Today I finally made something I've been thinking of making since my daughter gave me "Salt Fat Acid Heat" for Christmas two years ago. I'm kind of slow to take on new challenges and this one defied most of what I know about cooking rice.
I made Samin Nosrat's "Persian-ish Rice with Tahdig." Nosrat writes "Every Persian has a special relationship with rice, and particularly with tahdig, the crispy crust by which every Iranian maman’s culinary prowess is measured." She created this version when she had some leftover rice, and I'm guessing it's much simpler than the traditional recipe. Even so, having grown up cooking rice in the way my mom and grandma taught me, this was nerve-wracking.
First, a bit of background: On a recent episode of the KCRW Good Food, Evan Kleiman, host of the podcast, talks with chefs and other experts on the topic of rice -- how we cook it, how we grow, cook, and eat it. She began with a conversation with Dr. Amber Spry, Assistant Professor of African and African American Studies and Politics at Brandeis University. On the first day of "Identity Politics in the United States," Dr. Spry uses a "ricebreaker" to begin a conversation about cultural identity. She asks her students to answer the question, "How does your family cook rice?" Dr. Spry says that answers range widely, leading to discussions of how one's background impacts one's perspectives.
It was a fascinating piece on one of my favorite foods. Like potatoes in some families, rice was a mainstay in our meals as my brothers and I were growing up. Our dad spent most of his first 20 years in China, where his parents and great uncle and aunt were missionaries with then-General Conference Mennonite Church. During that time, they learned how to cook and use rice in their meals.
My mom grew up on a farm, where they raised potatoes, among other things, so rice must have been a bit of a mystery when she met my dad. But in my memory, rice was always there. Neither my mom nor my grandma used a rice cooker in those days; it was cooked at a ratio of 2:1 (2 c. water, 1 c. rice) in a plain old pot. So the day I found my mom in her kitchen with a rice cooker, I was stymied. After she died and we cleaned out her kitchenware, I held on to that rice cooker for a few years. I used it once and eventually sold it.
Since those days of eating mostly white rice (short grain for sticky rice, long grain for drier grains, I learned to vary cooking styles with brown rice, wild rice, black rice, quick-cooking rice (gasp) but always, always in a saucepan on a stovetop.
Hearing how others cook and use rice is and introduction to how culture and background play a large part in our perspectives on life. It inspired me to experiment more with other kinds of rice and cooking methods; thus, my exploration into Persian rice.
So after re-reading the recipe for about the 50th time, I threw caution to the wind, rinsed the rice five times, added salt to the water, and held my breath. Ignoring my that all-too familiar question of "what if" I repeated Samin's final note: "And if for any reason your rice doesn’t slip out in one piece, do what every Persian grandmother since the beginning of time has done: scoop out the rice, chip out the tahdig in pieces with a spoon or metal spatula, and pretend you meant to do it this way. No one will be the wiser."
I even took a chance and made only half the recipe and even though I made my holes a little too big, it turned out perfect. We were both impressed!
Before (left) and after the flip (below.)
After the flip (left) and before (below)
