I've been deeply, crazily, compulsively committed to brown rice for a few months now; I have it for breakfast, lunch and dinner; when I go to work, I take it with me in a lunchbox so I won't have to ingest any evil white rice (save when it is served in sushi). My commitment to brown rice was severely tested today, however.
My mother, the one who wakes up an hour before me to cook me brown rice every morning, has taken off to the Silk Road for two weeks. So poor little pampered me had to make myself get out of bed at 6.30am today to cook the rice with what I thought was an idiotproof AMC stainless steel pot. Put rice in the pot, add a bowl of water, put the pot on the stove for 40 minutes: How hard could it be, right? Wrong. Now I'm no good with boiling pots when steam starts to lift their lids a little and makes them rattle. It makes me nervous. This morning, there was no more rattling after 20 minutes. The silence, if I was less of an idiot, should have set off all sorts of alarm bells: Has the pot run out of steam? Of water? Do I add another bowl of water? Instead, I said, "Good, let me read the paper in peace."
By the time I smelled what could have been burnt coffee beans, it was too late. I've since chipped three nails trying to clean the pot, which is still covered with crisps and craters.
1 comment:
You know I'm clueless when it comes to the kitchen. I thought we're supposed to soak the brown rice for a few hours before cooking?
Or is that just how my dad does it?
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