Risotto and Other Simple Stuff @ La MadiaI hardly ever order risotto. It’s one of those relatively simple foods,
much like duck confit (sounds fancy; pretty simple to make), that I like a lot but that almost never meets my expectations. Risotto is usually too gooey, gluey, mucilaginous, know what I mean (?), with everything kind of clumping together into a solid mush that gives no pleasure. I remember I used to order it all the time in the 80s at Scoozi!, and never really got a plate that knocked me out, but for some reason I kept beating my palate against that culinary wall, hoping at some point I’d taste something good.
At La Madia last week, I accidentally ordered the risotto. Our server, Zoe, came around and told us what she thought looked good for dinner, and I considered the dishes she mentioned, but wasn’t moved. Then she said “We have the chianti-braised short ri…,” and I jumped and said “Yes, that’s what I want,” because short ribs sounded just right that night. And this entrée turned out to be exceptional mass of lusciousness; The Wife and I always trade plates at half-time, and this time, she was ready to trade her pasta, a lamb Bolognese, long before she was half-finished: she had eyes only for that beautiful brick of short rib, one of the meatiest hunks of rib meat I can remember, so soft, with layers of flesh and fat alternating perfectly, almost makes one buy into intelligent design.

Now, much as I liked the meat at the center, what impressed me most was the risotto ringing the periphery. It was remarkably light, with each grain distinct, and some julienned zucchini mixed in so there was a slight, fresh crunch in each bite. This was how risotto should be.
I had previously stopped by La Madia to find a platform for sampling finger limes, and this time I was a guest of the management, and under those circumstances one never knows if the treatment I’m getting is different, and I guess maybe it is, but I doubt they prepared the risotto or anything else differently, just for me.
The Wife’s lamb Bolognese represents a problem I seem to have with lamb, a meat I like but have
a hard time enjoying in mole, for instance, still a ubiquitous preparation in Chicago’s Nuevo Latino restaurants or in new incarnations like
the lamb with anchovies at Sprout. I’ve come to the conclusion that lamb does not always play so well with other strong flavored ingredients, and in this dish, which was tasty in and of itself, the acidic tomatoes in the sauce and the lamb simply overwhelmed each other. In almost all cases where I’ve had lamb with some other equally feisty ingredient, I find myself thinking it’d be nicer just have the simple cut of lamb, well prepared, without any additional flavors competing with it.
Prior to our entrees, we had a pizza that pleased us very much. Like risotto, pizza is really a relatively simple platter, but I hardly ever order it because I’m so easily seduced, especially when I’m hungry, by a big steaming cheesy island of sausage that I end up eating too much, even if the pizza is mediocre, which I feel many times it is. This pie, though, had
Coach goat cheese, which is one of those goat cheeses that is not so refined that it loses its distinctive goatiness, lardons and “melted leeks,” which is basically leek cooked down (with butter, probably) until it reaches a state somewhere between a solid and a liquid. It was just a fantastic bite.

Simple foods sometimes get short shrift; for instance, today I’m preparing to whip up some shrimp and grits as part of my own personal
Super Bowl Avoidance Party , and I was dismayed to see that
Charleston Receipts doesn’t include a recipe for this Charleston fav, probably because it lacks the fancy pants panache of, say, shrimp balls, which is a shame. At the end of the meal La Madia, I spotted cookies on the menu, and I ordered them, because I always order cookies, a favorite dessert but, sadly, almost never included on a menu. “Probably just too…simple, I guess,” offered the server. Yes, I thought, exactly why I like them.
"Don't you ever underestimate the power of a female." Bootsy Collins