The chef on a mission to save Milanese risotto from Michelin-starred “contamination”

Ratanà is cozy and chic, and a place in which the old very much meets the new. The restaurant, which enjoyed another former life as railway storage facility, reflects what Battisti calls “industrial archaeology”. The tables are made with old melted steel from railway tracks, while the view from the restaurant takes in Milan’s futuristic modern skyscrapers.

Ratanà is the temple of risotto alla milanese, and locals who are crazy for this iconic dish flock here. Battisti serves it old-style: With bone marrow, gremolata (a lemon zest, parsley and garlic sauce) and roasted meat sauce. He also makes risotto with ossobuco; that’s risotto served with a succulent braised veal shank placed on top that enhances the flavor and melts in the mouth.

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Ossobuco is a delicious, ancient ingredient that was ditched in the early 1900s as it was considered too greasy and subsequently substituted with ‘lighter’ ones such as extra virgin olive oil and Grana Padano cheese.

“At the beginning, risotto was made with a simple broth. Bone marrow was added at a later stage when families could afford a more nutritive, expensive meal,” says Battisti. “Then healthy habits kicked in, vegetable broth and so on, but I still like to add ossobuco. It’s my signature.”

Milan born-and-bred, Battisti is on a mission to defend traditional Milanese recipes from the extravagance and “contamination” of Michelin-starred cuisine. When it comes to traditions, he’s dead serious about protecting his ancestors’ legacy. “Risotto is sacrosanct, it’s embedded in the Milanese soul,” he says. “We eat it year-round so we’re quite fittingly called risottari [‘those who eat risotto’], and that’s a source of pride.”

He believes the roots of risottari are deeply anchored in Milan’s culinary heritage and can’t be removed.

“I was so intrigued by the stories on how risotto came to be that I wanted to draw a line between legend and history.”

– Cesare Battisti

“Old-style risotto can only be made in a specific way, and that way hasn’t changed across centuries,” Battisti explains. “Peasants, bourgeois and aristocrats have been handing down the recipe across generations. Michelin-starred experiments are mere culinary pornography. Those chefs see their own ego reflected in their dishes. Their cooking is a narcissistic, snob act meant to confuse and intimidate eaters.”

Considered an authority when it comes to risotto, Battisti is down-to-earth but can be provocative. Fueled by a passion for Milan’s culinary history, he embarked on an academic quest to trace the real origins of risotto.

The chef-turned-scholar made a unique discovery, which he was savvy enough to turn into a fascinating tale for his diners—and which he is happy to share with me. “I was so intrigued by the stories on how risotto came to be,” he tells me, “that I wanted to draw a line between legend and history.”

Stuck for days inside Milan’s historic Ambrosian Library, which dates back to 1607 and where dozens of old manuscripts are cherished, he turned into a bookworm, eventually finding a document that detailed a lavish Renaissance banquet. “During a feast at the court of Milan’s Sforza rulers, a Flemish glass artist called Valerio di Fiandra came up with a peculiar yellow rice which he served to the guests and hosts,” Battisti says. “It was a success.”

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As for most sublime Italian recipes, risotto was the product of imagination and creativity, he adds.  “The artist had been commissioned to paint certain yellow glass windows of the Duomo cathedral. Back then, groups of painters were divided by color: There was the blue team, the green, red and so on. Valerio led the yellow team, and saffron was used to create the color yellow. He saw the white rice as a blank canvas to paint.”

Exotic spices were all the rage during the Renaissance and used to paint garments, carpets and curtains. So why not risotto? And so, to impress the diners at the banquet, the painter sprinkled some saffron powder on the rice, transforming it into a fancy, gold-colored dish.

Thanks to Battisti, I also learned that a type of saffron is now produced in Italy too, cultivated both in the central region of Marche and on the island of Sardinia, where entire meadows are dotted red. According to Battisti, Sardinian saffron is the best in the world, thanks to its well-shaped bulbs. Using local ingredients is also key to making a great risotto. Battisti buys only indigenous rice such as Carnaroli, which best absorbs the other flavors. It’s grown around Milan, ensuring zero food miles.

The Milanese have a love affair with saffron, which explains why it had to pair well with their risotto. “In the past rich families had a knack for adding saffron to food sauces, even to tea, as a remedy against depression,” says Battisti. “Try old-style risotto, and you’ll see what I mean”.

According to other origin tales (based less on historical facts, says Battisti), the saffron addition was either a joke or a mistake. A painter colleague of Valerio might have added the spice to his rice meal at lunch break, or Valerio himself accidentally dropped the saffron into his dish—and then marveled at the taste.

Regardless, Battisti is proud of the discovery he made at L’Ambrosiana and believes it supports his culinary doctrine that risotto alla milanese is the perfect balance between innovation and tradition.