Lobster, risotto and joy


“What have you cooked recently?” the chef asked.
            I almost said “oatmeal”, but somebody blurted Aglio e Olio. The answer made me realize I was not in Kansas anymore but in a roomful of gourmets. I had made Aglio e Olio before but that is a story for another day. For today I was at the Hilton cooking demonstration. Executive chef John Beriker was going to demonstrate how to make risotto with seafood and truffle sauce, and lobster cappuccino with morel and celery leaves. Then we have them for dinner after the demonstration.
            My impression about risotto is that cooking it is difficult to master. As I recall, whenever a contestant makes risotto in a cooking show, the judges often seem unsatisfied with the way it is cooked. In my imagination a judge first makes a comment dripping with sarcasm – how dare the contestant cook risotto. Then, in a fit, the judge screams “Imbecile! You call yourself a professional chef and you prepare risotto like this? Mon Dieu!”
            No such thing happens in a cooking show, of course. But this is what I imagine when risotto is mentioned.
Chef John has a deep dark memory surrounding risotto. When he was starting out as a young chef at Spago he was assigned to the pasta station. His mentor, Wolfgang Puck, said he had to prepare the risotto from scratch.
            “Imagine preparing three different kinds of risotto. From scratch. For 600 people. Maybe 50 will order risotto that night. 50!” recalled Chef John.
When I tried the risotto with salmon and truffle sauce later, I could have eaten the risotto by itself, savoring its creaminess as it rolled in my tongue. Then I swirled it with the truffle sauce and my taste buds, already alive, stood up and started to sing.
            One of the reasons I went to the cooking demonstration was to educate my palate. I am a brave but clumsy cook. Growing up I remember my oldest brother Mel sitting down to eat, take one bite of the food and ask, “Did J cook this?” Then all in the table would groan and roll their eyes. 
            The Hilton demonstration featured rock stars among mushrooms – morel, chanterelle and porcini. I especially love the nutty aroma of porcinis. I wonder if Chef John or anyone in the audience noticed the obscene way I inhaled the fresh porcinis when they were being passed around. I did not care. Porcinis are expensive and hard to come by on Guam. I am going to inhale these babies, hog all their aroma, before passing them on to the next person.
            Chef John taught us how to tie a lobster tail into a ribbon. He put it in the steamer, with a tablespoon of butter on top. To keep it moist, he said.
            Then it was on to the lobster sauce. The place was filled with heavenly aroma of mushrooms, spinach, spices, white wine, garlic, shallots. The delicate pungency of the mushrooms and spices, the cream and butter, the fishy savoriness of the lobster – they all lit my senses. 
            Chef John sprinkled the final plate with cinnamon and then dotted it with the foam of a cappuccino. (Here’s another one of Chef John’s deep dark secrets: Don’t tell Wolfgang Puck but if Chef John had his way he would put cappuccino in everything he cooks.)
I soaked in the comfort of the smells, the aroma that was both delicate and fulsome, like a bear hug and a butterfly kiss at the same time. When I tasted it later, it was one of the most complex dishes I had ever eaten. On a recent trip to Los Angeles I was treated to a Middle Eastern feast that ravished my taste buds. This dish did the same thing, but softly and tenderly. My palate is ingenue. But it is maturing.
            What a dramatic course of events - from wolfing down two hot dogs for lunch during Field Day at school to a culinary epicurean feast for dinner. Life can be like that sometimes. We can go through years of pain, grief, loss and trauma, and then by the grace and mercy of God, be given an occasional glimpse of joy. I think that is why I found this experience so beautiful. 

            I do not dine regularly on lobster and risotto.  The last seven years have been difficult. Still is. The fleeting joy the dinner gave was a gift that made me long for more of the same. In a similar way glimpses of joy here and now is but a foretaste that makes me long for another world that is divine. And heavenly. Totally out of this world. This is a promise I cling to for dear life.
            Joy. C.S. Lewis wrote that joy is a sharp stab of longing – “it has a lithe, muscular lightness to it. It produces a longing that weighs heavy on the heart, but it does so with precision and coordination…It dashes in with the agility of a hummingbird claiming its nectar from the flower, then zips away. It pricks, then vanishes, leaving a wake of mystery and longing behind it.”
             If you attend the next Hilton cooking class don’t be alarmed if you notice somebody licking the plate or burying her face in the mushrooms. It’s just me having my moment of joy. 

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