by Andrew Ingkavet
I eat rice every week. It used to be every day. My digestive system seems to just work better with rice. I like all kinds of rice, from wild rice to long grain white and brown to sushi short grain from Japan, to red rice from Northern Thailand to yellow Dominican to soy-sauce and cilantro infused fried rice of Singapore… But most days, Thai jasmine is my favorite.
Every Asian family, and probably Hispanic too, has a large bag of rice somewhere in their kitchen or pantry. It doesn’t make sense to buy these small bags for ridiculous prices when you can get a 25 pound bag that will last your family about 3 to 4 weeks. The main issue is where to store it. In my apartment, it’s rather tight for space, so I bought a decorative brass bell that also conveniently hides a 25 pound bag of rice.
My mom used to make a delicious Korean Bulgogi that I would go and grill on the charcoal fire. I loved being involved in cooking. She would teach me even though I wasn’t doing it, just watching. But, then it was my turn to go and grill it. Luckily, because we all liked it well done, it turned out pretty good: crispy, blackened and burnt – just how we liked it! And mounds and mounds of white rice!
My mom used to make Carolina brand long grain white rice in an old rice cooker. It was white, a Sanyo, medium sized pressure cooker. And for a long time, this was my gold standard. When we ate in Chinatown, I was astounded at the difference in the taste and smell of their rice. My Dad used to say that’s because they don’t wash the rice. He would yell at my Mom not to wash the rice. I never believed him.
In college, I discovered a whole new world of rice. I ate in Dominican restaurants where the rice was salty and yellow with little pigeon peas mixed in. Delicious! Then, I discovered the longer almost bread-like basmati rice.
For awhile I lived in Asia. Some of my local friends called me a “rice bucket,” because I ate 4 to 5 bowls of rice with every meal. Later, I learned that that’s what they called a very lazy person.
While traveling in Vietnam in the early 1990’s, I rode a motorcycle across the rice paddies on the little mud lanes separating the marshy, swampy ponds. Rice was everywhere. It was even drying in heaps along the sides of paved roads and one could drive over it if not too careful.
Sometimes my Mom would cook rice not in the automatic rice cooker, but in a stove-top pot for “extra iron” as she said. This was very strange to me as she wasn’t cooking in an iron pot but a stainless steel one. Perhaps the basic thinking was sound because a cast iron pot is what they would use in ancient Korea.
She would burn the rice deliberately to get a crispy browned layer of rice at the bottom. By pouring some hot water over it, we had rice tea! The scraps of rice, hard and burnt, but so deliciously soothing. It was more like rice soup than tea. Sometimes she would mix in a mixture of roast barley or corn.
Korean comfort food. The equivalent of the Jewish Mom’s chicken soup.
My Dad taught me the Thai way to make rice.
- Fill a pot halfway with rice.
- Rinse and discard water and any husks, debris r
- Refill until water line is one finger knuckle (about an inch) above the rice.
- Cover and bring to a boil.
- As soon as it boils, reduce heat to lowest simmer and let cook for 15 to 20 minutes.
I taught an Italian retiree the above method. He was ecstatic saying how much everyone loved it.
© Copyright 2014 Andrew Ingkavet.