Perfect Wild Rice

Late January and the gray has settled in like a permanent guest. I am making peace with it the way I always do — by cooking warm things, lighting candles, turning the apartment into a cave of light and steam. My SAD lamp sits on the counter next to the rice cooker, two technologies of survival sharing the same outlet.

I made oyakodon this week — parent-and-child bowl, the dish named for the fact that it uses both chicken (parent) and egg (child), simmered together in a dashi-soy broth and served over rice. It is one of the most comforting dishes in Japanese cooking, the ultimate donburi, and the name always makes me think about the relationship between generations — the parent and the child in the same bowl, the same broth, inseparable. I am the parent now. Miya is the child. We are in the same bowl. The broth that holds us is the kitchen, the food, the daily repetition of meals shared at the same table.

My published essay appeared in print this week — the literary magazine's winter issue, with my piece about Fumiko's kitchen on page forty-seven. I held the magazine in my hands and turned to my page and read my own words in print, in a font that was not my computer's font, on paper that someone else had chosen, and the experience was — I do not have a word for it. It was like holding a part of myself outside of myself. Like seeing your reflection in a window you did not know was there. I read it twice. I cried a little. The cat watched me with the indifference that cats bring to all human emotion, which was grounding in its way.

I mailed a copy to Fumiko. I mailed a copy to Ken. I mailed a copy to Barbara. I mailed a copy to Lin. I bought five extra copies and put them in a drawer, because having your words in print is a thing you want to keep, the way you keep Fumiko's recipe cards — not for display but for the proof that the thing existed, that the words were real, that someone said yes.

Brian said, "That is cool, babe," when I showed him. He did not read it. He will not read it. The magazine is on the kitchen counter, open to page forty-seven, and he has walked past it four times. I am noting this. I am always noting.

Oyakodon is nothing without the rice beneath it — the bowl only works because of what holds it. That felt true this week in more ways than one. While I was making oyakodon and crying over a literary magazine and noting things I will keep noting, I kept coming back to the rice: the sound of the cooker, the steam, the way a well-cooked grain of rice is both tender and distinct, never collapsing into itself. Perfect wild rice is what I want underneath everything right now — something with a little more structure, a little more heft, something that holds its shape even when everything warm is poured over it.

Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 cup wild rice, rinsed well under cold water
3 cups water or low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1 tablespoon unsalted butter or neutral oil (optional)

Instructions

Rinse the rice. Place the wild rice in a fine-mesh strainer and rinse under cold running water for about 30 seconds, stirring gently with your hand, until the water runs mostly clear.
Combine and bring to a boil. In a medium saucepan, combine the rinsed wild rice, water or broth, and salt. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring once.
Simmer, covered. Once boiling, reduce the heat to low, cover tightly, and simmer for 40 to 45 minutes. Do not lift the lid during this time. The rice is done when the grains have puffed open and are tender but still slightly chewy at the center.
Rest and fluff. Remove from heat and let stand, still covered, for 5 minutes. Uncover, add butter or oil if using, and fluff with a fork. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
Serve. Serve as a base for braised meats, saucy bowls, or alongside roasted vegetables. Leftovers keep refrigerated for up to 4 days and reheat well with a splash of water.

Nutrition (per serving)

Perfect Wild Rice — The Bowl That Holds Us