Milanese mantecatura, where the rice flows like lava and the forest speaks
Porcini season in Lombardy is when the kitchen stops pretending it's civilised and just gets down to business. This is the risotto you make when you've got time to stir, a good bottle open, and the kind of focus a surgeon brings to theatre. No shortcuts, no panic — just rice, butter, cheese, and the earthy hum of wild mushrooms that taste like they've been having a very good year.
Soak the dried porcini in 300ml of hot vegetable stock for 10 minutes. They'll soften and bloom, releasing an underwater dark-forest smell that tells you they're happy. Strain through muslin, catching every drop of that amber liquor — that's liquid gold. Chop the porcini finely. Add the soaking liquid to your remaining stock and keep the whole lot warm on the back of the stove.
Wipe the fresh porcini with a damp cloth; never wash them. Slice them thickly (about 5mm), then cut those slices into substantial chunks — you want them to stay chunky, not melt into nothing. Finely slice the shallot. Heat 30ml of the olive oil in a separate small pan, sauté the shallot until translucent, then add the fresh porcini and a pinch of salt. Fry over moderate heat for about 8 minutes until they release their water, reabsorb it, and turn silky and dark. Don't rush this — it's where flavour lives.
In a heavy-bottomed pot or wide shallow pan, melt 20g of the butter over medium heat. Add the rice and stir constantly for 2 minutes — you'll hear it click against the pan, almost like it's dancing. This toasting coats each grain and seals in the starch. The kitchen should smell nutty and alive.
Pour in the white wine, let it sizzle and evaporate completely (1–2 minutes), stirring all the time. Now add the warm stock in stages: one ladle at a time, stirring frequently but not manically. Each time the rice absorbs the liquid — you'll feel it thicken slightly — add another ladle. Keep your stock simmering next to you. This takes about 18–20 minutes. Taste the rice at 18 minutes; it should be creamy but with a tiny, intentional firmness at the centre of each grain (al dente, not 'al morte').
When the rice is just short of ready, fold in the sautéed fresh porcini (and all their pan juice), the chopped rehydrated porcini, and a little of their soaking liquid for earthiness. Stir gently. The rice should now look loose and creamy, not stiff.
Pull the pan off the heat. Add the remaining 60g of cold butter, cut into small cubes, and the grated Parmigiano-Reggiano. Stir vigorously for 30 seconds — you're emulsifying butter, cheese, and starch into a glossy, flowing cream. This is where risotto either sings or weeps. Season with a small pinch of sea salt and freshly ground black pepper. If it moves on the plate like warm lava, you've nailed it.
Spoon the risotto into warm, shallow bowls. Let it settle into a natural gentle wave — don't fuss it. Finish each bowl with a small pour of excellent olive oil and a fresh sprig of thyme laid across the top. If you've got a Microplane, a few shavings of Parmigiano scattered over is never wrong.
“The risotto itself is the star. Pour it into a warm shallow bowl — don't make a mountain, let it find its own level. A glug of grassy olive oil on top, a single thyme sprig, maybe a shaving of Parmigiano if the mood takes you. It should look like something you'd want to spoon into immediately, not something that's been fussed over by a chef with too much time and a plating tweezers. Wave the bowl gently and watch it move.”
First spoonful: creamy, almost velvety on the tongue, rice still holding its shape. Then the porcini hit — earthy, dark, umami-rich, faintly peppery from the thyme. The cheese is there but subtle, not shouting. Butter acts as the glue binding everything into one coherent, unctuous whole. By the last spoonful you're thinking about the forest, autumn, and why you didn't make double. A dish that tastes like Lombardy in a bowl.
Replace the butter (160g total) with a 1:1 ratio of good olive oil and plant-based butter (such as a nut-based or coconut butter blend), using 80ml oil and 80g vegan butter. Skip the Parmigiano entirely; instead, finish with 40g of nutritional yeast mixed with 20g of finely ground roasted almonds, a pinch of sea salt, and lemon zest for umami punch. The mantecatura technique stays the same — cold vegan butter, the 'cheese' blend folded in off heat. The earthiness of the porcini and the starch emulsification mean you lose nothing essential. Serve with the same olive oil and thyme flourish.
Bubbles cut through the richness; made in the region, so it feels like coming home
Light, tart acidity, earthy undertones that echo the porcini without overwhelming
Clean lager, crisp finish, doesn't compete with the mushrooms
Sipped alongside, it deepens the savoury meditation without any fuss
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