you could be forgiven for calling them an avant-garde prick. Still, with half a bottle of ale remaining from a lunchtime spent snacking on Welsh Rabbit*, I was curious. The Rabbit, incidentally, was sublime, but I'll spill any beans on that one another day.
So, to the risotto. There I was with a bunch of beetroots from the local veg stall. Other than in pickle, beetroots are something of a mystery to me - I find it hard to imagine what a dish will taste like, because I don't really know how they taste. I had to pick them up, though, as they are very much the vegetable of the moment (largely, I think, thanks to Channel 4's 'nouveau croute' Hugh F-W). So. I had to grab them.
Cooking with beetroot, I have realised, is largely about avoiding staining things. So the best is to shred them quickly and have it in a pot before your hands, clothes, and surfaces are a bright pink. Hence the risotto. I didn't want to put wine in it, I imagined something too harsh there - so spotting the ale, in it went.
Beetroot risotto in all its purple glory.
... And with a quick-tossed fry of chicken, autumnal funghi, livers and, of course, beet stems.
Was it worth it? Beetroot risotto is odd, as the texture of the root is near identical to that of the rice. The aley tang wildly between great and overpoweringly bitter. I still don't know. In small quantities, perhaps - ideally in an avant-garde restaurant.
* Originally so-called because the Welsh, according to legend, were so poverty-stricken they couldn't afford genuine rabbits. The modern name, Rarebit, is considered less offensive to the Welsh.
