Risotto does require a little patience, but no superhuman culinary technique. If you can soften an onion and stir, you’ll be fine. I was taught how to make it by the great Antonio Carluccio, fag in one hand and glass of red in the other. Occasionally, he removed one or the other and gave the pot a stir. I’m also indebted to Giorgio Locatelli, whose recipe I’ve sort of adapted below. (If ‘adapted’ is the right word; the recipes for risotto vary little from book to book.) It’s a very meditative process, with Planet Rock riffing in the background, and a glass of wine close at hand. In that ghastly therapy speak, ‘me time.’ As ever, try to get all your prep done before you start cooking: the butter cubed and put in the fridge, the cheese grated and the mushrooms soaked. If you’re feeling massively cashed up and you’re making this between about November and early January, grate fresh white Alba truffle over the top. This beauty is all about the scent – deep, musty and slightly filthy – rather than the flavour.