On Washing Rice

Have you ever read something that you pretended to understand, but really didn’t? 

The Heart of Zen Cuisine was one of the first books I bought in Japan and I learned how to wash rice from this book.  Or at least I thought I did.

The author had a beautifully soft style when describing food and cooking.  In essence, she told the reader to focus on the task at hand and immerse oneself in the process.  I would stand in front of my stainless steel sink in my new 2LDK apartment, and reaching down into the rice would focus very hard (too hard) on the grains as I swished them around in the cold water.  My back would hurt a little, because the sink was deep and the counter 4 inches lower than Western standards.  But I was not deterred, I knew I could get this concept.  I really wanted to be “Zen.”  You know, one with my rice.  But I was trying too hard.  Even then I knew it was an act.

One thing I’ve learned while living in Japan is that good things take time.  And I don’t mean it takes 2 hours to make a fabulous dinner.  I mean it takes years to get to a “destination” and the journey in itself is important.  Maybe I never got the idea of Zen, but maybe I did.

Don’t get disheartened if I tell you it probably took me another 10 years before I really was focusing on the task at hand.  Cooking is one of the most soothingly therapeutic occupations we can do when not hurried.  But so often, our minds are elsewhere as we go through the motions, not thinking of the food in front of us that we are chopping or stirring into yet another meal.  I notice my cooking students mixing dough completely disconnected from what they are doing, chatting across the counter with other students equally distracted from their tasks.  They are often completely unaware of what is happening in the bowl before them.  And now, I counsel, pour yourself into the bowl and put your love in the food.  Use a light hand with a powerful spirit. 

These days, fourteen-year-old Andrew is in charge of washing rice in our house—a task he performs with a singular lack of enthusiasm.  A couple weeks ago Tadaaki and the boys were off doing pottery, so I made the rice.  Andrew and I share a common trait:  we both tend toward the slapdash.  When under the gun, my cooking usually involves a lot of swearing, spilling and blood.  I’m no less focused, but “in the zone,” so stay out of my way.  It’s dangerous.  My food may not be “pretty,” but it definitely is “gorgeous.”  I splash the plates with vividly colored vegetables, not unlike an edible canvas.

With a singular lack of enthusiasm, I went out to the dusty storage house (where mice lurk in the corners) and scooped out some rice from a 25-kilo paper sack.  A Japanese friend once told me that a mouse had run out once when she opened a rice sack, so I’m always leery of opening the bag. 

I brought the rice into the house and set about washing it.  I felt the grains bounce off my hand as I scrubbed them.  The cool water slipped against the grains and though my fingers as the rice sent soft little currents up my arm.  I thought about how those grains got to be in my sink.  I remembered planting this very rice by hand last year—squelching around in the viscous mud.  I thought about the work it takes to grow each grain of rice.  And I felt the energy that my farmer husband Tadaaki had put in, helped along by the sun, soil and water.  I felt how beautiful each little grain was.  So simple and perfect, but so hard to produce.  Each little grain so precious.

And that night when Tadaaki took his first bite of rice, his head jerked up and asked me what had I done to make the rice taste so good.  What had been my special touch?  I told him I put love into it.

To wash rice:  Use a 2-cup Pyrex glass measuring cup and scoop up enough rice to fill (about 3 cups).  Pour rice into a rice cooker or medium saucepan.  Fill pan or cooker to top with cold water and pour off any debris or little bugs floating to the top (don’t be squeamish; better bugs than chemicals).  Scrub the rice between both of your palms and fingers to dislodge extra bran.  Fill with cold water repeatedly, pouring off the water each time until the water runs clear.  Try not to let any stray grains fall into the sink, as this will betray sloppy western behavior to rice farmer husbands.  Fill the 2-cup Pyrex measuring cup with filtered water, pour over the rice, sloshing around the sides a little to incorporate the few grains sticking to the sides of the pan.  Let sit for 30 minutes, if possible. 

Cook rice in rice cooker or in saucepan over stove:  place lid on and bring to boil (you will see the bubbles rice up to the lid), turn down to lowest flame and cook slowly until you hear little crackles on the bottom—be careful not to burn your ear!  Let sit for 5 minutes, then fluff with chopsticks to aerate (a paddle will smash the rice).  Some people call Japanese rice, “sticky,” but that’s really a misnomer.  When you place a small mound of rice on your tongue, you should be able to feel each kernel break away and roll against your mouth.

Tamago Kake Gohan

Scoop rice into a small bowl.  Break a fresh farm egg over the steaming grains and splash in a little organic soy sauce.  Mix with chopsticks.  Eat every grain of rice.  Lick the bowl if you like.

Comments

[Rodney Fong]

I was wondering if you would get around to this. Rice is one of the things in food, mainly in Asian cultures, that seems the simplest and secondary in importance, yet not. There are distinct differences on how people view rice. In Hawaii, it will vary among local Japanese, local Chinese, and Japanese and Chinese from their respective homelands. I can't speak for other Asian cultures, like Korean or Vietnamese, etc., as these are observations from my own experiences. I was never much of a rice person. We had it every day, but it was the starch for the meal, and I felt secondary to the main dish. Then I went to the mainland and experienced "Uncle Ben." I used to cringe everytime rice was served in the food service, or unfortunately even at the Eating Clubs. Living on the mainland finally made me look in the stores and realize there were many kinds of rice, suited for different things. Still, I was "uneducated" until I became involved with a Japanese national, and then ultimately married a local Japanese girl, to whom rice was extremely important. I had to relearn the art of washing rice, understanding now that the washing of the rice was as important or more than the cooking of the rice. For some, it is tedious, for others, as I said, an art. It becomes more so when you are preparing rice for another rather than for yourself (although the ultimate would be to prepare it for yourself as you would otherwise). The number of times you washed the rice, the way you swirl the grains, the rinsing off of the unwanted rice grains and residual husks, all were important on how the rice ultimately turned out. It is tedious, but also a labor of love for the people being served. I came to appreciate that, but also appreciate it now that we are eating more brown rice for health reasons, since brown rice is less time consuming to wash. But on occasion when we have guests, I am always happy that my wife enjoys my rice. Humorously, she told me how they used to praise her younger brother on how good his rice was to get him to always make it. It made me laugh, but then wonder if she was really that sincere about my rice. Love the egg-rice picture. Tamago meshi is not something that I have ventured to eat, even my wife and her family ate it rarely, but it is gorgeous to look at. Love the story, Nance.

[Phil]

Yum. Good stuff, Nance. Keep going!

[Fred Bierman]

OK, this clinches it. You are a VERY winning writer. I may yet wash my rice.

[Nancy Hachisu]

For me it is fascinating to get Rodney Fong's perspective from Hawaii. Rodney is an old friend from Stanford/Toyon/Los Arcos Eating Club days. Like Rodney, I never was a big rice fan, though we ate it seldom in my house. At my friend Melissa's they ate it with sugar and butter. That always amazed me. In Japan people say that Westerners eat bread and Japanese eat rice. When I first came here, that irritated me a bit. It seemed so oversimplified. Don't we eat pasta, potatoes and other grains? We don't really eat bread at dinner (at least in our family). But I came to understand why Japanese would say that. If you have bread, you can make a meal. And for Japanese, if they have rice, they can make a meal. The words for food and rice are interchangeable: "meishi" and "gohan." I used to think of the rice washing as tedious, but no more. I decelerate, take a deep breath and quiet my mind. These days I crave rice (that's a new thing)--it seems such a clear and clean side on these hot, humid days. Though, you can see, I still think of rice as the side dish and not the main. I'm still a Westerner through and through. And Rodney, by the way, try cooking brown rice like pasta in lots of boiling water for 30 minutes. Drain, return to pot, cover and let sit for 20 minutes before salting and fluffing with chopsticks. Uncle Ben's converted rice...takes me back. No wonder I didn't think much of rice.

[Sterling]

Im from Hawaii, and EVERYONE here washes their rice. I dont know why, its just something you are raised to do, and in turn raise your kids to do. Its tradition here. Noone questions it.

[Mora Chartrand-Grant]

I was recently introduced to your blog by an American friend who retired to Ichihara, just outside of Kyoto. What a treat to read about rice. As a Belgian-American who has a Japanese heart, I was thrilled to read about the love you put into cleaning your rice. My friends just don't get it when I gush over perfectly made rice. But they certainly love the rice I make in my Iga-mono gohan no donabe, especially the okoge. And who wouldn't love the okoge? I'm on a mission to enthusiastically educate anyone who is willing to listen that well made rice is truly a thing of beauty. You truly are a winning writer, Nancy.

[Nancy Singleton Hachisu]

Mora, your comment sent me straight to google...I never knew the rice crust at the bottom of a kama was called okoge. And you're right, it's absolutely delicious. Sometimes my husband cooks the rice in the big metal kama over a wood burning fire. Oh my god is that good, and the okoge is to die for. All of a sudden this summer, I'm craving rice a lot more than before. Maybe it's the weather.

I was an exchange student with a Francophone family in Wezembeek-Oppem outside of Brussels my last year of high school (a long time ago). My host mother bought the foodstuffs down at the square and the vegetables at the outside market. She had a warm soul satisfying-style of cooking. But then, I have a lot of great food memories from my stay in Belgium. Lovely to hear from you. Nancy