The backbone of my daily eating remains unshakably Italian. This is hardly surprising when you realise that so many of my local food shops are, or were, Italian owned. Give me 10 minutes and I could bring you anything from a fine-grained salami Milano to silken spinach tortelloni. Yet it would take me an hour or more to come up with a black pudding or an Eccles cake worth eating, and even that would have to come from the nearest Marks & Spencer. But there is more to eating all' Italiana than the appeal of shopping locally. I like the simplicity of Italian cooking, its straightforwardness of preparation and, above all, its understated elegance on the plate.
If I was pressed a little further, I would have to admit to a love of northern Italian cooking, with its abundance of butter, cheese, rice and cream. I suppose its meat and dairy produce cannot help but appear closer to our own cooking than the sun-drenched olive oil, fish and vegetable-dominated diet of the south. Perhaps there is some familiarity in its bland heartiness. One could even argue that the nannying quality of a saffron-hued risotto alla Milanese is not a stone's throw from our own beloved rice pudding.
Forgetting the old Italian addiction to veal and frogs (whose little green heads they chop off before frying the rest whole), the cooking of Milan and its environs is my sort of food, by which I mean I feel comfortable with it. Its nurturing bean soups, blissful pork and cabbage stews and oozing, blue-veined Gorgonzola appeal every bit as much as any sun-dried tomato. Most of all, it is the silky risotti that ring my bell and, what's more, I like making them as much as eating them. Few kitchen-related jobs give me more pleasure than stirring a risotto, though I admit that for years I avoided it, obviously having spent too long listening to those scaremongers who insisted there was something difficult about it. There is not. You just need the right rice - which you can get at any supermarket - and some full-bodied stock.
I have not eaten the eponymous risotto alla Milanese, with its flecking of saffron and knobs of beef marrow, on its home ground, but further north, in Bergamo - a creamy, almost pumpkin-coloured plateful of round rice held together with stock and cheese. One of the few occasions I get excited about saffron is when it is used with rice - in pilau, perhaps - or in fish soup, otherwise its musty flavour can too easily dominate. However, the golden crocus threads are essential to a true Milanese risotto. The beef marrow, on the other hand, is much less essential, I think. Yes, it adds a certain richness, but I am not sure I miss it when I don't include it - which, I should add, is every time. At the risk of evoking (yet again) the wrath of every purist, I use home-made chicken stock in my risotto instead of the statutory brodo di carne with its trio of beef, veal and chicken bones. The unctuousness you give to the dish by using veal stock can be obtained instead with a really good chicken version made from a fat-boned free ranger. On the other hand, I have to disagree with those who say that stock from a cube is fine for a risotto - it isn't. The whole point of the dish is the texture you get by using the right rice - Carnaroli, Arborio or Vialone nano - and good stock. The magic only happens when the chalky starch of the rice is swelled by jelly-rich stock. You just don't get that with a cube. And no, you cannot make it in the oven, no matter who tells you that you can.
Risotto is not the only Milanese recipe that crops up in my kitchen. It is simply that it crops up more often than any other. Their way of cooking veal - lightly egged and finely crumbed, then fried briefly in butter till crisp and juicy - is just as interesting when applied to similar cuts of other meat. I have done it with pork, batting out the chop with the end of a rolling pin (for want of a cutlet bat) so that it is no thicker than a pinkie. The clever bit comes when you coat it in beaten egg and crumbs - you need a light hand with both - and fry it in butter gently so it does not burn. A splendid dish if done well.
Classical Milanese cooking also includes polpette, the little meatballs which they flavour with ricotta and Parmesan and which I find all too easy to eat, and osso bucco, that famous braise of veal with onion and white wine, which I don't, despite its coming to the table with a mouth-popping dusting of lemon, garlic and parsley.
On a sweet note, I must say I prefer my puddings â l'anglaise or even French, but I do have a soft spot for panettone, the soft, vanilla-scented fruitcake you see hanging from the ceiling of every deli around Milan's via Spadari - not to mention every deli from Glasgow to Penzance. A while ago, this buttery cake was just for Christmas; now you can get it all year round. I slice and toast it, then pour over a spoonful or two of Italian mascarpone stirred through with some softly whipped double cream just to make it, and me, feel at home.
Risotto alla Milanese
Use beef marrow if you can get it, but I must say Italian friends of mine claim that they happily use a few cubes of pancetta instead, though this is somewhat inauthentic. Serves 2
1 shallot or small onion, finely chopped
75g butter
50g pancetta, finely chopped
900ml stock (beef or chicken)
225g risotto rice
1 glass of white wine
1 tsp saffron strands
50g freshly grated Parmesan
Let the shallot cook slowly with half the butter and the chopped pancetta in a heavy-bottomed saucepan until it is translucent. Try not to let it colour. Meanwhile, put the stock into another saucepan and bring to the boil, turning it down to a virtually imperceptible simmer. Stir the rice into the onions, then pour in the wine and let it almost evaporate before adding a ladleful of stock. Sprinkle in the saffron threads and continue gently simmering until the stock starts to disappear, then ladle in more stock. As the stock is absorbed by the rice, you will see it swell and turn a beautiful, pale gold.
Continue adding stock until the rice is thick and creamy but still has some bite left in it. This should take about 20 minutes, depending on the rice you choose. The texture you are after is one where the rice grains are still separate but bound together by a general creaminess. If it appears soft and mushy, then you have overcooked it. Season with salt, pepper and the rest of butter, stirring in the Parmesan as you bring it to the table. You can offer more if you wish.
Risotto with Gorgonzola
I sometimes wonder whether it is Gorgonzola rather than risotto that is the best thing to come out of Lombardy. Here, you get the chance to enjoy both. Serves 2
900ml (maybe a little more) home-made chicken stock
1 small onion or shallot, finely chopped
50g butter
250g risotto rice
1 glass of white wine
to finish
1 walnut-sized lump of butter
250g creamy Gorgonzola
Gently heat the stock in a saucepan. Cook the onion in the butter in a heavy-bottomed saucepan. When the onion is pale gold and soft, add the rice and stir through the butter. Pour in the wine, let it evaporate, then add about a third of the hot stock and cook gently, until the rice has absorbed almost all of the stock. Add a second third of the stock, cook slowly (again stirring regularly), then the final third. By the time almost all the stock is absorbed, the grains should be soft and plump yet with a little chalky bite to them. The total cooking time for the rice will be about 20 minutes.
Stir in the knob of butter and the blue cheese, crumbled into small lumps. Taste and season with salt and black pepper. Serve as the cheese starts to melt.
Toasted panettone with mascarpone cream
I have used panettone, the light, buttery Milanese cake, for everything from trifle to bread-and-butter pudding, but I prefer it simply toasted and served with cream cheese. I find mascarpone too rich to serve alone, so let it down with some softly whipped cream. You could add some grated dark chocolate, or a little orange zest. Enough for 6
1 small panettone
250g tub of mascarpone
150ml whipping cream
Slice the panettone and toast it lightly on both sides. Meanwhile, whip the cream until it will stand in soft waves, then carefully fold it into the mascarpone. Serve the toasted panettone with the mascarpone cream.
