Iknow, I know. How peak middle class to make mention of a risotto crisis; don’t most of us have enough on our plates already without getting worked up about the cost of posh rice to boot? But at the risk of impaling myself with my own privilege – there it goes, clean through my Toast linen apron like an expensive Japanese knife – I’m going to jump in anyway, truffle grater in hand (I’m joking, I don’t own a truffle grater). The bad news is thathard times lie ahead for Italian rice, and while I think this is a grave development for Italians, as for all Europeans, perhaps it’s a particular sadness for we British, who came a bit late to risotto, and have only just started truly to get the hang of it.
The trouble has to do with the climate crisis. Risotto rice varieties such as arborio and carnaroli are grown in the Po valley, a floodplain in the north of Italy where the challenge for farmers used to be to keep the water away. But now everything’s topsy turvy. In 2022, the worst drought in 200 years struck the Po, the river that feeds the system of canals that irrigates the paddy fields. As a result, Italy lost 26,000 hectares of rice fields, and production of the grain dropped by more than 30%. Things haven’t improved since. Last year, there was again a drought, and a further 7,500 hectares were lost. Some farmers are getting out, replacing rice with crops that require less water. Others are pondering the cultivation of other varieties of rice: grains that are hardier than carnaroli, but which are also less suitable for making risotto, which requires rice both to be super-absorbent and to maintain its texture after slow cooking.
I think about all this, and I wonder. I’ve noticed a sharp rise in the cost of risotto rice, as I have in just about everything lately, but so far, no sign it’s in short supply. Is it an exaggeration to talk of its impending extinction? And if it isn’t, should we stockpile supplies before it disappears, or should we go for broke and cook as much risotto as we possibly can, while we can?
Both approaches are obviously slightly extreme, and possibly even a little crazed at this point. But then, I do feel a touch panicky. I was approaching 30 before I ate a proper risotto, and even older than that before I made one myself (my husband loves it – especially Tamasin Day-Lewis’s “good-tempered” chicken risotto, using leftover bird from Sunday, and a little tarragon).
I may be wrong, but I have the impression that people are wary of making risotto at home. For this, one might blame the strictness of Marcella Hazan, and other Italian cooks, who can be stern on the subject (Hazan’s instructions, inThe Classic Italian Cookbook, about the minute gradations involved in timing a risotto are terrifying for the tyro). But I think it’s more likely that people are put off, first, by the idea that nothing but homemade stock will do, and second, by the labour involved. Who’s up for all that standing and stirring – a good risotto takes 40 minutes at least to cook, and cannot be left – after a long day at work?
Unfortunately, there’s no way out of the stirring. I’ve tried “oven-baked” risotto, and it isn’t close to the real thing. All you can do is make the best of your stove time. On a risotto night, I want the radio or someone to talk to, and a glass of wine. (The podcast explosion, it seems to me, was meant for risotto making.) As for the question of stock, I do think – sacrilege! – it’s possible to cheat. I wouldn’t make a shellfish risotto with a cube; commercial fish stock is horrible. But I often use chicken or vegetable cubes. Take lemon risotto, a classic. Even if the citrus didn’t hide the taste of the cube (it does), the herbs will. Again, I turn to Day-Lewis. Her ingredients include, as well as the juice and zest of a lemon, a very little chopped rosemary and sage and, to finish, an egg yolk and some cream along with the parmesan. The result, soothing yet zingy, is so delicious. Even to consider life without it would be quite heartbreaking.