That’s what it takes to make polenta. I don’t mean just the cornmeal kind, but that other grit; the stamina to persist until you succeed.

            How hard is it? Well according to the dozen cookbooks strewn over my kitchen table, it is simply a matter of slowly pouring cornmeal into boiling water and stirring with a whisk, or slowly pouring the water into the cornmeal and bringing the water to a boil, stirring constantly with a long-handled spoon, using your heaviest pot, preferably copper, and a heat diffuser, reducing the heat while continuing to stir with either whisk, wooden spoon or rubber spatula, or a combination of all three, until cooked, which could take anywhere between 10 to 45 minutes, or when it pulls away from the side of the pan—followed by a rousing rendition of “Do the Hokey-Pokey.”

             Polenta is often considered the pasta of Northern Italy.  It is a versatile cornmeal porridge eaten for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, either in a soft, mush form or in a firmer state, cut into segments which are then often grilled, fried or baked. It can be topped with any sauce or stew that you would use on pasta or rice, not just classic Italian dishes, but also curries and stir fries. It can be used as a layer for tortas and lasagnes or topped with your favourite appetizer ingredients. It can simply be used in place of bread.

            In Italy, polenta is traditionally cooked in a heavy copper pot, stirred with a long-handled wooden spoon. It is made from what they call polenta flour, a cornmeal ground from special Italian varieties of corn, but polenta can be made from any cornmeal, from fine to coarse. Finer ground cornmeal will give a more satin texture and will also cook (burn) faster than coarse ground. The traditional way to eat it was to spread the cooked grain out on a wooden cutting board where it was allowed to cool, and then sections cut off during the meal using a thick string. Basic polenta is made with water but this can be replaced with cream or milk for use at breakfast or even as dessert. Vegetable or meat broth, even white wine, can be used for preparing savoury polenta. Peppers, onions, mushrooms, sundried tomatoes, olives, a wide variety of herbs, garlic, and cheeses such as Asiago or Fontina are often added to the mixture while it is still hot. The simplest way to eat polenta is scooped into a bowl while still hot, topped with butter and Parmigiano cheese.

            Polenta was not always made from corn. Corn did not arrive in Italy until the 1600s. The word polenta stems from the Latin pollen which means “fine flour.”  Before this time, Romans ate mush called poltos made like polenta, but from chestnut meal, spelt, chickpea, barley, and buckwheat flours, and from just about any other flour that was available.

             The fact that polenta is becoming very much part of the North American food lexicon is evidenced by the fact that Bob’s Red Mill cereal company now labels their coarse cornmeal, or grits, as “Polenta.” This may not technically be accurate, but it does help anyone looking for the stuff you need to make polenta.

            But I figured, “How tough could this be?” Polenta is known as corn mush in many parts of the world where it is a basic form of sustenance, and I can certainly make mush! Of course, I wasn’t planning this for anything as mundane as sustenance; I wanted to make some of those adorable appetizers I was always seeing in my food magazines; basic nourishment like wild mushroom and leeks on polenta squares, or gorgonzola and walnut polenta triangles.

             After reading far too much, even using my cast iron pot, a heat diffuser, and a long-handled wooden spoon, my first attempt was a bust; a whole night in the fridge could not get it to set. We did still eat it with a tasty shrimp and feta dish Jordan had made, but I was determined to try again. I finally found the description of “done” that I needed: when the polenta looks like mashed potatoes and pulls away from the sides of the pans. I also found a helpful tip from one cookbook author who admitted a history of burned polenta: use a rubber spatula in the final stages of cooking to keep the paste scraped off the bottom. And never leave the pot unattended!

            Apparently, that was the ticket. On my second attempt, I inverted my pan after a night in the fridge, and had a glossy “loaf” of polenta. This was just a dress rehearsal, but I am now ready for opening night.

            Less adventurous souls can buy a “chub” or sausage of pre-cooked polenta in most grocery stores. I found some here at Harvest Thyme. On the wrapper is a description of the time-consuming traditional method of preparing polenta, with this note added: “Pre-cooked Polenta eliminates this tedious chore, while preserving Polenta’s ancient Italian heritage.” Somehow, I don’t think that any Italian would consider polenta in a tube part of their heritage, although I did read that they now have electric polenta cookers (copper, of course!)

            Perhaps with my Irish heritage, I could add green food colouring to the polenta in honour of St. Patrick’s Day and make shamrock-shaped dumplings for a Guinness stew.