DISH
Food of Love
with Maribeth Maloney
Although I have it on good authority that he's a normal, subdued human off-camera, that Emeril makes me nuts. And I feel well-qualified to say so. I was among the first to tune in to the lowly, low-budget Food Network when it quietly debuted on Time-Warner Cable in New York in 1993. His show was "How to Boil Water," and, as promised, he boiled water. That and a few other things - alone, quietly, on a spartan set, free of mindless repartee with anyone but the camera crew.

Since then, he's acquired a live band, a pricey set, a jacked-up studio audience and a disturbingly cult-like following. My theory is that they love him because he's accessible. Not only does his sloppy technique make them feel as though they, too, can cook, but he embodies the underbelly of the American dream: you, too, can get filthy rich with absolutely no command of the English language. Heck, he butchers it like a veal chop.

Yet amidst Emeril's incessant barrage of brain-boggling "BAM!...PORK FAT RULES!…MY MEAT DON'T COME SEASONED!" catch-phrases, there's one I've warmed up to: "FOOD OF LOVE!" Now those are words that I can actually understand; I just wish he wouldn't shout them.

I'm a strong believer that cooking is about love and passion and that those who choose to take the time - be they professional chefs or home cooks - have a natural generosity of spirit and an aim to please. My problem with Emeril's take on "food of love," is that he uses it too liberally. Sure, chicken soup and pot roast are great; but they can sit alone and take care of themselves. Were I not so certain he's already trademarked the phrase, I'd try to convince him to narrow his scope of use to one dish: risotto.

Risotto is the ultimate food of love: it takes time and it takes tending. It comes as close to having a personality and emotions as any dish does. If you leave it on its own, even for a moment, it will punish you. Worse yet, if you manage to coerce it into perfection but aren't ready when it is, it won't survive. Risotto waits for no one.

I remember my first encounter with it years ago. I was hosting a dinner party and chose it for the entrée. As is generally the case with me, I bit off more than I could chew. The risotto didn't become problematic until several hours into the menu preparations. The initial crisis was the dessert I chose: homemade ice cream served in chocolate bowls. Said "bowls" being the first issue. They involved dipping balloons into melted chocolate, allowing the chocolate to harden, and then gently deflating the balloons. That was the plan anyhow; I had no appreciation of the temperature at which chocolate will cause balloons to burst.

After scrubbing down the entire kitchen and searching for alternate bowls, I was a bit behind the eight-ball. My risotto recipe featured scallops, shrimp and lobster; the prepping involved left me still elbow deep in shellfish when the first guests arrived.

Once I served the first course, I scrambled back into the kitchen to begin the risotto. …Time passed. I didn't emerge. I was stirring, pouring in stock, stirring, pouring in stock, stirring… It seemed endless, but I knew from the cautionary note in the recipe that I couldn't put down my wooden spoon nor abandon my post. When it was finally finished, it was a masterpiece; the fact that my stirring arm had gone numb seemed inconsequential. Just the same, I tried to take some lessons away.

In addition to what I learned about latex, I decided it's not a great idea to prepare risotto as an entrée for eight. Make it for fewer or serve it as a small-portion "primo piatto" (first course), as Italian tradition dictates. Secondly: less is more. The magical interaction that occurs when rice marries broth, and is slowly cooked with a few other basic pantry ingredients, is enough. The addition of pricey "condimenti" can gild the lily.

Although pasta reigns supreme all throughout Italy, many regions - particularly those in the north - are partial to rice dishes, risotto being the most popular preparation. After early attempts to grow rice in the south, production eventually became entirely concentrated in Piedmont and the Veneto, in the provinces of Novara, Pavia, Milan, Mantova and Verona. Italians divide rice into four basic types: "commune" ("common"); "semifino" ("semi-fine"); "fino" ("fine"); and "superfino" ("superfine") - the last two being best for making risotto. Within the superfine, short-grain group, "Carnaroli," "Baldo" and "Arborio" are the ideal, characterized by their ability to absorb cooking liquids while holding their shape and not doing the dreaded: turning to mush.

No one knows for sure where the first risotto originated. Some say it was a Southern Italian creation, but given its similarity to Near Eastern pilaf, most historians speculate it was in Venice,

the centuries-old crossroads for merchants and explorers. What's beyond debate is that the short-grained variety of rice used for making it was brought to Italy from the Far East.

In addition to the rice ("riso"), all risottos have three basic elements: "brodo" ("broth") or stock, and wine; "soffritto," which is generally oil, butter, or both, with finely-minced shallots or onions; and "condimenti" - meat, seafood, vegetables and/or cheese - whatever ingredients give the risotto its character. The hilly Piedmont region of Northern Italy is known for its mushrooms and its many varieties of "risotto con funghi." Treviso and Verona, within the Veneto region, are famous for their fields of radicchio, celebrated through "risotto al radicchio." And the seacoast in and around Venice is inseparable from its black-colored "risotto nero" made with squid ink, as well as "risotto ai frutti di mare," prepared with various combinations of seafood.

Without a doubt, Italy's most famed risotto, and my favorite, hails from the capital of Lombardy - Milan - birthplace of "risotto alla Milanese."

The legend of the dish dates back to 1574, set amidst the 200 year construction of Milan's prized marble-spired cathedral, the Duomo. Among the workers who came from all parts of Europe was a Belgian master glass-worker known as Valerius of Flanders. One of his apprentices had acquired a reputation for flair with color-mixing, a talent rumored to have been achieved by adding a pinch of saffron to his pigments and one for which Valerius taunted him incessantly. The beleaguered student finally decided to get back at his master; he

chose the occasion of his daughter's wedding

for the prank, bribing the cook into making an enormous mountain of the world's first yellow, saffron-tinged rice. The guests proclaimed the creation "Risus optimus!" (Latin for "Excellent rice!"), giving the city its signature dish, which has stood the test of time as an inexorable part of Milanese culture.

As for Emeril? I think that the subdued person lurking beneath the caricature he's become would agree that risotto is the only true food of love. But his cult would never hear as much; not on air at least. Changing up the formula might result in his shouting less gleefully all the way to the bank. Worse yet, without him as their leader they could fall prey to an even greater evil:

Rachael. I RISOTTO ALLAMILANESE Alimento di amore-

1 teaspoon saffron threads 6 cups chicken stock, heated to

a gentle simmer 3 tablespoons olive oil 2 shallots, minced 1 1/2 cups Arborio rice 1/2 cup dry white wine Salt and freshly-ground black pepper 3 tablespoons unsalted butter 1/2 cup freshly-grated

Parmigiano-Reggiano

Soak saffron in a small cup with 4 tablespoons hot water; set aside. Heat olive oil in a high-sided, heavy-bottomed sauté pan. Add shallots; cook for 3 to 4 minutes. Add the rice, stirring with a wooden spoon until oil is absorbed. Add wine; continue stirring until completely evaporated. Begin adding stock, a ladleful at a time, stirring constantly over moderate heat, only adding the next ladleful after the previous has evaporated. Once half of stock has been added, stir in saffron mixture and season with salt and pepper. After about 15 minutes of adding stock (having used 3/4 of it), add in smaller amounts to avoid overcooking. Taste; when done, rice should be al dente - the mixture thick and creamy. Remove from heat. Stir in butter and the cheese. Serves 4.