2025 Risotto Roadmap
Because I know you were wondering
Hello all you wonderful friends and new guests to the table.
It’s been a minute since you’ve heard from me! Or no time at all, if you’re new. I’m Shell - I’ve been cooking risotto every Tuesday for two and a half years, and I’ve been sporadically writing about it for two. I’m a chef, writer, painter, photographer, and just all-around maker. I try a lot of stuff. Some of it sticks. Here I am!
I was going to come back in the end of 2024 with a post titled “EVERYTHING I FAILED IN 2024”. And then I was going to post that in early January, with a tongue-in-cheek reference to the fact that I’m posting my end-of-year wrapup halfway through the first month of the new year.
As I started writing, though, I could only think of five things I’d failed. I’ll list them for you:
Writing Risotto Tuesday on a consistent schedule
Finishing Colortober (a 30-day art posting challenge on my instagram)
Finishing any one of the three self-paced art classes I’m currently enrolled in
Sharing art more generally, consistently throughout the year
Doing a handstand
When I started thinking about why these were the only things on my list, and what they had in common, I realized:
I try a lot of things. I start a lot of things! I don’t always finish them. That’s okay!
Consistency is something I want to work on for 2025, and
Publishing is the other thing I want to work on.
I’m going to start fresh. I want to talk a little bit about where Risotto Tuesday came from and what it means to me. And then we’ll stop looking behind us and start looking forward.
But first—if you’re not already subscribed, if someone sent you this post? It’d mean a lot if you could hit that button and subscribe now. Thanks :)
Risotto Tuesday: Where it Began
Risotto Tuesday came about for me at a crucial time in my young adulthood. I was not quite having a quarter-life crisis; I was perhaps just behind the quarter-life crisis, the crisis in question being my mother’s death from cancer (a condition she [and probably the rest of my immediate family] knew she had long before I was brought into the loop) at the height of the 2020 pandemic.
I learned that she was sick in April 2020. My partner and I were eight months into living in Alabama, a state nine hours away from any family or friends. We were coming off of two years in Indiana, which was still very isolating, but at least our circle was only a four-hour drive away.
Looking back, at the way my mother’s illness overlaid the onslaught of COVID, back when no one knew anything about what to do, I remember an uneasy blend of uncertainty and normalcy, fear and acceptance. It’s strange how quickly what’s normal can change, and how quickly we adapt.
My mother went went into hospice on my birthday, about six months later, and what followed was a long period of time when I shrank and shrank and shrank until I felt barely human. I won’t go into the details, but this time wasn’t fun—not for me, and not for my partner, who had to watch me shrink. I survived mostly by attempting to not feel anything at all, until there was too much backed up and I felt it all at once, a cataclysmic torrent of rage and grief and loss.
Blessedly, we chased another job out of Alabama in the summer of 2021 and left the worst of that shrunken self behind me. But years of isolation underlying a major grief event aren’t shrugged off so easily. Our next landing spot was still an hour and a half away from any connections, in a small town without much opportunity to make new ones. I had more there than I had in Alabama— Illinois brought a fresh start, bike paths, and winter—but still no community.
The move back to Illinois that broke me again, in a new way. I was now something like five years gone from having a real-life social circle, a community, any consistent contact with someone outside of my partner. Who is amazing, don’t get me wrong, and he tried (still does) so hard to make me happy, but one person is not enough to fill my entire social needs.
May 2022, we made the decision to move again. This time, we were lucky enough to move of our own accord, to a town where we had existing community and the opportunity to build more. And by the end of July 2022, I had a dining table and a plan.
This is a Recurring Event
Risotto Tuesday was inspired by the spaghetti dinners the chaplain at my undergraduate college used to host. She opened her house to anyone who wanted to come. Frequent visitors helped cook the meal, then we ate sprawled across her tables and sofas and the floor. I only went once or twice. I was too shy to go more often, though I envied the camaraderie shared by the regulars. They were so friendly to me when I went, and their kindness scared me off. Sorry Leslie! It wasn’t you, it was me.
I’ve always been called to the elaborate, the time-consuming, the difficult.
Spaghetti’s great if you’re feeding 20-30 hungry college students. Spaghetti’s great even if you’re not feeding 20-30 hungry college students. But I’ve always been called to the elaborate, the time-consuming, the difficult.
It was important to me that Risotto Dinner Party be a midweek event. I wanted a dinner party that was casual, homey, with good food but not fancy. Something that didn’t conflict with going out on the weekends, or the weariness of the end of the week. Risotto Tuesday just has a nice ring to it. So I hit up the group chat and we were off to the races.
I have cooked Risotto Tuesday nearly every week since that first mushroom risotto of August 2022. It’s become a grounding event—something that I do whether or not I feel like it. At first I outdid myself each week—a novel concept, a homemade dessert, days of planning and cooking. Over time the guest list shrank and it lost the over-the-top edge. Now it’s three of us each week, homey and cozy, more family dinner than dinner party.
That metamorphosis is the result of belonging here, of needing and being needed by the people around me. I’m not afraid I’ll lose them; I’m not afraid of my own inadequacy. That’s been the biggest joy—the calmness that comes with belonging somewhere, to some people. Now that I’m settled, I can grow.
The Future
I want this online space to feel like my dinner table at home: cozy, warm, full of love and encouragement and japes and jests. The more I explore Substack, the more I’m convinced this is the right home for Risotto Tuesday. Y’all LOVE community!
In 2.5 years, I’ve also learned a lot about risotto, and I want to share that with you. I want you to go out and say: I can make risotto. I can have a dinner party. I can build the community I need in my home, starting now.
Say it with me now: I can build the community I need.
Coming back to my goal of publishing consistently this year, I’m going to up the chances of success immeasurably by lowering my expectations. Risotto Tuesday will no longer be a weekly newsletter falling short of its promises. Instead, I’m committing to one post a month (and if there are extras, well, that’s just dandy). This will give me the space to write posts here that I’m, proud of and allow me to follow my other pursuits (Did y’all know I’m getting ready for my first art exhibition? More on that later.) at the same time.
I’m also going to be real with you that I use recipes all the time, and I’ll share those with you as well—but I almost never cook a recipe as it’s written, so I’ll tell you what I did to it.
Thanks for listening. I love you. More in February.
But first—Risotto!
Risotto of the Month
I made this Saffron Risotto with Butternut Squash by Ina Garten, and it was delightful. I swapped the chicken stock for vegetable stock and added a mushroom-based umami spice blend (I’d link, but it’s a local shop that doesn’t sell online). I also added peas and finished it with some of these crunchy sriracha broad beans (I’m obsessed) and a drizzle of leek-infused olive oil. I’m also convinced that saffron + vegetable broth tastes like chicken stock. Nobody else at my table agreed, so maybe you can make it and tell me if I’m crazy. for this.
Book Rec
The Fury by Alex Michaelides and The Secret History by Donna Tartt. I read these nearly back-to-back and totally accidentally, their characters and themes meshed. Both are mysteries about poor young men who want something more in life and who cozy up to groups of well-to-do intellectuals and artists, obfuscating personal details as they do so. Both books begin at the end—it’s not a spoiler to tell you a main character in each one dies; they both announce that right off the bat. Both books have a deep interest in character over plot, on following event to the only conclusions possible given that the characters are who they are. Both use literature and drama as a framing device, so you learn a little something while you read as well. And both hooked me from the start. Let me know what you think, and connect with me on Goodreads or Storygraph for more!
Okay! That’s it! Thanks for reading!
"I can build the community I need." YES x infinity.
I love this <3 It'll be good to have you back in my inbox, no matter the frequency!