Risotto that rocks

Last night I was invited with my partner, who shall from now on be known as Monsieur Gourmand, to the home of one of his colleagues for risotto.


The apartment is in a fabulous spot close to trendy Carouge with a wraparound balcony that offers views of the Jura mountains, the near-vertical rockface of the Salève and the craggy peaks of the Alps in the distance. Even the Jet d'eau can be spotted poking out above the roof tops.


The other guests were all bankers so it is no surprise that champagne was being consumed by all. I wouldn't have imagined, however, that the pricey aperitif would also feature as part of the meal.


I had been told that risotto would be on the menu and had wondered what might accompany the rice. Wild mushrooms? Truffles? Cheese or peas perhaps? But when the huge saucepan appeared on the table it appeared to be a simple risotto with no other discernible ingredients at all. Then the hostess proceeded to plonk a baby bottle of Moet in the centre of the saucepan and added a teaspoon of sugar so that the foam erupted into the surrounding rice, much to everyone's surprise and delight.


With a sprinkling of parmigiano, the champagne risotto was a very tasty dish and proof that a dinner party is all the more memorable with some drama thrown in to the mix.

Spicy discovery

I thought it would at least take some investigating and some less-than-satisfying saag aloo before stumbling across a good Indian in Geneva. Luckily it looks as though my fears were unfounded.


Bollywood is in a square in Paquis, a surprisingly edgy district of Geneva where ethnic eateries jostle for position and the city's sex trade is evident on every corner. A sort of Swiss Soho, if you like.


The interior of the restaurant itself is charmingly old fashioned with red carpets and gold Ganeshas on display but on balmy evenings the terrace is the place to be. Diners can tuck into poppadums, chutney and a cold beer or two while watching the cool crowd of Paquis passing by.


A lover of tandoori lamb, I thought my usual choice perhaps a little wintry for such a sultry summer night so I went for fish instead. The firm flesh of the salmon came apart in succulent morsels while the tangy tandoori flavour lingered long after the final bite.


The accompanying tarka dhal was pleasingly thick and less liquidised than its British equivalent, the naan bread crisp and brown around the edges - and refreshingly free of butter.  


Though I'm sure the people of Mumbai think nothing of devouring hot and spicy food in searing temperatures, I still associate subcontinental cuisine with winter. When the colder weather arrives this autumn the excitement of skiing and fondues will now be matched by the prospect of further forays into Geneva's spicy restaurant scene - and perhaps a return visit to Bollywood.