On Never Settling + Lobster Risotto

How to contain multitudes and how to use leftover lobster.

Walt Whitman wrote that he “contained multitudes¹.” I think often about this idea — or rather, it sits often in my subconscious.

Hastily the other morning, I scribbled a poem on the back of a piece of paper². A warbled transmission³, it came to me walking from the car to my desk.

Here’s an excerpt:

I had aspirations to be a
beat poet writer
rock and roll all-star tycoon —

God asked Adam: Where are you?

Now, I am right here.

In the garden, afraid and naked —
scribbled verse on paper
writing, revising.

But never settling⁴.

Shortly after I graduated college, I was having a conversation with a friend, discussing hobbies. I couldn’t, for the life of me, come up with anything I would consider one. I had a list of things I enjoyed doing — working out, reading, being outside, cooking — but none of these felt like hobbies. A hobby was something tertiary — a distraction. None of these things felt like distractions to me, nor did they feel like essential parts of who I was — they were just things I did.

A decade or so older, maybe wiser, I realize I was probably just slightly off on that assessment. Maybe, I wasn’t ready to embrace defining my hobbies because I wasn’t ready to embrace multitudes. I didn’t want to fall into the trap of letting things I liked define me⁵ — so I kept everything at arm’s length. Being earnest, especially with yourself, is hard.

It’s easier for me now to be earnest. While I still struggle to name my hobbies, it’s no longer because I’m shying away from them. Instead, it’s because most of those things now just feel like they’re part of my core — they’re one of many multitudes. Simultaneously, I can be a father, a writer, an athlete, a cook, an entrepreneur — these things don’t exist in a vacuum. Writing in free verse doesn’t detract from my ability to execute a deal; being able to make bread from scratch doesn’t keep me from deadlifting twice my bodyweight⁶.

These identities, these multitudes, aren’t fixed. They evolve. Some days you are the Jester, others, the Hero, the Lover, the Caregiver, the Outlaw, the Crone⁷. Things that seemed so core to your being in the past can fade away to nothing. This is normal, natural. You should take comfort in the knowledge that, as long as you are never settling, you are right where you need to be.

I’ll concede that was a lot of heady stuff for a newsletter about cooking. This is supposed to be fun! It’s the last real month of summer — act like it! If you still haven’t had a lobster boil like I suggested at the beginning of the summer, go ahead and do that. Afterwards, maybe, you’ll have some leftover lobster — let’s use it up in a risotto.

Lobster stock optional.

Dice your choice of alliums — onion, garlic, shallot, or a combination thereof⁸. Add those to a deep-sided pan with a flat bottom along with some olive oil and cook until aromatic. Add in two handfuls of Arborio rice⁹ and stir until the rice starts to become transluscent.

In a small pan, heat some chicken or shellfish stock. To the rice, douse with a hefty pour of white wine and a squeeze of lemon and cook until the liquid is beginning to evaporate, stirring consistently. As the liquid evaporates, continue to replenish with stock.

As the risotto starts to come together, about ten minutes, melt a pad of butter in a small pan. Gently warm some pre-cooked and pre-shelled lobster meat in the butter as the risotto finishes¹⁰.

When the rice is tender, mix in the lobster¹¹ to the risotto, stir to incorporate, and top with sliced scallions. Plate and shower with parm cheese.

There’s your risotto, which is a dish near and dear to my heart. Mrs. CWD and I made a mushroom risotto the night I proposed to her. Each time we make it, it’s a little different, but the baseline is always the same and as described here: alliums, olive oil, rice, wine, and stock. The rest of the ingredients can really be up to you.

We’re always tinkering, trying to improve just a bit. I think this one can really be ramped up by, as we did this time, making a lobster stock with your leftover lobster shells¹². You could also use shrimp shells or fish bones — or just use chicken stock.

This weekend, embrace your multitudes. Try something new or improve something old. Whatever you do, don’t ever settle.

1. Song of Myself is a terrific poem, if lengthy. I wrote a paper on it my senior year of college, one of the few I actually felt enthused writing. Being an English major is weird.

2. One of my goals is to write and publish more poetry. I contain multitudes.

3. There’s Rick Rubin again.

4. Even since writing this, I’ve revised it a half dozen times — and I’m still not completely satisfied.

5. You see this often: “I am a triathlete;” “I am a vegan;” “I do CrossFit;” “I am X, Y, or Z.”

Or, more likely: “I am an athlete so I can’t be a poet;” “I am a ‘man’ so I can’t talk about my feelings.” This is the more pernicious trap to fall into, of course — and the easier one to ignore. I’m doing it here, you’ll notice — by writing vaguely about vulnerabilities and weaknesses in the footnotes, not in the main body of the text. Guess I’m a little further away from enlightenment than I thought!

6. That’s a sick #HumbleBrag.

7. These are the Jungian archetypes, if you’re not familiar. I took a test, recently, to suss out my archetype. It came back as Joker, followed by Hero. That feels right, though secretly, I would have loved to have snuck an Outlaw in there (this is a Pirate Summer, after all). At least I didn’t get Member — that would be boring.

8. We happened to be able to use some right from our garden, which is the first time I’ve successfully used onions or shallots I’ve planted.

9. This is the classic risotto rice, but and medium or short grained one will probably work just as well.

10. You could do any seafood here, really — scallops would be good, or even fish. But lobster is delicious and we had leftovers.

11. And lobster-infused butter as well.

12. Do this by simmering the whole shells, heads, legs, and body in white wine until the alcohol cooks off and the wine smells like it just got out of the Atlantic Ocean.