Cooking Abroad

My husband and I had barely begun our Italian vacation with friends earlier this year when our genial host announced plans for an unusual scavenger hunt--for foodstuffs. The idea was to see the Chianti region while stocking the larder of our rented villa near Poggibonsi. The next morning, all 16 of us divided into teams and piled into our rental cars, maps and grocery lists in hand.

Each team had a different list and detailed instructions (cribbed from “A Food Lover’s Companion to Tuscany” by Chronicle Books) on where to find the most authentic version of everything from boar sausage to handmade pasta. Come nightfall, when our cars chugged back up the hill to the villa, the trunks were crammed with the assigned items, plus countless others we couldn’t resist. There wasn’t enough room in the kitchen, so we turned a spare room into a mini Trader Joe’s, stocked with cases of Brunello, wheels of pecorino, sacks of tomatoes and fresh fennel.

Around the big kitchen table, we regaled each other with tales of our near-death experiences on the autostrada, which made the Santa Monica Freeway at rush hour seem like a cakewalk. Then we added up our purchases and discovered we’d blown the communal food-and-wine budget by 200,000 lire.

Ma non importa! The bounty fed us for a week, and we ate and drank like Medici royalty. In the kitchen, a natural hierarchy quickly asserted itself: a few bossy cooks, their obedient assistants and the scullery help, who happily slaved over the sink in return for supper. Aided by impeccable ingredients, we turned out faultless dishes every night without a recipe in sight. Rabbit braised in wine. Garlicky calamari. Fabulous pastas and frittatas. Desserts were simple: strawberries, chocolate, sweet vin santo or incendiary grappa, an amazing variety of biscotti.

Porcini must have been on one of the scavenger lists, for we had an ample supply of both fresh and dried. The fresh mushrooms disappeared immediately, but the dried porcini languished in the storeroom. Their earthy pungency nearly knocked me down every time I sniffed them. These fragrant funghi became the inspiration for the simple meal I was perfecting in my mind: risotto with porcini, roasted tomatoes with garlic, fresh asparagus.

When it was my turn at the stove, everything came together as in a dream. We had about a kilo of Arborio rice, packaged with incomprehensible Italian instructions, and I had to guess at the amounts of other ingredients we needed. At home, I had never made risotto without relying on Swanson’s beef broth and at least two cookbooks, but now I was on a roll. Canned broth is apparently beneath the Italians--we searched for it in vain--so I added water to pan juices from the previous night’s rosemary-scented roast chickens and liquid from the soaked porcini. Simmering on the stove, it smelled delicious.

There were so many willing hands in the kitchen that I didn’t have to stir the pot or skin my knuckles grating the Parmesan. The Sicilian tomatoes emerged from the oven dark and rich, an unctuous foil for the creamy risotto and bright green asparagus. For dessert, I ad-libbed a dense lemon torte topped with soft lemon curd. With feigned modesty, I accepted accolades (“Brava! Brava!”) and sipped my after-dinner wine to the pleasing clatter of scullery slaves washing dishes.

Soon we would leave the villa for good. Back in our workaday routines on the West Coast, the details of our Tuscan excursions would begin to blur. Was it Montalcino where we found a butcher shop so gorgeous that it made us swoon, or Montepulciano, or maybe Monteciano? We might forget the names of the little medieval towns and churches, or the location of a stretch of road where a breathtaking tapestry of wild mustard and red poppies and the gray-green weft of vineyards wove itself to pillars of cypress on the far horizon.

But we would remember those magical nights in the kitchen--I was sure of this--and the food, and how easy it all had been

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Risotto with Porcini

Adapted from “I Risotti” from Anna del Conte’s “Italian Kitchen” series (Simon & Schuster)

Makes 6 to 8 side servings

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1-2 ounces dried porcini mushrooms

4 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 shallots, or 1 small onion, finely chopped

1 1/2 quarts low-sodium veal, chicken or vegetable broth

1 1/2 cups Arborio or Carnaroli rice

1/2 cup Parmesan cheese, freshly grated

Salt and pepper to taste

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Soak dried porcini mushrooms in very hot water for 30 minutes. Pour mixture through fine strainer, saving liquid for later. Finely chop softened porcini.

Melt half of butter in heavy saucepan and saute shallots about 7 minutes. Meanwhile, heat broth and porcini liquid in another pot and simmer gently.

Add rice to sauteed shallots and stir with wooden spoon until rice is coated with butter. Stir rice constantly 1 to 2 minutes, until grains are partly translucent and begin to stick to bottom of pan. Add about 2/3 cup simmering broth; cook and stir over medium heat until rice has absorbed broth and begins to stick again. Add chopped porcini. Repeat these steps, adding broth in small amounts until all gone and rice is slightly al dente--at least 15 minutes.

Add remaining butter, cut in small pieces, Parmesan cheese and salt and pepper to taste. Cover saucepan and let risotto rest 1 minute, then give it vigorous stir. Serve at once, with more Parmesan on the side. Garnish with chopped parsley, if desired.

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Food stylist: Christine Masterson