Sixth: aromas. Add bay leaf. Ginger. Cardamom. Cinnamon. Not much. A little. Like a whisper. These aromas are not decoration. They are memories. They say: “I am from India.” “I am from China.” “I am from my childhood.”
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Seventh: Stirring. After cooking, fluff the rice with a fork. Not a spoon. Not a knife. A fork. This is an act of tenderness. You don’t press. You don’t crush. You release each grain.
Eighth: Cooling. Don’t eat right away. Let it rest. 10 minutes. Let the steam evaporate. Let the flavors diffuse. Let the rice become whole.
Ninth: Serving. Not on a plate. In a clay bowl. With a pat of butter. With a pinch of salt. With a leaf of parsley. Keep it simple. Because rice doesn’t require pomp. It demands respect.
Tenth: Eating. Slowly. Not with a phone. Let each grain be an individual experience. You don’t eat the rice. You reminisce. About the first time you tried it on a trip. About how Mom cooked it on Sunday. How you sat on the floor and ate it with chopsticks because you didn’t know how to eat with a spoon.
