The other day, after returning from a cardio session at the gym, I opened the refrigerator door to look for something to eat. I tend to be very hungry after any type of cardiovascular exercise. Looking into the fridge, I could not find anything I wanted to eat... except some white rice. Specifically, some basmati rice. I scooped some into a low bowl and zapped it in the microwave for a minute. As the rice heated up, I continued looking into the fridge to find something to eat with my basmati rice. As the minute ticked by, I decided that I would just eat the nice hot rice sprinkled with some sea salt. Ahhhhh, heaven!
I'm not sure what it is with rice and me. I have loved it since childhood. My mother used to scream at me when I would down a couple of bowls of salted rice. She would insist I eat it with some sort of protein or vegetable. When she wanted to punish me, she would take away my rice. I would cry for hours. This fact has now become a joke for my husband. When we eat anything that includes rice, he grabs it away from me, and says, "Okay, go ahead and cry." He gets a good laugh. I plan his death at that point.
Anyway, back to the gloriously warm and tender kernels of white goodness... I love rice. I could eat rice every day of my life. I love it with food. I love it without. I love it short-grained and glutinous. I love it long-grained and separate. I can eat it parboiled. I can eat it in risotto. I can down some good paella. I love it when it is sticky with coconut milk. The one way I probably don't like rice is when it is sweet. Like in pudding. Nope. Keep it plain or savory. Sprinkle some soy sauce on it. I can eat the vinegar-seasoned sushi rice by the buckets. I love it with some wonderful Indian curry. What is Chinese stir-fry without rice? I can mix it into soups and stews. Chicken Adobo is made to be eaten with rice. Fry it up with some roast pork. Ahh... warm heavenly whiteness. Just you, some salt, a large bowl, and a spoon. Nothing else needed. Later.