Porcini
Porcini are the essence of the earth, tasting of fall mornings and damp air and the woodland-duff that gives birth to them, they are essential markers of change, and symbolize with oversize, shiny-brown glory the passage from summer to fall. Even the porcini's creation speaks of this elemental connection, defying all attempts at cultivation, on those in between days, when the schizophrenia of transition still holds sway and, thus unhinged, the season balances on the brink -- cold fall rain followed by warm dry sun. Then, as if by magic, they appear. Only the most savvy know where they grow, and the ancient truth of porcini hunting, passed through generations, rewards the careful, meticulous planner with the right degree of timing. Beneath a secret pine tree, off a forgotten road, maybe in the hills above Vinci where the old fir march up and down the hillside like disorganized sentinels of a forgotten age. Walking through the forest steamy-damp in the morning's rising sun, it is a race against time to find and corral the mushrooms before the heat, or other eager hunters, usurp the prize.
Everyone knows this, in and around Florence, knows that fall means mushrooms, and everywhere you see them, piles of the massive, uncomfortable looking funghi in stalls and markets and trattorie, everyone boasting the most direct, most intimate connection to this arboreal apparition. Angelo Maschalchi, in 1994, coming back from secret places in the woods with bags, with kilos of them. Layered flat on sheet pans on the heater, drying in the kitchen, the whole house smells of the deep earthy truth of them. Saute with olive oil in risotto, over pasta, alone, from the grill, everywhere all at once.
They are so ephemeral, yet so plentiful in their brief lifespans, that you quickly become used to them, used to having at least the option of them in every meal. Visiting Florence in September and October, on those in-between days, reveals a whole new bounty, and shows a side of Italian cuisine often missing -- a perfect appreciation for and understanding of one simple mushroom, at one time, all right and true, with no meat in sight. Just wide slices from the unearthly large mushrooms -- dark-shiny brown on the edges, and creamy brown-white on the inside. The elegant trace of the outline, like an ancient glyph, meaningful to a select few millennia ago, now only known as the very symbol of what fall, in Florence, tastes like.
So step back into that forest and feel around, feel the air and smell things, the wet heavy air, close and still and waiting. Pine trees, certainly, and old, old pine needles lining the forest floor. And Italian air smells different, feels different, I swear, it takes you breath away. Not like the overused crisp mountain air, but with a literal, almost suffocating clench the air surrounds you and penetrates you and becomes part of who you are. It infuses everything with great solemnity, an essential and urgent vitality that makes life more real, colors more apparent and, above all else, food taste infinitely better.
The porcini, then, straddling the divide between seasons, expressing all the elemental power of the forest, perfectly captures this essential atmospheric quality of Italy. Tuscans, being Tuscans, tend to do things simply. With a mushroom of such power, best just to splash on some olive oil, salt and pepper, and grill it.
Moving from these elemental factors inward toward the core of what a Porcini tastes like begins with smell -- earth, and woods, pine needles, rain and fall, floating in the air, define the terroir of the mushroom. Fresh off the grill, the first hint of woodland charm floating across the table. Maybe they come neat -- on a plate, arranged just so, spelling out nothing more than anticipation. You can see how the grill has caramelized the outside of the mushroom, how the already shiny surface has been charred and marked into something richer. The texture is visibly soft, moisture gathers expectantly around the corners, mixed with olive oil and salt, gentle weeping of a broth light broth, visible reminder of the hopeful mushroom experience. Sometimes, Tuscan cooks use rosemary or, even better, nepitella, and impossible blend of mint and wild herbaceous-green, to highlight this dense, woodsy aroma.
Take Tuscan bread, saltless, simple, maybe toasted, maybe plain, pick up one of the mushrooms and you can feel with your fork that it is softer than you thought. Cooked, the mushroom almost dissolves, barely cohering on the plate. Once on the bread, with some of the vital juice of mushroom soaked in the toast, bring it to your mouth, and biting into the assembly of mushroom-bread-juice-salt-olive oil, take the first journey to a new world. There is no other mushroom like this, no other experience to quite define what this first taste is like. Everything comes together at once, and you can feel the shiny-velvet texture of the mushrooms, the coarse texture and vibrant deep-dough flavor of the bread, and it becomes one and transcends mushroom or bread or salt or any of these separate things. It is instead a defining symbol of what is right about Florence, or Tuscany, maybe sitting here in Piazza del Carmine, on some early October day with the streets still wet from yesterday's rain, and the air close and suffocating, humid and dark and ancient, cobblestones and 13th century walls, all wrapped together in a moment of communion, a visceral conversion to a wider, almost surreal, new world of taste.
Porcini all Fiorentina
A traditional Florentine dish is a thick t-bone steak, cooked over a grill with nothing but salt, pepper and olive oil, Bistecca alla Fiorentina. But in fall, you will find variations on this theme with porcini substituted for the steak. Traditionally, one large steak is cooked for two people, and the same idea applies here with one large mushroom shared between two.
2 large, whole, fresh porcini mushrooms, cleaned with a dry paper towel or mushroom brush — Note*
Olive oil
Salt
Pepper
Nepitella or mint, chopped roughly
Heat a grill until scorching hot. While the grill heats, toss the mushrooms with enough olive oil to coat, and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Using tongs, place the whole mushrooms over the hottest part of the grill and cook until good and browned. Turn the mushrooms so that they cook evenly on all sides. Do not over cook, it should only take a minute or two to cook, depending on how hot the grill is. Remove from the heat, and sprinkle with the chopped herbs. Serve on a plate for two. Serves 4.
Porcini Mushroom Risotto
½ pound arborio rice
One medium yellow onion, small dice
½ pound fresh porcini mushrooms, cleaned with a dry paper towel or mushroom brush, sliced crosswise – Note*
Two cloves of garlic, minced.
½ ounce Dried porcini, soaked in ½ cup hot water until soft, about 30 minutes
½ cup dry white wine
1.5 to 2 quarts vegetable stock
olive oil
Salt
Pepper
This risotto requires two different levels of mushroom. First is the level of the dried mushroom, and their full flavor, cooked with the rice. Then, in the form of a sauce, the fresh mushrooms, sauted with garlic, added at the end. To make the right, creamy risotto, keep stirring throughout to ensure even cooking.
Place the stock in a large sauce pan over medium high heat and bring to a gentle simmer while you prepare the mushrooms.
Heat a wide saute pan over high heat. Add the oil to cover, about 2 tbs, and a sprinkle of salt. Once the oil is hot, almost smoking, add the sliced mushrooms. Toss quickly to coat with the hot oil and then let them brown over high heat. Once browned on one side, toss again to ensure even browning. Add the minced garlic, and heat until fragrant. Toss again and then deglaze the pan with ½ cup of the stock, scrapping off any browned bits with a wooden spoon. Pour the just cooked mushrooms and the juice into a bowl and set aside.
Drain the soaked dried porcini through a sieve, reserving the soaking liquid. Pass the liquid through paper towels or coffee filters several times to filter out any remaining grit. Finely chop the soaked mushrooms. Set aside.
Take a large, heavy bottomed sauce pan or casserole and heat over medium heat. Add about 2 to 3 tablespoons of olive, enough to coat the bottom of the pan, and let warm. Sprinkle the oil with salt and add the diced onions. Sweat the onions until translucent. Add the rice and stir into the onions and oil until coated. Gradually toast the rice in the oil until the kernels are translucent and shiny, and about two minutes. Turn the heat up to medium high and once the oil starts to sizzle, add the ½ cup of dry white wine. Stirring constantly, let the rice cook in the wine until almost evaporated, and then add the chopped soaked mushrooms and stir until heated, following with the mushroom's reserved soaking liquid. Continue stirring, once again until the liquid is almost absorbed, but the pan is not completely dry – look for the liquid thickening in the bottom as you stir. If the liquid boils off too quickly, reduce the heat, if it just stews, turn the heat up. Once the mushroom liquid is finished, begin adding vegetable stock, ½ cup at a time. If you run out of stock before finished, just use water. Continue stirring without pause as you add the simmering stock, cooking until the rice is nearly “al dente”, with a little bite remaining – not quite done but almost. Add the sauted fresh porcini that you reserved, and all their liquid, to the risotto. Stir in the mushrooms, adjust seasoning, cover and let sit for at least five minutes. Remove the lid, adjust seasoning again, and serve. Serves 4.
Note *
If fresh porcini are unavailable, as is often the case, cultivated shitake can be substituted quite nicely. Not nearly as large, but full of flavor, the work fine. Simply stem them and slice them for the risotto, or use an equivalent weight for the “alla Fiorentina” about 1 pound.
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Google is moving along -- official first day is going to be either Dec 4 or Dec 11, depending on what happens. So many unknowns, though, in stepping into this new realm. Just the volume of food itself is enough to overwhelm. But the cookbooks continue to inspire, and the direct access to the best in produce and cooking talent will be unparalleled for skill development.
Still, its hard to imagine such an abrupt transition. I feel like I am in the calculus, speeding toward some infinity, knowing full well that the end lies just beyond the impossible edge, just beyond calculation. The infinite jest will stop, though, and as as suddenly as it began, release me towards something new. Scenes from a kitchen mutter in my sleep, and seem to creep just at the edge of my vision. Nervous, certainly, but ready.
Right now, its all just speculation, idle fancy or nerve-wracked worrying. It will begin, that at least I know.
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