Polenta in the Oven and a Sheet Gone Thin

The morning was one of those dry, still October ones where nothing outside moves, which is exactly the weather for airing the linen cupboard. So the whole shelf came down — sheets, towels, the two tablecloths I never use and keep anyway — and went over the line while I had my coffee on the step. Bringing them in, I noticed what I’d somehow never looked at properly: one of the sheets has gone thin. Held up against the light you can see through it in patches, like a cloud with the sun behind it. It isn’t torn, it’s just tired. It goes into the rag basket now, for polishing shoes and wiping the oil off the pan, and I’m not sorry — a sheet that has done twenty years of Sundays has earned a lighter job.

The other thing on my mind was polenta, because my neighbor and I got into it again over the fence. She makes hers the way her mother did: pot on the stove, wooden spoon, forty minutes of stirring while she does the crossword with her other hand. I make mine in the oven, in a heavy dish, and I don’t touch it once. Same cornmeal, same water, same salt — two completely different routes to the same bowl. Hers is smoother, I’ll give her that; the arm does the work and there’s no arguing with an arm. Mine has a little more texture and costs me nothing but the waiting. I’ve stopped thinking one of them is correct. They’re two ways of asking the same question, and both answers are edible. The one thing I keep, since polenta feels ancient: before maize came back from the Americas, the pot was millet, barley, or chestnut flour. The yellow we all picture is only a few centuries old. Madonna, but that keeps me quiet for a minute every time.

We ate mine with a spoon of tomato sauce from the jar and a grating of pecorino, and the last of it went into a shallow dish to set hard overnight, because cold polenta sliced and fried in oil tomorrow is better than the fresh thing — a sentence I’ll defend to anyone. The rags are folded in the drawer, the line is empty, and the pot is soaking. A quiet day, and I’m keeping it.

Recipe: Polenta

Ingredients

250 g coarse cornmeal (polenta bramata, not instant)
1.2 litres water
10 g fine salt
a knob of butter or a spoon of olive oil
grated pecorino or gorgonzola, optional

Preparation

Bring the water to a rolling boil with the salt. Rain the cornmeal in in a thin stream, whisking constantly so it doesn’t lump.
Stovetop method: lower the heat and simmer 40–45 minutes, stirring often with a wooden spoon, until it thickens and pulls cleanly away from the sides of the pot.
Oven method: pour the mixture into a generously oiled heavy oven dish and bake at 180°C (350°F) for 40–50 minutes without stirring. Give it one good stir at the end; it will be smooth and thick.
Stir in the butter or oil, and the cheese if using. Serve soft, or spread it onto a board or into a dish to cool and set, then slice and fry in hot oil the next day.