I didn’t eat proper risotto till I was nearly 30. And now drought may take it off menus for ever | Rachel Cooke

Just as Britain gets the hang of cooking risotto, its future has been thrown into doubt

I know, I know. How peak middle class to make mention of a risotto crisis; don't most of us have enough on our plates already without getting worked up about the cost of posh rice to boot? But at the risk of impaling myself with my own privilege - there it goes, clean through my Toast linen apron like an expensive Japanese knife - I'm going to jump in anyway, truffle grater in hand (I'm joking, I don't own a truffle grater). The bad news is that hard times lie ahead for Italian rice, and while I think this is a grave development for Italians, as for all Europeans, perhaps it's a particular sadness for we British, who came a bit late to risotto, and have only just started truly to get the hang of it.

The trouble has to do with the climate crisis. Risotto rice varieties such as arborio and carnaroli are grown in the Po valley, a floodplain in the north of Italy where the challenge for farmers used to be to keep the water away. But now everything's topsy turvy. In 2022, the worst drought in 200 years struck the Po, the river that feeds the system of canals that irrigates the paddy fields. As a result, Italy lost 26,000 hectares of rice fields, and production of the grain dropped by more than 30%. Things haven't improved since. Last year, therewas again a drought, and a further7,500 hectares were lost. Some farmers are getting out, replacing rice with crops that require less water. Others are pondering the cultivation of other varieties of rice: grains that are hardier than carnaroli, but which are also less suitable for making risotto, which requires rice both to be super-absorbent and to maintain its texture after slow cooking.