Coconut Rice Pudding

Home from Kodiak. The post-wedding glow. The family has grown again — Suki is officially Santos now, the last name added to the roster, the family expanding the way families do: one wedding at a time, one lumpia shipment at a time, one beach ceremony at a time. Joseph is married. My baby brother, the fisherman, the boy who brought me dead starfish, is married to a marine biologist on an island in the middle of the Pacific, and the married-ness suits him the way the ocean suits him — naturally, completely, as if the state of being married were the state of being he was always supposed to occupy.

Lourdes is satisfied. The satisfaction is visible — she walks differently after a Santos wedding, straighter, taller, the posture of a woman whose life project (her children) is proceeding according to plan. Mark: married. Joseph: married. Angela: married. Grace: single. Three out of four. In Lourdes's mind, the project is seventy-five percent complete. The remaining twenty-five percent (me) is a work in progress that she has not abandoned, despite the brief matchmaking hiatus, despite the fact that I am thirty-four and writing a book and enrolled in graduate school and living a life that is full in ways that do not require a husband, in ways that Lourdes is learning to see, slowly, with the particular slowness of a woman who loves her daughter and is revising her definition of completion.

I made adobo. The post-wedding adobo. The coming-home adobo. The garlic sizzled in my apartment, in my kitchen, in the space that is mine, and the being-mine was enough. The being-mine is always enough. The being-mine is the recipe.

The adobo was for the night I got back — garlic in oil, the smell of home asserting itself in my apartment before my suitcase was even unpacked. But the next evening, quieter, the wedding glow still warm on my skin, I wanted something slower and sweeter, something that felt like the particular peace of being alone in your own kitchen after days of beautiful, joyful noise. Coconut rice pudding is what I made: rice and coconut milk and sugar, stirred low and slow, steam rising, no audience, no occasion. Just mine.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 cup jasmine or short-grain white rice, rinsed
1 can (13.5 oz) full-fat coconut milk
2 cups whole milk (or additional coconut milk for dairy-free)
1/4 cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon, plus more for serving
Toasted coconut flakes, for garnish (optional)
Fresh mango slices, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Combine the base. In a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the rinsed rice, coconut milk, whole milk, granulated sugar, brown sugar, and salt. Stir to combine and bring to a gentle boil over medium heat, stirring occasionally to prevent the rice from settling and sticking.
Simmer low and slow. Once the mixture reaches a boil, reduce heat to low. Cook uncovered, stirring frequently, for 30 to 35 minutes, until the rice is very tender and the mixture has thickened to a creamy, porridge-like consistency. It will continue to thicken as it cools, so pull it off the heat while it still looks slightly loose.
Finish with flavor. Remove from heat and stir in the vanilla extract and cinnamon. Taste and adjust sugar if needed.
Serve warm or chilled. Spoon into bowls and serve warm, or press a piece of plastic wrap directly onto the surface and refrigerate for up to 3 days. Serve cold pudding with a splash of coconut milk stirred in to loosen it. Top with a pinch of cinnamon, toasted coconut flakes, and fresh mango if using.

Nutrition (per serving)

Coconut Rice Pudding — Coming Home to Yourself