I Burned the Rice

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I often burn the rice.

Burned rice

It’s an unfortunate habit I have. Here’s how it usually goes down:

I’m making sushi rice. My sushi rice preparation technique, adapted from a recipe by Nobu Matsuhisa, involves bringing the rice to a boil, cooking it for five minutes at a regular temperature, then blasting it even more briefly with high heat, and then turning it off and letting it steam for 15 minutes. Where I go astray is usually in the last step, where I turn the heat on high, and instead of waiting the minute it’s supposed to take, wander off to do something else. (For example, the idea for this post came as I was working on another post when I suddenly smelled the rice burning.)

The good news is, I do usually smell it burning before the whole thing is a write-off.

One of my best food memories as a child was ordering three-flavor sizzling rice soup at the nearby Twin Dragon Chinese restaurant. The waiter would come to the table with the steaming pot of soup, the scent of shrimp and abalone almost intoxicating, and drop in the hot, puffed fried rice, which would sizzle like live electricity, before scooping it into individual bowls.

I used to purchase squares of dried rice at the Chinese market to make my own sizzling rice soup at home. And then one day, I burned the rice and had an “aha” moment.

Facing my pot of burned rice, if I have not let it go too long, I am usually able to scoop out the unburned rice from the center and sides — which, other than a distinct smokiness which is not altogether unpleasant, is perfectly cooked — and am left with a crisped, browned crust along the sides and bottom that typically lifts out neatly in a few large pieces. And then it is just me, the blackened pan and the steel wool.

Oven-dried rice crust chunks

While I am building arm muscle mass trying to salvage my burned pan, I place the crusted rice pieces in the oven at a low temperature — say 160-180 degrees — and let them dry out completely. They can then be kept in a plastic bag in the cupboard for months, ready to be dropped into hot oil and puffed at a whim! (And who hasn’t experienced that kind of a whim from time to time?)

So what do I do with my puffed rice nuggets besides sizzling rice soup?

If I’m feeling in an Italian mood, I’ll make my crispy shrimp risotto fake-out, a kind of reverse risotto using puffed crisp rice with sauced, sautéed shrimp. I’ve done a nice ahi ceviche with caramelized onion salsa, served on puffed rice. One of my favorite go-tos for a party appetizer is puffed rice with spicy tuna and micro greens. And just recently, I caramelized the rice in the style of Thai mee krob noodles, and served it with a poached shrimp and scallion salad (recipe below).

Thai shrimp with crispy mee krob rice

If you use a rice cooker or prefer to not burn your rice (a good habit), you can always purchase the rice squares at the Chinese market. Or here’s how to make the squares at home with regular cooked (unburned) rice.

Enjoy!

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Thai shrimp with crispy mee krob rice
serves 4

8 large shrimp, cleaned, de-shelled and butterflied
4 green onions, thinly sliced lengthwise
2 tbsp. chopped peanuts
1/4 cup finely julienned carrots
1 tbsp. chiffonaded basil
2 tbsp. Thai fish sauce
4 tbsp. sugar
4 tbsp. lime juice
2 tbsp. ketchup
4 large pieces dried cooked rice (or rice squares)
1 cup vegetable oil

Mix together 1 tbsp. fish sauce, 2 tbsp. sugar and 2 tbsp. lime juice until incorporated. Toss together onions, carrots and basil.

In a saucepan, heat 1 cup water over high heat until it begins to boil. Add shrimp, turn off heat and cover. Let shrimp steam for 2 minutes, then remove from water and set aside.

Heat oil in a wok or saucepan over medium high until a grain of your dried rice sizzles and puffs in the oil. Drop the rice chunks into the oil, a few at a time, and fry, turning once or twice, until puffed and crispy. Remove to paper towels to drain.

Heat remaining fish sauce, sugar and lime juice in a pan over medium-high heat until it begins to bubble. Stir in ketchup, and cook until it is thick and glazy. Toss in your puffed rice pieces, and flip in the pan to coat with the sauce. Once rice is thoroughly coated, remove from heat and set aside.

Toss green onion salad with the lime/fish sauce dressing.

To plate: place a piece of the puffed rice (or if it has broken up, a couple pieces) on each of four plates. Top each with a steamed shrimp, and a quarter of the green onion salad. Sprinkle chopped peanuts over the top and serve.

Simplicity

A wet and drizzly morning of the sort we’ve been having lately, the usually dry stream that crosses our property burbling happily, the canyon veiled in gray and exploding in every shade of green, brought me back to a memory:

A child, a younger me, dripping in the rain — no umbrella, no boots, socks and shoes wet — setting leaves into the gutter and chasing them down the street. Joy: unrestrained, unmannered, untethered.

Simplicity.

rscz2194

In the kitchen, after a previous evening’s West/East mashup of spaghetti ai ricci di mare, Venetian carpaccio, spicy fried tofu and three different kinds of sushi, I craved simplicity on the plate, too. More

The Culinary Hug

My wife will, on occasion, get on my case about coddling my 13-year-old son, Flynn, with food. He’ll ask me to fix him a bowl of cereal, or put the butter on his waffles and cut them into bite-size pieces.

“He’s old enough to be doing that himself,” she’ll say. “When Kristen’s boys were that age….”

Teaching the boy about eating at the bar

Teaching the boy about eating at the bar

Her point of reference is inevitably her sister, Kristen’s, boys: “When Kristen’s boys were that age, they could [INSERT REMARKABLE ACHIEVEMENT HERE].” It would seem as if Kristen’s kids could build themselves log cabins and kill and skin their dinner before they could crawl.

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Skinny Girls Roadshow LIVE from Paris — A Tale of Two Cities

It took me a little while to get my bearings in Paris. It’s a city I know well — I’ve spent a lot of time here — but after the easy, laid-back intimacy of Italy and the French Rhone-Alpes, Paris was a jarring awakening.

Arc de Triomphe, Bastille Day

Arc de Triomphe, Bastille Day

The entre, after two weeks of meandering country roads, was driving the rental car into the heart of the Marais to drop the family and luggage off at the Airbnb, and then trying to navigate my way along the frenetic Rue du Rivoli to the subterranean Hertz offices at the swirling mayhem of the Louvre Carousel. More

Thankful

I was sitting in the dentist chair a few mornings ago, trying to find my Zen place as the hygienist plunged Medieval devices of torture into my mouth. I was feeling thankful that I only had to do this twice a year. Although these days, all things in the world considered, there are a lot of worse places I could be.

Saltimbocca-style turkey

Saltimbocca-style turkey

“Maybe if you re-branded teeth cleaning as a kind of ‘spa day’ for your mouth,” I said to the dentist, “people would be less apprehensive about it. You could call it a ‘denticure’.”

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