Polenta, as Katie Caldesi rather politely puts it in her Italian Cookery Course, is one of those things that often "leaves the British wondering" – Angela Hartnett is more blunt when she admits that you either love or hate the stuff. Unlike a certain yeast-based spread, I'm not sure it's anything personal, however; if polenta is done properly, then it is one of the most comforting things imaginable. Cook it badly, and even the dog won't touch it (I speak from experience).  In fact, fancy polenta has a lot in common with our own beloved mashed potato, in that it teeters dangerously between grey, lumpy, mass-produced mess, and fluffy, buttery manna. Just like mash, polenta only comes into its own when prepared with care – and lots of seasoning.  As with many staple foods, polenta is very close to the hearts of northern Italians. Indeed, Anna Del Conte informs me that in the 19th century, societies were formed to celebrate its many virtues, in Italy and abroad: Paris's Ordine dei Polentoni boasted one Emile Zola among its members.  Much myth surrounds its proper preparation: the late Marcella Hazan describes the cooking as a "ritual, eating it like receiving a sacrament" – which makes it quite a daunting prospect for a novice. Add in the possibility that you could create something more suitable for hanging wallpaper than eating for dinner, and it's no wonder pasta is so much more popular. So just how do you cook proper polenta?  Polenta, of course, isn't polenta until it's cooked – until then it's just cornmeal (which is a good tip if you're on a budget: cornmeal labelled as such tends to be an awful lot cheaper than anything labelled polenta). Much like oats, however, cornmeal comes in a variety of guises.  Even discounting the quick-cook stuff, which, like easy-cook rice, is only acceptable in some form of polenta-related emergency I can't bring to mind at this point, the range includes fine and coarse cornmeal, white and yellow, and excessively rustic polenta with added bran or buckwheat.  The white stuff, which has a more delicate flavour, is more common in Venezia region, where it pairs beautifully with seafood. I'm after something to go with vast amounts of cheese, or meaty ragu, so I decided to stick to yellow in its two most common forms: fine and coarse. (Jamie Oliver insists on "new-season polenta", but even being lucky enough to boast an Italian delicatessen down the road, I can't get hold of anything making such claims.)  Del Conte explains that the finer cornmeal makes for a "soft, thin polenta" while the nubblier sort gives a "harder and tastier" result. Not only does it have a better flavour, but I find the texture more interesting. The payoff, however, is that it takes longer to soften, of which more presently.  I've always cooked cornmeal in water, regarding it in much the same way as pasta or rice. But given it's actually much more like porridge or grits, and comes from Italy's north, which is dairy country, it makes sense that many recipes use milk instead.  Hartnett and Caldesi use a mixture of milk and water, while Giorgio Locatelli suggests a combination of milk and double cream in 4:1 ratio. The River Cafe, Del Conte, Hazan and Oliver all stick with water, while Ursula Ferrigno throws me a googly by using vegetable stock in her Complete Italian Cookery Course.  Stock is nice, but overpowers the flavour of the corn itself: though seasoning is essential, I think polenta should provide a starchy, bland foil to something more strongly flavoured. Locatelli's crème de maïs, which he discovered in Paris, is far too sweet and rich to work as the main component of a meal – it could only be served in teeny little Michelin-starred portions, rather than the big, bubbling bowl polenta deserves.  Water gives a good, if bland, result: given you'll no doubt be adding extra fat, it is a perfectly acceptable option, but the milk and water combination favoured by Hartnett and Caldesi is far better, lending the polenta body and a subtle richness I really like.  Mark Bittman of the New York Times suggests that soft polenta, the kind I'm after, should be made with a ratio of one part cornmeal to five parts liquid, which seems about right (for firmer polenta that can be chilled and fried, go for 1:3 instead).  Stirring is a contentious issue. Hazan says: "Stirring polenta in an open pot for the entire time it cooks undoubtedly yields the best product, most in terms of fragrance and, to a certain but lesser extent, in terms of flavour." Nevertheless, she concedes it is possible to make "very good polenta with hardly any stirring" – and Del Conte, the River Café, Locatelli, Oliver and Ferrigno agree, all giving recipes that involve stirring frequently, but not continuously.  Caldesi, however, after citing "many an Italian nonna's" belief that "the longer you cook polenta, the better the texture", has me stirring continuously for 45 minutes. (At least she admits that, though this is traditionally done clockwise, really the direction doesn't matter.) By the end of it, I'm losing the will to live – and all for scant reward, because my polenta is unpleasantly claggy, suggesting either it has cooked too fast or I've not added enough liquid. Stirring it more frequently than the River Café's "from time to time" is a good idea, however, as it has a habit of catching in most pans, and it is wise to keep an eye on its progress in any case. Locatelli's every five minutes seems about right, though play it by ear according to how yours looks.  What I learn from the other recipes can be condensed as follows. It is vital to add the polenta very slowly, stirring constantly, or it will end up lumpy. Straining it through your fingers, as Hazan suggests, seems the most efficient way of doing this.  Allowing it to thicken before you turn the heat down is also important – Oliver doesn't mention this, and his polenta stays stubbornly sloppy, despite almost an hour of cooking. (You don't need to stand there for the first 10 minutes, however, as Del Conte recommends; it should only take a couple.)  Loosely covering the pan, as Hazan and Oliver suggests, gives you a bit more licence to go and do something else. Sadly, I don't think the texture of the resulting polenta is quite as good, perhaps because of the condensation dripping back in.  Del Conte gives an alternative which starts off by stirring the polenta in the pan for 10 minutes as normal, then pouring it into a dish, covering with buttered foil and baking for an hour. It is surprisingly good: the top has a chewy crust, but the interior is still soft and creamy. Definitely an option to consider if you need to go out, and, um … also really need polenta.  Caldesi simmers her polenta with a bay leaf, but I find this gets smashed up during my stirring marathon, leaving me with lots of stringy bits to pick out. Ferrigno suggests a whole range of different flavourings to stir in at the end, including crushed garlic and fresh herbs, which I love, but they do detract from the flavour of the corn itself. If you prefer to keep it simple, Hartnett's butter is a must, and her grated parmesan can't really be bettered – though a few strips of lardo, some venison ragu or a bit of crumbled gorgonzola aren't too shabby an alternative. Or some sausages, or indeed a nice fried egg, come to think of it …  (Serves 4)150ml milk½ tsp salt150g coarse cornmeal50g butter25g grated parmesan (optional)  Put the milk in a large, heavy-based pan along with 600ml water and the salt, and bring to the boil. Meanwhile, measure out the cornmeal and put it near the hob.  When the pan comes to the boil, add the cornmeal, letting it run in thin streams through your fingers, whisking continuously. Stir for a minute or two until it thickens.  Turn the heat right down and stir well, roughly every 4-5 minutes to prevent it sticking, for about 35-45 minutes, until the polenta begins to come away from the sides of the pan. Stir in the butter and cheese, if using, then put on a serving dish.  Polenta: sacred starch, or the blandest thing in existence? Do you prefer the stuff soft, grilled or other (honourable mention here for Yotam Ottolenghi's polenta chips), and what do you pair it with?
Felicity Cloake: Is polenta pointlessly bland or a delicious starchy staple, do you like it soft or grilled, and what do you serve it with?