Well, it's not exactly better than....

...table tennis. Maybe sometimes, but not on the whole. Yet some days...and I don't even know what it is, some days I would pass up a game of table tennis for this food. Not seriously, here, just prone to subtextual hyperbole. Not there's anything wrong with that. I don't even know what subtextual hyperbole means, but I bet we could arrive at a workable definition. Let's discuss this over dinner. Which reminds me that I don't have a foodblog niche. Perhaps a mexican wrestler theme, like in that fuzzy establishment I've been asked to leave. But, I like to cook and eat and try everything, and most of my favorite foods are not considered home cooking, which I would never knock, but my tastes have changed. I just manhandle the flavor from everything I want to try next, learn, and then move on. What can we draw from that?

I hadn't made a risotto before, mostly because I didn't have chicken stock, but also because it seemed silly and time consuming. I thought: rice porridge, easily construed as peasant food, becoming a gourmet symphony of ricey bullshit in a pan. I saw Giada on TV and was suddenly reinspired to do this whole thing. I see a lot of Giada. I thought that maybe this was beyond my expertise, and I didn't want to evaporate the liquid gold I had been hoarding. But, this was the chicken stock's other natural purpose. The first, of course, is currency. The stuff is hard and fast currency in France, with the underground market for chicken stock recently exploding. Only barter with a vendor you trust, and make sure they weigh it out in front of you. And, never engage in a game of wits with a sicilian. I digress.

So making this risotto, I needed some loose guidance from a recipe that sounded tasty, though I had predetermined and typed out a shopping list with wild rice and mushrooms on it. Now that the chantrelles are back locally, I will have another go at it soon, but I went with some button mushrooms from just outside of the area. This selection was as pedestrian as it was affordable, mind you. And I had parmesan on the list too, so you know it's going down when those three comingle. Since it's three ingredients, would that be thromingle?

-- Butter in the pan on low-medium (like the fuse on a flavor bomb, do it slowly, or the butter explodes). Added shallots too.

-- I par-boiled the wild rice because it is heartier, and needs some extra love. I read to it before bedtime. Yeah. That's what I did. Drained and put in the pan.

-- Rice in the pan, blasters set to medium-high*

Now, the whole thing was trial and error, but I minimized the margin through mitigation of measurables. I controlled the heat, added the cream slowly towards the end, cooked it down. It seemed as if I had ladled more chicken stock into this dish than I would for a soup (but really I just knew I would miss each ladlefull, so it was a bittersavory experience), but it cooked in incredibly well; the homemade chicken stock is a pizza-danceparty of flavor and subtle textures. Tasting along in the process, I realized that I couldn't ruin these ingredients if I wanted to, and I didn't want to, so a little attentiveness was half of the battle. Knowledge.

So when the rice had bathed sufficently in the radiant luxury of majestic sunsplash, and the lifeforce had cooked down, I added a small amount of cream and shredded parmesan cheese, added salt pepper, a little oil, and a smallish square of butter, stirring until the mixture thickend and became creamy for a couple of minutes. They had to meld. Then I added some italian parsely.

It was second best thing ever. The first is Def Leppard. I couldn't believe how mind numbingly easy it all was. It took some attention, but that's how I get down in the kitchen anyway. Wildrice, mushroom risotto with parmesan. It's not better than intercourse yet, but it will be when I get my hands on some chantrelles. And you can watch...a video post? Maybe?