Happiness is Stirring the Risotto
My house was calm and quiet, except for the winter wind whipping outside. I ladled some broth into the rice. Stirred. Waited, watching the rice gradually plump up. Another ladle of broth, more stirring. More broth, more stirring. 30–40 minutes of reflection while standing over the risotto. More stirring with the addition of shrimp and veggies until it was all cooked through. Pick up a spoon and taste. Add more salt. Add lots of cheese. Stir. Taste. Perfection. Joy.
I have only anecdotal evidence of this, but I think there is a strong correlation between happiness and cooking. As in, the happier you are, the more you cook. I suppose this only applies if you like to cook at least a little bit regardless of your mood. But, for some people — people who might call themselves “foodies”, people who hold Julia Child and Jacques Pepin in high regard, people who have a fully stocked spice cabinet that includes coriander and saffron, people who insist on making their pizza dough from scratch and have very strong opinions about how sweet cornbread should be — those people, I bet, express their happiness through food. I know I do.
Let’s Rewind
My life felt a little crazy for a while from 2015 into 2016. I was experiencing some life changes, and learning to live completely on my own for the first time. Between my job, joining a sports team, trying to create and maintain a social life, dating, and just trying to stay sane, my days were jam-packed. When you have ALL THE THINGS going in your life, it’s likely you’re gonna drop the ball on some of the relatively less important things. Dinner, for one.
During this time I found myself eating supermarket rotisserie chicken on a regular basis. There was also a lot of takeout salad and soup, pasta with jarred sauce, cereal, fried eggs on top of white rice. On many occasions, dinner would be nice crusty French bread with cheese and tomatoes. Not that any of these things are horrible. They’re all relatively okay meals for one, and they’re all easy.
And Rewind Some More
Prior to this period of craziness, I used to enjoy making home-cooked meals. I subscribed to America’s Test Kitchen, I had dozens and dozens of bookmarked recipes and food blogs, I watched cooking shows on PBS. I liked to experiment and try out different recipes, but I also liked working toward perfecting my own personal specialties: pizza, mac and cheese, chicken and dumplings.
And don’t even get me started on baking. Baking is where my real passion lies. For a long time, I’d bake something weekly: peanut butter swirl brownies, chocolate chip coconut cookies, banana bread, rugelach, carrot cake, blueberry pie. I’d try to figure out the best way to get thick, chewy chocolate chip cookies versus crisp, thin ones. I’d work on fudgy, dense brownies versus cakier ones. I made scratch versions of otherwise store-bought things, like Oreos and graham crackers. This, to me, was fun.
How was I not a bazillion pounds? Well, for starters, I had someone to share this food with. Perhaps it’s the stereotypical Italian in me, but I like cooking for the people I care about. It brings me joy.
And then, once this person was no longer in my life and because my life suddenly felt very hectic, without even realizing it at the time, I withdrew from cooking.
Back To The Present
I’ve seen recipes (and even tried them) for “no-stir” risotto. While I’m certainly not a risotto expert, and I suppose these recipes are still pretty good, there’s something about stirring the risotto — slowly, methodically swirling figure 8’s around the pan with a wooden spoon — that I think results in a better dish.
So as I stood in my kitchen recently, on that cold Tuesday night, sautéed mushrooms waiting on the backburner, the smell of roasting asparagus wafting up from the oven, a pot of heating broth on the left, and a pan of Arborio rice on right, I realized that I was once again cooking after such a long hiatus. I had forgotten how much I enjoy this. Not just the risotto, but other home-cooked meals, too. Nowadays, I even find myself baking again.
I wasn’t cooking for anyone else that night— only me. But standing there, calmly stirring as the risotto came together into a cohesive meal, I felt the dish an apt reflection of my newly found happiness, of my evolution back to cooking. Risotto requires some things I had lost for a while, but have since gotten back: patience, time, focus, and passion. (And of course, risotto also requires good cheese.)
The creation of a meal really is an act of passion, in a sense. I put my time and careful attention into what I cook. I also find it relaxing to be bopping about the kitchen chopping this, stirring that, taste-testing with a spoon and properly seasoning. Like Water For Chocolate was onto something: food can be a manifestation of your emotions.
Happiness is not only stirring the risotto. Happiness is the smell of celery, onions, and carrots sautéing in butter. Happiness is the whipping of egg whites. Happiness is the snipping of chives, the ribboning of basil, and the pulling of thyme leaves off the stem. Happiness is pouring wine into glasses for two as you sit down at the table. Happiness is curling up under a big blanket with a bowl of chili in hand.
Cold, leftover rotisserie chicken is the equivalent of time-crunched, stressed, sad me. Risotto with shrimp, roasted asparagus, and cremini mushrooms… well, that’s my equivalent of happiness.
