Rice

There is something deep inside that has always known that warm rice is comfort food.  

It's not because of childhood memories.  My mother isn't a kitchen person; she is really awesome at recipes that take very little time.  We never really bonded over cooking meals together; we bonded instead over eating meals.  In fact, I think I remember sometimes having to convince my mother that it was worth it to use regular white rice instead of instant rice.  

My love of rice developed abroad.  The first place I encountered rice as a staple was when we visited my cousins in Brasil, and I was as enamored of the steak and farinha, fried plantains, and fresh coconuts as I was of the rice.  But I was young, and I was more interested in catching the fiercest waves on the beach with my cousins than in cooking.

The next time I found myself often dependent on rice was when I lived in Ghana.  Ghanaian meals usually consist of a starch, a soup, and sometimes fish.  While my favorite starch was banku, rice was a common staple.  It took a while for me to learn to eat rice with my hand; my Ghanaian brother Kwame made a lot of fun of me until I got it (mostly) right.  Eating rice (or any meal) with my Ghanaian families was a time of comfort, when I could sit around the bowl with my sisters or my mothers and aunties and really be a child come home after a long day.  

Later, when I lived in the Dominican Republic, we ate rice every day with the Hermanas.  Hermana Marhta was usually the chef, and she made the most amazing meals.  After teaching our morning class, we would arrive at the convent to find the whole place filled with the aroma of rice on the stove and meat in the oven.  Lunch was often quick, but it was filled with the Hermanas laughing and talking about neighborhood happenings (sometimes it was hard to understand; they were talking so fast!).  Then, once the dishes and towels were washed, we took a siesta, our bellies full of warm rice, before it was time to start our crazy exciting afternoon class.

I remember the day Hermana Marhta asked me to cook the rice—me—and I was so proud when it was up to nun standard!  She taught me to fry the dry rice in oil and salt while the water was boiling in a separate pot, then pour the water in when the rice was a nice golden color.  It is the most magical way to make rice.

The smell of frying rice is one of my favorite smells in the world.  It can help ease stressful days, bad moods, and even loneliness.

After helping me move and staying for a few days to help me settle into my Dallas apartment, my mother flew home on Wednesday.  The move itself went pretty smoothly, but it was a little bit stressful—as moves often are.  In particular, trying to get the internet to work was painful.  I am not exaggerating—I had spoken with eight different representatives from the internet company before giving up and asking them to send someone to help me install a new modem.  (My router was mostly quite cooperative, thank Heavens!)  Each phone conversation lasted between twenty minutes and two and a half hours (plus a bit of work off the phone).  Needless to say, I was going a little crazy!

Mom, meanwhile, was building the furniture we'd bought (because she's super hard core), helping me unpack my boxes and boxes of things, and helping me and my roommate clean the place.  I also had help from some dear friends who live nearby in Fort Worth.  The place looks lovely—to get to my room, I climb up a spiral staircase lit with a strand of white lights.  And in the study area, I have plenty of elephants.  

But it still feels strange to be alone.

The same day Mom left, Roommate also left—she's running a 200 mile relay race and won't be back until Sunday.  After driving my mom to the airport, I was craving comfort food.  So of course, I made myself a big bowl of rice and beans with tomatoes, oregano, basil, and garlic, accompanied by a half of an avocado and two figs.  The smell of the warm rice was enough to make me feel alright, and by the time I had finished eating, I really felt like this could be my home.  It isn't yet, but it could be.  

And of course I know I'm not really alone!  God has been with me every step of the way, leading me to the kindness of my friends from Fort Worth, keeping me calm as I troubleshooted with the computer, helping me and mom find pretty much everything we needed as we went shopping, giving me such a friendly roommate when I have no friends in Dallas yet, helping me find my way in the busy city streets, and even giving me comfort in warm rice.  I go to sleep with my glow-in-the dark rosary, so when I awake at night, I can still see an image of my Savior shining in the dark.  He is even more comforting than a bowl of warm rice.