For most of my life I’ve wanted to Be Somebody. The trouble is, I’ve never known who. I always wanted to be someone else. I always wanted to be able to do the stuff that someone else did. Anything that was remotely cool, I wanted to be able to do. How could these people do this stuff, and how could I do the same thing?
The conundrum, now that I see it for what it really is, is that I wanted to do everything, not just one thing. I wanted to do everything well. I discovered an ability to spell very early on; I liked words and their power on the page. I’ve always read like a maniac, but surprisingly, despite my love for reading and love for writing, I just can’t conceive of writing a book. That’s what authors do! And I’m not an author.
When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a musician. I really, really wanted to be a musician. Coincidentally, I also wanted to be a painter. I actually invested real time—countless hours for a teenager—to practicing music and art, and it wasn’t something forced upon me—it was by choice.
But somehow, the best guitarists were too talented. I practiced and practiced and practiced and they were always much better than me. They had that . . . thing, that good guitarists have. That I don’t have. I became a bass player, but shadowing me was always Jaco Pastorius. In the face of such genius, what can you do?
I went to art school. At least here, from sheer perseverance, was something I could do. I specialised in pointillism, an extremely time-consuming form of self-torture that involved creating drawings just by tapping dots of ink on an illustration board.
Looking back, my ambition was highly unrealistic. Mainly I realised that these things are the only thing these people do. Ordinary people don’t want to write and paint and be professional musicians. Being great in all of these fields is a task for a Goethe, or a Dante.
So why is it that I’m so pissed off that I haven’t perfected the art of cooking rice? Why is it not perfect, time in, time out, every grain fluffy yet tender, moist yet firm? Why is it? Why the hell is it?
Because if you can tell me, I’m just positively keeling over to know.
Huh? Why?
Because you are following the conventional instructions on the bag, and not the collective wisdom of generations of rice cookers.
ReplyDelete;-)
Also, different kinds of rice require different kinds of cooking. For good old standard white rice, use parboiled rice and a rice cooker (three parts rice, two parts water).
Basmati is a whole other thing. First, you must rinse the rice many times, until the water runs almost clear (it will never run fully clear). And make sure it soaks for at least 30 minutes before you cook it.
Then dump the rice into a large pot of already-boiling water (unsalted). At least a litre of water for each cup of rice. Let it boil for about 8 minutes. Then dump the whole thing into a strainer, let it drain for 20 seconds. (Ideally, at this point you have a kettle of boiling water standing by, and you rinse it with a couple of cups of BOILING water). Let it drain again, and dump the wet, steaming, and under-cooked rice back into the warm pot. Cover tightly and let it sit for ten minutes. Then fluff it up with a bit of room-temperature butter.
Easy! (Now if only I could learn to play the guitar...)
Aha. You're from the "boil-the-rice-in-lots-of-water" school. As opposed to the soak-it-overnight school. Or the steam-on-low school. It reminds me of eggs. So simple, yet so many opinions. Plop the egg in a frying pan with a tad of butter at medium heat. Then cover and turn off the heat--voila, five minutes later, egg over easy. Or not.
ReplyDeleteActually, I'm not as frustrated about rice as I once was. Generally I make basmati, and sometimes jasmine. I use the same technique for both but add coconut milk in the jasmine. Basically, rinse very well and soak for an hour or so. Heat up ghee or canola, saute some cardamom, cloves and cinnamon sticks (and maybe a bay leaf.) Add chopped garlic and the rice and saute till glassy. Add about 1.25 cups of chicken broth for every cup of rice.Bring to boil.
Cover tightly and reduce to minimum and wait 15 minutes. Turn off heat and wait another 15 minutes. It seems to work okay except when it doesn't work okay. Sometimes I feel that every grain is just sitting there in the pan, laughing at me.
Now playing guitar . . . that's easy!