Finally, we start to put our pullovers back in the wardrobe. The blue ones, the blue of sailors, the ones I bought at the co-operative of the fisherman of St. Malo.
I look in delight at the last borage flowers; they taste of oysters and I navigate the sea of Brittany in my mind, icy water sprays my face, my hands burn from the ropes of the sail of a raging flying Dutchman.
Tonight, asparagus risotto with borage flowers!
A thinly sliced onion, oil, asparagus stalks, then the rice - a Vialone nano. You combine these with a wooden spoon, everything glistens. You don’t deglaze with wine or bathe in stock. Water, I want whole and pure flavours. Now, with great concentration, the challenge begins. You mix all the ingredients together while adding small ladles of boiling water.
A risotto is like a scornful girl. It demands care, watching, savoir-faire, skilled hands, attention, respect, sweet gestures that make you feel love and affection. As soon as you neglect her, just like a risotto, she abandons you or she changes; she becomes something else, she loses the magic and enchantment.
We slice the stems of the asparagus into strips, halfway through cooking, we add it to the rice. In about 18 minutes, the risotto is ready. You turn off the heat.
The final rush that decides everything: In succession, add to the rice a drizzle of oil, a little parmesan cheese, and then the raw heads of asparagus on the top. The risotto sways like a Mariinsky ballerina in the wonderful Swan Lake.
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