The same is true with rice. In ways that matter as much as they are hard to quantify, it has gained increasing substance, presence, weight. For an inattentive eater sitting down to dinner at our table, the difference most likely would elicit no more than an appreciative grunt. However, for us, now, the shared discussion of choice of rice and the gradual articulation of a method have lent a quiet but deeply pleasing richness to the meal.
Perhaps our favorite rice right now is the long-grain Della-type grown in Cajun country and called popcorn rice after its familiar aroma (the two share a highly aromatic chemical compound). To our surprise, we found that distinctions could be made between batches of the rice grown in neighboring parishes; they were all delicious, but in subtly contrasting ways. Now when the rice is done, I bring Matt a forkful from the pot, and we taste it together consideringly, the way the mouth works a first sip of wine.
When the rice is good, this tasting is an act of unmitigated pleasure. Part of it, of course, is just whetted anticipation of the meal, but there’s something else there, too … only more difficult to explain. Dingo into dog—that connection wasn’t gratuitous. A dog acquires dogness learning to sit, shake hands, roll over, and other, similar dumb pet tricks. When I got my dog Mick to sit and shake hands (rolling over was beneath his dignity), I felt silly with pleasure—exactly how I felt when I first lifted the lid of that Calphalon pot and saw that the rice hadrisen up of its own accord into a white and fluffy mound.
With Mick, as with rice, I wasn’t showing my talents as a trainer (negligible) or his at accepting discipline (laughable)—or even the bond between us (he would do the same for anyone who offered him a biscuit). No, I was simply delighting in what I can only call his “dogness”—in which at that moment I was somehow allowed to participate. That is what the phrase “my dog” is really all about. In the same way, when I bring Matt a forkful of rice at the end of cooking, what we both delight in is neither my rice-cooking talents nor the savor of the thing but—what else can I call it?—itsriceness . Our rice—we, together, have somehow managed once again to pull off the trick. And now, at least as far as Matt is concerned, I know how to make a pot of perfect rice.
PERFECT RICE
The grain seems to invite controversy. The fight over the proper way to cook it—covered or uncovered, in lots of water or a little, stirred or unstirred—is still being fought. The didactic tone of those instructing others on how to cook rice is evident in the voice of Charles Gayarré, a gourmet writing in the 1880s about an old southern cook: “Who but Valentin knew how to bake rice in an iron pot? I sayiron, because it must be nothing else, and that rice must come out solid, retaining the exact shape of the pot, with a golden crust about its top and sides.”
—Woman’s Day Encyclopedia of Cookery, Vol. 10
According to Karen Hess, the first rule of good rice cooking is notover cooking. Perfectly cooked long-grain rice is tender but resilient, faintly sticky but not gluey or mushy. She also insists that the rice must be left unmolested during its recovery time. This is similar to letting a roast “sit” after it’s been brought out of the oven, so that the juices can redistribute themselves throughout the meat. In the rice pot, this resting time allows the moisture to penetrate to the center of each kernel and the excess to evaporate, producing firm-textured, separate grains.
Whether Karen Hess would approve of our method or its results is something we’ll discover only should we ever have her over for supper. For us, though, it does the trick. Even so, I want to stress again that every instruction that follows was built on our growing familiarity with our own rice pot. So far as your own “perfect” rice is concerned, surely the right approach is to get a basic grasp of the issues involved and to work them out after your own fashion and to your own satisfaction, and at your own pace.
A BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO RICE
Anyone from the south of India should be able to recognize at least twenty sorts in the bazaar, rices which differ not only in such obvious characteristics as whether they are long or short grain, polished or unpolished, raw or parboiled, but also in colour, translucency, smell, age, cooking quality and, of course, price.
— Tom Stobart,The Cook’s Encyclopedia
All the rices that are most commonly eaten around the world come from the Asian varietyOryza sativa. This rice is usually divided into two major groups: indica rices, such as basmati and jasmine, which are more fragile-grained and often fragrant; and japonica rices, which have sturdier, plumper grains and are more tolerant of cold weather and so can be grown in more temperate climates. (A third group, javanica, consists of tropical rices, mostly grown in Indonesia.) Whether a rice is short-, medium-, or long-grain is dependent less on type than on the length of the growing season. Similarly, “sticky,” or glutinous, rice may be long-grain or short-grain, indica or japonica.
Arborio and other Italian japonica rices, such asbaldo andcarnaroli , are discussed in detail elsewhere in this book (see pages 65–66). Spanish rices, such as Valencia, are very similar to these risotto rices.
Basmati rice, grown in the foothills of the Himalayas in northern India and Pakistan, is the perfumy, fragile, long-grain indica rice most associated with Indian cooking. Dehra Dun is considered the choicest; patna is the more abundant and less expensive, although connoisseurs consider it to be not quite as good. American-grown basmati rice (such as Calmati) is acceptable but does not completely capture native basmati’s unique aroma or texture.
Brand names to the contrary, there hasn’t been a commercial rice crop grown in South Carolina since 1927. With it went the distinctive Carolina Gold, which had made the wordCarolina a synonym for quality rice. Said to have originated in Madagascar, it is a fragile long-grain variety described as possessing a distinct if delicate flavor, firm texture, and astonishing whiteness. Recently, Richard and Patricia Schulze persuaded the United States Department of Agriculture, after a hiatus of more than sixty years, to propagate authentic Carolina Gold from the grains stored in its seed bank in order to bring it back into cultivation on their plantation on the Savannah River. The Schulzes grow the rice as an avocation and donate their tiny crop to charity.
Della is an American cross between basmati and standard long-grain American rice. When cooked properly, it produces a fluffy-textured rice with dry and separate grains. Della is often sold as Louisiana “pecan” or Louisiana “popcorn” rice, because its distinctive aroma (but not its taste) is uncannily reminiscent of those two foods.
Japanese rice is of the japonica type, medium-grain and slightly translucent. When cooked, the grains are distinct and firm but slightly sticky. (This rice absorbs much less water than other kinds, which can be confusing to those accustomed to preparing indica-type rices.) Japan does not export its rice; the Japanese-style rice available in America is grown in California. Preferred brands include Kokuho Rose, CalRose, Nishiki, and Matsu. Sushi rice is cooked Japanese rice delicately seasoned with rice vinegar and sugar.
Jasmine is an aromatic, long-grain indica rice native to Cambodia, Vietnam, and Thailand, which export large quantities to this country. Introduced to American rice farmers in 1989, it is now grown in Texas and California. When properly prepared, it possesses a spongier, slightly stickier texture than Della or basmati, but its cooked grains are still firm and easy to separate.
Sticky rice has a predominance of amylopectin, a rice starch that becomes gummy when cooked, causing the grains to adhere. Sticky rice is easy to eat with the fingers because it can be gathered in clumps; the same quality—along with its sweeter taste—makes it perfect for a wide variety of Asian rice pastries. The sticky rice grown in warmer areas, like Thailand, is long-grain; that grown in more temperate areas, like Japan, is short-grain.
PLAIN BOILED RICE
[serves 2 to 4]
1 cup (6 ounces) long-grain white rice
1½ cups minus 2 tablespoons (11 fluid ounces) water
¾ teaspoon salt
Choosing the Rice.Although Indians believe that
aged rice increases in flavor (and, consequently, let some develop for as long as ten years), in our experience—with rice as with flour—the fresher it comes from the mill, the brighter the flavor notes. Age also affects the amount of water needed to cook it.
Choosing the Rice Pot.Here is Diana Kennedy on this subject, as set out inThe Art of Mexican Cooking:
Choose a heavy pot for cooking the rice; it will be less likely to scorch on the bottom. The shape of the pot is also important; if it is too wide, the water will cook off too quickly and the rice will not be as tender; if it is too deep, it is liable to be mushy at the bottom.
As noted, we use a Calphalon one-and-a-half-quart saucepan with a tight-fitting lid.
Sorting the Rice.Matt finds all sorts of detritus (seeds, pebbles, chaff, insects, and, mostly, damaged and discolored grains) in the rice we use, especially when it is processed in small, old-fashioned mills. Spread the rice out on a paper towel and look for yourself.
Rinsing the Rice.Washing rice rinses away polish dust, bran particles, starch, and sprayed-on vitamin powder, so that the grain’s own subtle favors can come through. Barbara Tropp argues—and our experience confirms—that mere swishing under running water accomplishes nothing; you have to give it a goodwash . Pour the rice into a small sieve and insert this into a bowl. Fill the bowl with cold water and stir the rice with your fingers until the water is milky. Lift up the sieve, pour off this liquid, refill the bowl with fresh cold water, and repeat several times, until the water stays clear and the rice grains are translucent.
Cooking the Rice.Again, the secret to perfect rice cooking is to cook the rice aggressively and quickly, so that the grains are given just enough time to swell and soften but not to begin breaking up. Different writers have different strong feelings about when that moment is; I have taken my time from H. Pearl Adam. I add the salt and washed rice to the water, bring everything to a brisk boil, cover the pot, and lower the flame to the point where the tiniest amount of additional heat would cause the pot to bubble over (to make sure this is so, I follow the hint supplied by our electric-rice-cooker experiments andlet it boil over—just a bit). The rice is allowed to cook in this manner for exactly12½ minutes .
Resting the Rice.At this point I remove the pot from the heat, turn the flame down as low as possible, set a flame tamer over the burner, and put the pot back on this. Then, quickly, I remove the cover of the pot, wrap it in a dish towel, and press it back firmly onto the pot, folding the ends of the towel so they sit on top of the pot, out of the way of the burner flame. The rice is allowed to rest for17½ minutes , making an even half hour of cooking time. The rice will be dry all through—there should be no wet patch on the bottom of the pot, and hardly any rice stuck to it, either. The rice in the lower part of the pot will be compressed, but not soggy or damp. It will easily fluff up when turned out of the pot into a serving bowl. The result is about 3 cups of cooked rice.
RICE WITH SPINACH, GOAT CHEESE, AND WALNUTS
[for each eater]
It seems unfair to devote a whole chapter of a book to cooking rice without sharing at least one of the dishes we make that pushes it to center stage. Interestingly, once we began to look forward to the rice itself, the things we ate on it or with it began to reformulate themselves to accommodate our anticipation. Unlike pasta, which can handle a slightly soupy sauce, there’s no point in preparing a bowl of fluffy rice and then drowning it in a sea of cooking liquid. For us, the ideal rice topping contains a nice mix of complementary tastes and textures, the whole ensemble just moist enough to balance off the delicate dryness of the grain. The following dish spontaneously presented itself as one possible resolution of that equation—and the recipe has been written to sustain its impromptu nature.
6 to 8 walnut halves
1 bunch (or 12-ounce bag) fresh spinach—frozen not acceptable (see note)
plain white rice, cooked as in preceding recipe
1 clove garlic
olive oil
generous pinch salt
generous pinch powdered chile (see note)
1½ to 2 ounces fresh goat cheese
freshly ground black pepper to taste
Preliminary to the cooking, toast the walnut halves in a small cast-iron frying pan or similar ovenproof pan in a preheated 450—F oven for about 10 minutes, or until they have darkened in color and become quite fragrant. (Don’t burn them, but dotoast them.) Turn them out onto a cutting board. Meanwhile, pick over the spinach, discarding any less-than-perfect leaves and, with a sharp paring knife, trimming away all split and damaged ends of stems. Rinse carefully in 2 or 3 sinkfuls of cool water, to remove all grit. Place directly, dripping with water from the last rinse, into a large pot, and cover.
At this point, begin cooking the rice.
Put the pot with the spinach on a burner and cook over high heat until it is completely wilted, about 3 or 4 minutes after the water comes to a boil. Empty the pot into a colander or sieve set over a bowl. Press firmly with a rubber spatula or the back of a wooden spoon to remove all excess liquid. (Pour this liquid into a cup, season, and enjoy—cook’s treat.) Turn pressed spinach out onto the cutting board.
In 3 separate piles, coarsely chop the spinach and walnut meats and coarsely mince the garlic. Pour some olive oil into a 10-inch nonstick skillet and add a generous pinch each of salt and chile powder. Turn the heat under the frying pan to medium-low. As soon as the olive oil becomes warm, stir in the garlic. Cook, stirring, until the garlic becomes translucent. Immediately add the chopped spinach and mix together well. Turn off the heat as soon as the spinach is heated through.
Serve each portion in a large, warmed soup bowl. Put in a fair portion of the rice, top with the spinach mixture, and over this sprinkle the walnut pieces and crumbled fresh goat cheese. Season with a generous grinding of black pepper and eat at once.
Cook’s Notes.Chile: We regularly use a vibrantly flavored but only mildly hot New Mexican chile powder called Chimayo in our cooking. An Internet search should turn up a number of sources; at the time of writing, one of them is, appropriately, www.chimayotogo.com.
Spinach: The amount called for is not a typographical error. When wilted, spinach leaves shrink down to almost nothing—that is, if you like spinach. And if you don’t like it, this is not your dish.
ADVENTURES WITH AN ELECTRIC RICE COOKER
We came across so many recommendations urging us to purchase this device during our rice research that we were finally persuaded to order a Chinese model from a mail-order discount firm that specializes in selling off the buying mistakes of other companies at prices too good to refuse. Our unit arrived with a host of accoutrements, including a video tape, which we could not bear to watch, and a set of instructions, written in barely comprehensibleChinglais.
Even so, we soon got the hang of its operation. One was to add strictly determined proportions of (carefully washed) rice, water, and salt, plug the thing in (there was no on/off switch), and then stand back while its contents began to boil furiously. Soon the lid was jiggling ominously, the signal, we soon learned, that a steady flow of rice scum would soon be oozing down the side of the machine and creeping across the counter. When, at last, the indicator light changed from “cooking” to “warming” and we removed the cooking insert, we found a thick crust of rice firmly burned onto its bottom and lower sides.
The rest of the rice, however, was the closest we had ever come to preparing genuine Chinese—or, at least, Chinese restaurant—rice. Perhaps our cooker was defective? After a few more experimental runs, each of which resulted in the same behavior, we returned it for another, which behaved in exactly the same way. Our tentative conclusion—as we sheepishly returned this second unit—was that these machines were designed by people who couldn’t imagine anyone preparing sosmall an amount of rice as amply feeds us two.
Sources
Ellis Stansel’s Rice; P.O. Box 206; Gueydan, LA 70542; (318) 536-6140; www.stanselrice.com. When Ellis Stansel was alive, his Louisi
ana popcorn rice was the best American rice we’ve tasted, possessing a superlative texture and an elegantly balanced flavor. However, since his death in 1994, while the rice tastes just as good, the milling, in our experience, has not been nearly as expert. The Stansel family still likes to do business on a personal basis, sending orders with an invoice enclosed. When this book went to press, a ten-pound sack of rice was $10 plus shipping.
Guillory’s Louisiana Popcorn Rice; Route 3, Box 55; Welsh, LA 70591; (318) 734-4440. Paul and Anne Guillory’s Louisiana popcorn rice had the most distinctly “popcorn” aroma of the varieties we sampled, and it is also the one most likely to be found in local gourmet and natural foods stores. However, you’ll get a better price if you order straight from the source. When this book went to press, a five-pound sack of their rice was $5.95 plus shipping.
Lowell Farms; 311 Avenue A; El Campo, TX 77437; (409) 543-4950; www.lowellfarms.com. The organically grown jasmine rice produced by Linda and Lowell G. Raun, Jr., is something special. The grains are almost uniformly perfect, the aroma has delicate floral notes, and the rice cooks dry and slightly sticky—a classic “rice bowl” rice. At the time this book went to press, a twenty-five-pound sack of their jasmine rice (white or brown) was $20 plus $9.95 shipping.
Further Reading
Anyone interested in learning to cook rice should start by reading the chapter “To Boil the Rice” in Karen Hess’sThe Carolina Rice Kitchen (pages 22–35). Karen Hess bestows her insatiable curiosity, articulate attention, and fastidious palate to this task, with the result that no reader will leave her book with complacencies intact.
Barbara Tropp’s advocacy of the creamy texture and pleasing plumpness of short-grain rice is only one reason to turn to the rice cooking section inThe Modern Art of Chinese Cooking (pages 399– 404); she, too, brings a passionate intelligence to many aspects of the rice kitchen.
Julie Sahni presents the case for basmati and explains its cooking inClassic Indian Cooking (pages 355–361), adding some interesting and useful amplifications in her laterClassic Indian Vegetarian and Grain Cooking (pages 56–60 and 411–415).
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