and unexpected.

Recipe

2 servings of linguine
2 cloves of garlic
½ cup of beets, diced
2 medium-sized shallots 2 eggs
½ c shredded parmesan or pecorino romano

1.       Boil the water.

2.       In a saucepan, add 1 tbsp of olive oil and the two whole cloves of garlic. Let them roast, turning them until they’re golden brown (like Lucy does).  Add the shallots and cook until they’re almost caramelized, then add the diced beets. Keep cooking until everything is somewhat smoky and sweet. Salt to taste. And *do* taste, earthy and sweet. This takes anywhere from 10-15 minutes. Remove the garlic cloves.

3.       In another, large bowl, add 2 eggs, beat until the eggs turn a lighter color. (I think this was our problem with watery carbonara, Joanne! We didn’t beat the eggs hard enough!) Add the grated cheese.

4.       Cook the pasta.

5.       When the pasta is done, add some of it to the egg mixture and toss. Then add the beet mixture and toss some more. Then add the rest of the pasta and keep tossing until it turns an acceptable shade of pink.