She wanders through the forest quietly, evergreen branches dusted with snow. The rich, dark earth is soft beneath her feet and wafts an aroma of secrets. In this snowy silent world, life teems just beyond the gaze. Capricious breezes escape the sky and tug at her cloak before dancing off into the darkness to reappear like sprites in the under-canopy.
It may appear as a gentle, aimless wander. Flashes of pale skin swathed in dark warmth. The eyes search though and will not be swayed by creak nor breeze. She is hunting. She desires the flavour of secrets. The robust morels, the sweet flutter of the chanterelle, the meaty delight of the porcini. She is creating in a quiet mind – a meal to entrance, a meal to waken earthy desires buried deep inside. A meal to nourish and savour. The mouth twitches a little in amusement. Then there, by that mossy log, treasure! The spores have fallen neatly, a nearly whole ‘fairy ring’ and she gathers carefully –taking only what she needs and ensuring the cycle continues. Then she stands and casts her eyes into the gloom again, careful, alert. A twig snaps somewhere in the distance and breath forms clouds in the icy air. Wait. Be silent. Lift your face into the falling snow for a moment…then continue the hunt.
OK, that’s not what happened. Well, it’s certainly what happened in my head, but the reality was actually an ALDI aisle and treasures sitting there in pretty little boxes. The delight wasn’t quite as snowy and romantic, but other shoppers on their weary weekend food-gathering routine certainly twitched at the crazy woman doing a small happy-dance with mushrooms. My son just sighed and kept pushing the trolley –he is wearily experienced in the sudden gastronomic enthusiasms of his slightly strange mother.
‘The robust morels, the sweet flutter of the chanterelle, the meaty delight of the porcini. She is creating in a quiet mind – a meal to entrance, a meal to waken earthy desires buried deep inside. A meal to nourish and savour.’
This is still true. I know that when flavours are deep, rich and satisfying –a curious warmth envelops the diner. Satiety is never from quantity, but from pleasure centres and receptors being flooded gently but thoroughly. All five senses addressed, caressed and adored. Craftsmanship, knowledge, delight, and savouring the creation as well as the consumption. On a snowy, wintry afternoon she placed something appropriate on the stereo, and went into a warm kitchen with eyes flashing.
To begin, Mirepoix. Well, sort of.
A generous sloosh of olive oil
A irresponsible knob of butter
1 brown onion, finely diced
4 fat cloves of garlic, minced
2 sticks of fresh celery, finely diced
Gentle now, just let them relax into heat and fats and gain a golden hue. Listen. Sizzle.
Earlier you soaked the beautiful mushrooms. They’re now swollen and fattened and swimming in a dark broth that whispers of undergrowth, darkness and relentless life.
These may be chopped as finely or roughly as you please. Some adore large toothsome chunks. I prefer delicate morsels in a scattered melange…there, but not strident. These and a few button mushrooms are thrown into the pan too. Toss and coat them with the butter and garlic.
Add a good handful of raw almonds. This too, the flavour and crunch of autumn stored for extra protein and fats in the dead of winter. Liberal addition of white pepper wakes up the flavours and aromas. Take a moment to inhale. When this heady mix is starting to brown, add your arborio and toss through until the rice becomes mostly translucent. What we’re after here is the release of the dominant starch, amylopectin, which thickens the stock and gives risotto its creamy texture.
Now, add a cup of dry white wine –it’s the first flavour we want married to our mushrooms and rice. It will lend a dash of acidity to these rich, earthy flavours while the celery in the mirepoix will add just a hint of fresh greenness. Stir while the wine is absorbed, we want to roughen that starch out into our broth so the resulting mouthfeel is velvety and indulgent.
Now we’ll add our stock, a careful ladleful at a time. ½ of it is the soaking liquid from the mushrooms, ½ a good chicken stock, and a generous portion of finely chopped fresh parsley. A vegetable stock is just as good, but a beef stock would be a mistake. Too rich, too robust. These forest flavours are curious enough on their own and must be complemented ever so gently.
As she stirs and ladles, she dreams. She dreams of a snowy cabin and a roaring fire. She dreams of beloved eyes reflecting firelight. She dreams of a fine-fingered hand playing with her hair and low murmurs of heart-secrets. Every mouthful of her dish has been savoured. Bellies are full, but not stuffed. Flavours have winkled their way into minds and hearts and beauty begets beauty. Flavours and hearts whisper the secrets of a mind’s forest. A deep, syrupy warmth envelops.
But there is such a thing as balance. Balance is essential. Too much is well, too much. A modest portion is all you need, but let’s wake it up a little with fire, and a little verdance.
On the side, we’ll serve some broccolini and finely diced celery leaf dressed in honey, butter, and firey red chilli flakes. Because even the darkest forest floor dreams of spring.
Take your time. Take it slow. Savour, dream, enjoy, taste. Your body will tell you very clearly when it’s ‘enough’.
Out on her mind’s forest, she draws her cloak around her tightly. Her basket is full and the kitchen awaits.
The small figure disappears into the spaces between trees as twilight tinges everything blue. The forest creaks, breathes and whispers and suddenly, it’s as though she were never there at all.
Calories per serve: ~450 give-or-take. Nutrients: Selenium, Vit D, folate, fibre (beta-glucans, chitin), potassium, Vit C, riboflavin (B2), folate (B9), thiamine (B1), pantothenic acid (B5), niacin (B3), Vit D, copper, iron, phosphorous, choline, protein, Vit A, calcium, iron. Flavour: Off the friggin' charts.
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