When I stayed with the daughter and her dancemates in Florence last summer, it was a pleasure to cook for them. Imagine lovely, lithe dancers . . . with the appetites of sled dogs. I'm not remotely exaggerating. The last night before their big performance, I made a wildly nutritious pasta for them. There was probably enough to feed a dozen normal people. The 6 of them polished it off neatly, and in the end were eating it right out of the serving bowl. One of the ingredients was some dried porcini mushrooms. <br /> <br />Fast-forward to the day the daughter and I left for Bologna, we took with us the fantastic Camargue sea salt we’d bought, as well as the remaining mushrooms. Our first night in Bologna, I had a dream about trying to find the mushrooms so we could make a risotto. I looked all through my bag(s), and realized that a pair of shoes was also missing. I finally found the missing shoes in an armoire, of all places (when have I ever put shoes in a closet!), and tucked in the toe of one of them was the package of mushrooms. I was so happy that we could make our risotto, and asked my daughter what we should call it. The dream let me observe her for a few seconds as she thought. Suddenly her face lit up, and she said, “We should call it Lost Shoes Risotto!" <br /> <br />When we got to Aix en Provence a few days later, we made it exactly as I had dreamt it. Here it is. The lemon,,oddly, is one of the critical ingredients. The one that changes the entire character of the dish from acceptable to downright jaw-dropping. Don't add it until the end (Step 3); overcooked zest tends to go bitter. <br />

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