Things I think
The best risotto I’ve ever eaten was made for me by my friend Alice. I’d come round to her flat - the beautiful, much-missed Treehouse - when we were both working on our first books together so we could write together. I think it was Autumn: I certainly remember that we sat for a few hours around her beautiful, mid-century modern kitchen table, tapping away on our laptops and occasionally asking each other things like “What’s a more appropriate word to use here than ‘clusterfuck’?” and by the time we looked up from our screens it was dark outside, the sky ink-blue and the yellow streetlights twinkling through the leaves of both the trees on the street and the plenteous urban forest she was growing on her balcony.
Alice went to her kitchen and started cooking us dinner, chopping bright green vegetables with a satisfying swish and clunk of a chef’s knife and throwing things into a big pan with cheery abandon. At the time, I hadn’t mastered the skill of cooking like this: I was very good at following recipes and even very good at making them up myself, but the art of cooking just by following your instincts, your taste buds and whatever you had in the kitchen at the time was beyond me. Alice - and my friend Ashley, who I’d also had cook for me - seemed to have a kind of innate confidence and knowledge in their cooking that seemed akin to magic. I really wanted to be part of their coven.
When we sat down 30 minutes later to bowls of perfect risotto served with a beautifully dressed salad (another thing I was bemused by at the time, and that I’m still terrible at - making a salad dressing rather than buying one), we talked a little about how she’d made it. Turns out, even though she was winging it, her structure came from Angela Hartnett’s recipe for courgette risotto. I didn’t know the name at the time but I’ve since interviewed Angela, adored her on Best Home Cook (why aren’t we getting another series? It was so good!) and slavishly followed her opinions and advice as shared on her food podcast, and I understand why it was so delicious: Angela Hartnett is a fucking great chef, and this risotto is especially fucking wonderful.
Eating risotto across from Alice, sitting in the lamplight with our brains contentedly exhausted from an afternoon of writing, is one of the happiest memories of my life. I think about Alice every time I make risotto - and I make risotto quite a lot. It showed up frequently in my meal plans when I was on Slimming World, because rice was “free” and was one of the recipes I didn’t have to modify too much to make it adhere to the diet. As the pile of too-small clothes I keep in the Suitcase of Shame on top of my wardrobe will attest to I no longer follow Slimming World, but risottos are still one of my staples and whenever I tell Garry I’m making one that week he makes an “Ooooo” sound like someone sitting heavily on a beanbag so all the air hisses out - which, reading this back, doesn’t sound like appreciation, but I promise you it is.
Risottos fall very firmly into my favourite category of cooking, which is “Bung a load of shit in a receptacle until it tastes good” (see also: trifle; baked meatballs; pulled pork; this pasta; anything from Rukmini Iyer’s The Roasting Tin series.) I like how you can plan what flavours and textures you want meticulously or you can do a sweep of what’s in your fridge/freezer and use that instead, and how it’s satisfying and comforting but also, somehow, fancy as hell.
And honestly, although most people think of them as a massive faff, I love making risottos - standing over a huge, steaming pan, stirring it constantly and adding ladlesful of richly scented stock at just the right time as you grow increasingly red-faced and shiny from the heat, watching the rice thicken and transform into something else, is a pleasing kind of domestic alchemy. I feel like a witch making a potion every time, especially now I can make them by instinct rather than needing to slavishly follow a recipe. I make it, and I think of Alice, and I smile. It feels good to finally have joined the coven.
I don’t see Alice as much as I’d like to any more - partially because we now live halfway across the country from each other, partially because we both have children, and partially because she’s now a hugely successful author and very in-demand - but whenever we talk it’s like no time has passed at all. My affection for some people lives very close to the surface, ready to burst into life again at the gentlest of encouragements, and she is one of them: two minutes into a conversation and it’s like we’re back at her kitchen table, spooning creamy green risotto flecked with green into our mouths and trying not to spray it over the table in front of us when we laughed.
I think of Alice every time I make a risotto. Similarly, I am reminded of people I loved when I have an île flottante, a mocha Frappuccino, mashed potato with gravy, a McDonalds wrap. Cake pops will always remind me of an intense friendship which exploded into mutual contempt; Crispy MnMs with a can of lime Diet Coke make me think of my brother’s ex-wife; I can’t eat a Greggs sausage roll without remembering the face of the friend I caught the bus home from sixth-form with for two years, even though I can’t remember his full name.
Whether I want it to or not, food is the easiest way to remember people who made a profound impact on me. Life moves on and so do we, but I’m lucky to have these memories, these friends, this love, all kept safe inside me and carried with me wherever I go, and I’m lucky that I can easily remember one of my most beloved people in the world any time I take a forkful of a courgette risotto.
Chicken and pea risotto - serves 4
Brace yourself, because I’m about to make some Italians cry.
Ingredients
1 onion, diced
2 cloves of garlic, finely chopped
350g risotto rice
1.5 litre chicken stock (although have more ready to make because I always end up using more stock than I have ready)
350g-ish cooked, shredded chicken
Two mugs of frozen peas
200g grated parmesan
Method
Put your most cauldron-like pan over a medium heat and heat a large drizzle of oil. Fry the onion and garlic for a few minutes until soft but not starting to colour. Add all of the rice and stir to coat in the oil, then toast in the pan for another 3-4 minutes
While toasting the rice, add the stock to a second saucepan over a medium heat. You ideally want the contents of the pan with the rice to be the same temperature as the stock, but as long as it’s hot you’re fine
Add a generous slug of the stock to the rice and wait for it to absorb, stirring constantly. When it’s absorbed, add a ladleful of stock and stir until it’s absorbed. Keep doing this until all but one ladleful of stock is gone
If, when all the stock is gone, the rice is still not fully cooked, make more stock and repeat steps 2 and 3, tasting frequently and monitoring when the rice is cooked to determine when your final addition of stock will be, rather than relying on pure volume of liquid
When you add your final ladleful of stock, also add the shredded chicken and peas. Stir until fully absorbed
When the rice is cooked, take the risotto off the heat and beat in the grated parmesan. Pile into bowls, add more parmesan on top if you like (I often add black pepper, too) and serve immediately
Notes
Brace yourself, because I’m about to make some Italians sob
You can make risotto with almost anything. A scan of the BBC Good Food search results for “risotto recipes” proves this. Nail the method, then experiment with what tastes nice
I have made Angela Hartnett’s method of risotto where you beat in the butter at the end, but I don’t do this all the time because I’m trying to not give myself/my family a heart attack. It’s bloody tasty, though, try it at least once
You can make this with raw chicken rather than cooked. Before doing anything else, cut the meat into then strips and fry it in a little oil for five minutes or so, until cooked through. Then start at step 1 of the recipe above
I don’t have any fresh herbs in this because I’m notoriously awful at regularly buying them or keeping plants of them alive, and I wanted to share the genuine way I’d make this. But if you have fresh herbs, please do add them! Tarragon, parsley, mint, finely chopped rosemary, oregano, they’d all taste good in this. I’ve made pumpkin/squash risottos with things like paprika and sage before, and they were also delicious. Chop any fresh herbs finely and stir them through at the end, along with the parmesan
I always have a bag of frozen sliced leeks in the freezer, and I swap those in for onions if don’t have onions in. For this, and any for other recipe, actually. Bloody love a leek
I often use Grana Padano cheese instead of parmesan, because it’s cheaper. Cost of living crisis, innit
And while this tastes better with “proper” stock I mostly use stock cubes, especially when it’s weeknight cooking
If you are a vegetarian you can obviously swap the chicken for something else - use vegetable stock and a few handfuls of watercress or rocket, stirred through at the same time, and serve with some lemon slices to squeeze over if needed
This often makes more than we can eat so we have it as leftovers. To reheat: put a portion of risotto in a microwaveable bowl, and add a couple of tablespoons of water. Stir well so all the rice is coated. Microwave on high for 2 minutes. Remove, stir with a fork, add more water if it’s looking a bit dry. Microwave on high for 2 minutes more. You want it heated through to the point where you’d burn a hole in your tongue if you tried to eat it straight away, possibly burn a hole in the floor if you dropped it. Once it’s reheated you can add more grated parmesan, if you like. I usually do
Things I liked
On the weekend we made a trip to Solihull so I could go to Bravissimo (I am finally out of my maternity/nursing bras! My boobs look and feel pretty again!) and while we were there we took Taron into Flying Tiger, which is one of his favourite shops in the world. We always give him a £5 note and let him spend it on whatever he wants: this time he came out clutching some popping candy, a set of stamps and some gem stickers, and I came out with this immensely practical picnic blanket. It’s massive (2m x 1.5m), it folds up small and has a little handle so it’s easy to carry around, and the bottom of it is plastic-y so you can put it on slightly damp ground and not get a wet bum. My friendship group spends a lot of time having braais/BBQs and picnics in the summer, so this is going to live in our car for those.
Also while we were there I had a wander around Oliver Bonas, which is like Flying Tiger for people with a lot more money than me. Absolutely adore this daisy jug, but not enough to pay £40 for it. Very nearly bought this blue vase for £25, though.
You are here, so I’m assuming you like Substack/a newsletter? Well, Lauren Bravo - author of the magnificent Preloved and soon-to-be-published Probably Nothing - has started a new one and it will be the best thing on the internet. Just read the first post and you’ll agree. You should subscribe.
“It’s a lovely morning in the village and you are a horrible goose.” I didn’t get Untitled Goose Game when it first came out so I’m aware I am very late to the party here, but DEAR LORD it is brilliant. It’s a short game (maybe 4 hours play time?) and it’s incredibly charming - you have a to-do list of chaos to cause and the game is you ticking items off. Why is it so much fun stealing a nerdy kid’s glasses and running off, flapping your wings and honking like an avian goblin? Or tricking a woman into cutting down her neighbour’s prized rose and stealing his slippers while they argue about it? I don’t know, but it is. Available on PC, Mac, Steam, Switch, PS4/5 or Xbox. No excuse not to get it.
Things you liked
The last recipe/food newsletter I wrote was about banana bread. I’ve had some really lovely comments from people who’ve made it, so permit me a small brag as I share a few here.
Lot of links in this week’s newsletter, huh?
Thank you for reading. It means a lot to me.
Love, Amy xxx
I know what I am having for dinner tonight!!
Mouth watering, heart aching ❤️