opinion
I didn’t eat a lot of rice while growing up. Sometimes my parents served Rice-a-Roni, but mashed potatoes were more our style.
During my college days, I developed a love for Chinese takeout and sticky rice. My roommate and I rarely missed Tuesdays at the local Chinese restaurant, when the buffet was half-off for students. Each of us would stuff a week’s worth of food in our carryout containers.
Soy sauce? Yes.
When I started my family, I tried to make rice at home. Real rice, not instant rice. The directions seemed simple – water, rice, salt. The measurements, however, confused me. According to the bag, one cup of uncooked rice would make four servings. I struggled to believe this, but I follow directions doggedly when I am trying something new.
Twenty minutes later, I saw the portion was right, but the results were something even soy sauce couldn’t fix.
I tried again. And again.
By the time I got through that first bag, I had ruined rice every way one can ruin it. Soupy, mushy, hard, burnt – it was hopeless. Since potatoes were never this fickle, I skipped the bag of rice on my next grocery trip and grabbed a bag of russets.
Two years ago, I came across instructions for making perfect rice. The trick is to add a little vinegar and watch the lid for a slim stream of steam. It’s an idiot-proof process, which means rice made our regular dinner rotation. Finally.
Last fall, I went back to school and making dinner became a communal responsibility. One day, my daughter agreed to make one of our favorite chicken and rice dishes. I left her the ingredients and the perfect rice instructions.
Coming home, I found several containers in the fridge. One was chicken and rice. The other containers were just rice. When I asked what happened, she grew sheepish.
“There were four people, so I made four cups.”
Did you read the directions?
“I did, but they didn’t seem right.”
Let’s just say we ran out of soy sauce.
A couple of weeks later, my son had dinner responsibilities, and chicken and rice was on the menu. I figured he was less likely to argue with the directions after what happened last time.
I was wrong.
Coming home, I found two containers in the fridge – a small one of chicken and rice and an extra-large one of just rice.
Really?
“One cup just didn’t seem like enough.”
Sigh.
Day two of eating leftover rice, I thought about bringing home those overstuffed containers of Chinese food in college. Sure, it was good, but we rarely finished it.
Perfect or not, no one needs that much rice.
I recalled a dinner my husband and I had with a young Japanese couple. The wife had spent hours making this beautiful meal. Sadly, I can’t recall the proper names for what we were eating, but I do remember the small dish of rice she served. It was the best rice I had ever eaten – sticky, sweet, savory, second-helping worthy.
But there were no second helpings. Everything was prepared just for that one meal.
I may have learned to make the perfect rice, but I still think like a potato person, and apparently, so do my children.
Please pass the soy sauce.
Nicole can be reached at www.NicoleLVMullis.com.
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The prodigious problem with potato people preparing rice - Battle Creek Enquirer
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