I am alone. No after school shuttling. No gustatorial consensus required for tonight. Husband and daughter are on respective trips this week. My red wine hangover from last night’s Sala 19 outing with my college roommate is abating. I’m opening the French chardonnay from the fridge, and cooking whatever I have in the apartment. I refuse to go out. The foundation will be brussel sprouts that didn’t make it on the culinary agenda over the weekend, and a box of Arborio rice that has been sitting in the cupboard forever. The brussel sprouts will be roasted with lemon slices and bacon. A few leaves that peel away become crisp in the oven, and crackle in my mouth.
And there’s only one thing to do with Arborio.
Must. Have. Dried. Porcinis. Somewhere.
The shallots, then the softened mushrooms, then roasting rice before the wine, then the brine, then the stock. I swoon just at the layering of aromas.
No comments:
Post a Comment