A Fool In Paradise

[PattayaOneTeam]

In a Rice Mess

“What this?” my true love asked me the other day, pointing to a freshly-purchased five-kilogram bag of rice on the kitchen bench.

“Rice, of course,” came my reply as I resisted the urge to be truly sarcastic.

“No good,” she scowled and walked from the kitchen.

No good? What does she mean ‘no good’? I trudged that heavy bag all the way home from Big C and that’s the thanks I get?

It had come to pass that our household was out of rice, a situation unconscionable in Asia. Being the big-hearted person that I am, I unilaterally decided to purchase a rice consignment the next time I was at the supermarket and thus save my petite partner from carrying such a heavy burden. I concluded it would be better for me to get a hernia than for her to be inconvenienced. In hindsight this was not my brightest idea as I’m certain that, as a youngster in her village, she was used to carrying two bags on each hip and one on her head without any problems.

So I found myself in Big C with ‘rice’ on my shopping list. For the uninitiated, let me explain large Thai supermarkets. There are only three main items they sell – cooking oil, fish sauce and rice. Everything else is just there to fill up the space. If you thought of a supermarket in terms of being a city, there would be streets of cooking oils, avenues of fish sauce and an entire suburb devoted to rice. I estimated there were about 250 options at my disposal; different brands, grades, prices, flavours and sizes. Recalling my time spent in the Philippines, there were only five options with five prices. The cheapest rice always contained small stones due to the fact it was dried on the roadside and simply swept up and bagged. The most expensive rice had been cleaned and bleached so much it was snow white and truly tasteless. The trick then was to find a happy medium and life was much simpler.

Now I was faced with so many options it was not so simple. To make matters worse, I do not come from what you would call a ‘rice-friendly’ family. As a child we did not have many rice meals as it was considered an ethnic treat and usually only served on our take-away Chinese nights. My mother did cook rice on odd occasions but, trying not to be too unkind, she was the world’s worst rice cook. She would boil it in a saucepan on an electric stove and one of two things would happen: either she would use too much water with the result being such a gluggy mess that, instead of serving it with the main meal, it would become a rice pudding dessert; or she would forget about it on the stove and the bottom inch would be burnt to a cinder. In the latter case she would scrape the unburnt rice up and serve that, giving the entire meal a smoky, charcoal flavour.

I only knew one other woman who made an ordeal out of cooking rice. She would add the rice to a saucepan and almost fill it with water. After it had boiled for a while she would test if the rice was cooked. Once satisfied, she then strained it through a colander. Then she would rinse it with cold water several times and leave it to ‘drip dry’ before serving. What a waste of time and effort.

Once I left the culinary excesses of my childhood home and started a family of my own, I actually became very adept at cooking rice in a saucepan. I would cover the rice with about a half inch of water, let it boil under medium heat with the lid off until the water almost disappeared and then turn off the heat and place the lid on to allow it to steam. The result was it never burned, never stuck together and never stuck to the pan. But that was way back in the 80’s and no longer necessary. My mother passed away at about the time electric rice cookers became popular and cheap enough so that even we could afford one. And what a godsend they are. Following the instructions there is no reason for anybody to stuff up a rice meal ever again. Pour in the rice, add the water, replace the lid, turn it on and leave it. They are foolproof.

Back to modern day Pattaya and my kitchen in particular, I quizzed my tee-ruk about her lack of enthusiasm over my rice purchase. She explained it was the wrong ‘type’ and not suitable for her cooking. I countered with the fact it was not the cheapest bag I could have bought so I assumed it had no little stones in it. She immediately defended the realm by telling me, in no uncertain terms, that Thai rice never has little stones in it. Point taken, with my apologies. I argued it looked the same as the other 249 varieties on display. No, she said, the grains were too long, they separated too easily when cooked and it was more suited to Indian food than Thai. Unconvinced, I gave her the challenge. “Fine, you cook up a batch and I’ll decide whether it is any good or not.” She turned her back in a huff, cut open the bag and fired up the rice cooker.

Living with my turtledove in Pattaya is wonderful but one thing really does annoy me; when she is right. I like to think it doesn’t happen too often but, when it does, it is downright infuriating. The cooked rice was more suited to nasi goreng or a saffron rice dish than the local cuisine. I had to accept her “I told you so” look for the rest of the day. Looking for the silver lining, the good news is ‘rice purchasing’ is now off my list of chores.

Neil Hutchinson

-- Pattaya One 2010-10-01

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