Anyone Out There?

Welcome to an indifferent universe. It’s not hostile; it’s not benign. It’s just really, really big and doesn’t care whether you or I or my incredibly entertaining blog exist. In fact, it doesn’t “care” at all because it just is. Not only that, the universe is mind-liquefyingly infinite, mostly dark and cold and empty, full of invisible matter and theoretical forces, and almost completely inaccessible to you.

Fate and destiny are human constructs, attempts to explain why bad things happen (and they do happen) in this massive, random universe. We all float along, bumping from action to reaction, cause to consequence, and nothing, save the sometimes shaky laws of physics, is driving this thing.

What does all this mean? Well, on the negative side, it means that your future is completely out of your control. Try, yearn, strive, fight all you wish; display talent, aptitude, perseverance, desire, and, suddenly, some uncontrollable, outside force might intervene and bring all your effort to naught.

Why, then, bother at all, you might ask. Pliny the Younger (a first century Roman philosopher and nephew to the famous historian Pliny the Elder) agrees that the universe is the residence of random energies and had something to say about our somewhat depressing state. Paraphrasing, he encourages daily meditation, before one rises, upon all the possible mishaps which may occur in the course of the day. Duly prepared, he argues, one may finally leave bed and, at the least, know what is coming.

I don’t entirely have the same opinion. That the universe is oblivious, I agree. That we are hardly in control of our fortunes, I concur. That dwelling on possible negative outcomes is the proper response, I’m not convinced.

In fact, what the arbitrary nature of the cosmos gives us is the comforting knowledge that sometimes things go wrong and it isn’t our fault. We didn’t get the job, not because we didn’t try hard enough, or that we were under-qualified, but because the boss hired a friend. The cancer didn’t go into remission because, randomly, it wasn’t adequately affected by the chemo, not for of a lack of positive attitude.

This uncaring universe is not, as Pliny would have us believe, a prison of possible misfortunes, but rather a door of unlimited freedoms, a liberation from the bonds of complete responsibility.

Sometimes, bad things just happen, and you aren’t to blame.

So, with a certain amount of joy I say: Welcome to an indifferent universe.

Still, it’s so damn vast and vacuous and awfully cold out there. No amount of philosophical encouragement is going to fix that. Might I offer you some comfort food instead?



Mushroom Risotto

Everything about this dish is comforting. The preparation is deeply satisfying, making a simple stock, the slow, constant, and repetitive stirring of the rice. Both the color and flavor are deeply earthy and rich and mystifyingly warming. The concentrated aroma of roast mushrooms is medieval, somehow, and speaks of hearthside meals long past. In addition, mushrooms and parmesan cheese have a secret relationship that they don’t what to talk about, but, based on overheard whispers, it is a special relationship indeed. Anyhow, mushroom risotto is bloody delicious.

500 g mushrooms
2 cloves garlic
1 sprig thyme
1 cup arborio rice
1 small onion, fine dice
2 tablespoons butter
olive oil
½ cup white wine
¼ cup shaved parmesan

First, mushroom stock. Slice 400 grams of the mushroom (I use cheep button mushrooms for the stock) about ½ cm (¼ in) thick. In a hot pan, working in small batches, sauté the mushrooms in a bit of olive oil until they are deep golden brown. When the last batch of mushrooms is nearly finished, add a crushed clove of garlic and a sprig of thyme. Place all the cooked mushrooms in a small pot, cover with water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to a simmer and cook 20 minutes. Remove from heat, cover, and sit for 20 minuets more. Strain and discard the mushrooms. Keep the deep brown stock warm in a small pot.

In a medium-sized pot over medium heat gently sweat the onion in a bit of olive oil until it is soft and translucent but has not begun to color. Add the rice, 1 tablespoon of butter, and a crushed clove of garlic. Toast until the rice grains have gone from white to translucent to white again. Add wine, simmer, stirring, until nearly all the moisture is absorbed. Add enough warm mushroom stock to just cover the rice and stir constantly until all the liquid is absorbed. Repeat until rice is soft, but firm – you should not feel anything grainy on your pallet, but should be able to identify individual grains of rice. If you run out of stock simply add warm water or chicken or vegetable stock, whatever you have around.

In the meantime, in a small pan on high heat, sauté the remaining mushrooms (use a mix of whatever you like). When you add what you judge will be the final bit of stock, toss in another tablespoon of butter, the sautéed mushrooms, and ½ the parmesan. Season and serve topped with remaining parmesan.