The Best Rice Pudding.

People ask me for this recipe more than any other, which is surprising because it's the simplest dish, and everyone has their own version, and they're all delightful. Still, everyone who tries this one says it is the best rice pudding they have ever had. They get excited about it, and rice pudding is honestly not usually an exciting dessert. 

Three easy steps make this so rich and delicate you will want it for lunch boxes and fancy dinner parties both. First, use almost no rice. Give it room to swell, be tender to the bite, and swim around in the milky pudding. Too much rice and it is dense and heavy.  Second- salt the rice while it is swelling in the simmering water- you won't taste the salt, but you'll taste rice, and a balanced flavor with the sweet milk. Third- add heavy cream at very end. It makes all the difference (and there is so much water in the rice that it will not be overwhelmingly rich).

We will need:

4 T/ 40 g short-grain rice- like sushi rice or risotto rice

1/8- 1/4 tsp salt

450 ml/ 2 C water

1 liter/ 4 C whole milk

150-200 g/ 3/4 - 1 C sugar (use the lesser amount if you will be making the syrup)

200 ml/ scant 1 C heavy cream

60 g/ 1/2 C cornstarch

a vanilla bean, or good vanilla extract (easy to make your own!) to taste

Put the rice and the salt in a large pot with the water- it will look like too little rice and way too much water, don't worry- and simmer on low heat until the rice swells and absorbs all the water. The rice should be as full and soft as possible, but without falling apart.

This takes 20 - 30 minutes. Add 3/4 of the milk, and all of the sugar and simmer until it is quite hot. Meanwhile blend the rest of the cold milk with the cornstarch (this is called a "slurry"). Add this to the hot sweet milk and rice, whisking gently all the while, until it comes to a full boil and thickens. Pour in the cream, blending gently:

Add vanilla to taste:

and pout into individual bowls, or one large one. Serve warm, or cool, or chilled, with cinnamon if you like.

But, if you want to turn it into something a little more exotic, Try this:

200 g/ 1 C sugar

1/2 C water

rose water to taste- 1-2 Tablespoons 

a spoonful of corn syrup or glucose if you have it (prevents crystallization)

a drop of red or pink coloring, or a few drops of pomegranate juice

a few pistachios for garnish 

Pour the sugar into the middle of a pot, and surround it with the water (so that no sugar crystals cling to the sides of the pan). Bring to a boil gently, add the corn syrup, and then the rose water, and the faintest toothpick dab (I color a shot of syrup and add it back to control the intensity) of color or a drop of pomegranate juice.

The delicate color of the syrup is beautiful against the snowy cream, and the milky richness of the pudding holds up against the exotic perfume. A couple of green pistachios set it off.

Note: When I am serving the pudding with the rose water syrup, I sometimes flavor it with half a bay leaf rather than vanilla- it gives an elusive masculine perfume, and plays up the distinctly feminine fragrance of the syrup. Some crushed cardamon pods will give this simple pudding some exotic mystery.

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Sleek and Modern, Totally Conformist Whole-Grain Bars with Chocolate.

We don't have a nutrition-obsessed home. Living in Greece with its luminous produce and jumping fish, generous milking goats and sheep, and honey bees, and olive trees- it takes care of itself, and we are grateful for it. I have people in my life who spend most of their lives outside of the kitchen though, and just slip in during study breaks or between making films. They are not always here for a full-course meal. They want a treat, and I want them well-fed.

Why all the "Sleek and Modern" hype for this simple, humble recipe? Aesthetically, the 70's were unfortunate culinary era. In any counter-cultural artistic/intellectual community, food was shaped first by politics, then by health- two praiseworthy benchmarks. But it stopped there- delight had no part of the agenda. Food was not cuisine; it was fuel for the revolution. Children, rebellious and righteous by nature, can embrace the political- the grape boycot, for instance, was something I completely got. The nutritional is a neutral factor- they usually are not very interested in it one way or the other. Delight though is happily not negotiable for children- they must have joy. Words like "carob" and "granola" bring this era* of the soybean casserole back. (These are not a myth- I actually ate them. In fact, once, at an early '70's potluck in Buffalo- a very politicized community- there were eleven soybean casseroles. Nothing else. Everyone has a good laugh about it.) 

This is why I cannot bring myself to call these granola bars, although I am sure that is what they are. They are also wholesome, delicious and, hopefully after four decades, free of cultural baggage. It really is a good recipe- ideal for young academics, revolutionaries on the go, informal tea time, and picnics to see the fall leaves.

We will need:

150 g/ 2/3 C butter or oil 

300 g/ 3 C oats

35 g/ 1/2 C wheat germ

50 g/ 1/2 C oat bran

150 g 1 C almonds, roughly chopped

50 g/ generous 1/2 C dried coconut

a large handful of cocoa puffed rice cereal, if you have it around

2/3 C / honey

50 g/ 1/4 C brown sugar

1/2 tsp. salt (flat tasting without it)

50 g/ 2/3 C (sifted) cocoa powder

some vanilla

The nuts, coconut, wheat germ, oat bran, cocoa puffed rice and cocoa powder are all optional- leave out whatever you don't want or don't have. Really you just need the oats for the recipe to work. If you do leave lots out, add some oats to make up for the missing bulk- otherwise the bars may seem too sweet. If you leave out the cocoa, add cinnamon, nutmeg, and maybe some dried fruit- whatever suits your taste.

Heat the oven to 150 C/ 300 F, and line a baking pan with non-stick paper. Ours was 25 x 28 cm- 11" x 12"

1. Warm the butter or oil in your largest skillet and add the oats, coconut, and nuts. Over medium heat and stirring carefully, let them toast for 5-6 minutes. They will turn golden but should not brown. Turn them out into a large bowl, toss with the sifted cocoa powder, and add the wheat germ and oat bran.

The hard, smooth surface of the almond slips around under the blade of a straight knife-
 a serrated bread knife grabs them, making for much easier chopping.

2. Meanwhile, boil the honey, brown sugar, and salt together for 5 minutes. It bubbles up a lot. This is really, really hot- not something children ought to help with. Add some vanilla.

3. Pour the syrup over the dry ingredients in the bowl, stirring with a wooden spoon to make sure the syrup is evenly distributed throughout. After it cools a moment you can mix with your hands, making sure no dry ingredients are left unmoistened in the bottom of the bowl

4. Pat lightly into the pan and bake for 15-20 minutes- they get harder the longer you bake them.

5. As soon as they come out of the oven, score them into bars, then let them cool before taking them out of the pan. They are difficult to cut neatly once cool.

Whatever you call them, these are delicious. And they come from quite an era. It was an exciting time to grow up, full of compassionate, impassioned ideology. I am grateful for it, and hope to have retained the best of it. I am also, without irony, grateful for the relative aesthetic deprivation of the era- certainly it shaped my devotion to the pleasures of the kitchen. This recipe, if you like, is a little of both.

*I have to say here that my mother, Charlene, really did make some delicious things- Enchiladas with chicken, Tamale pie, Beef Stew with mushrooms and tiny green peas, Dutch babies, and most memorably of all Hamburgers on french bread with Roquefort dressing and crisp bacon whenever my father was away at a College Art Association conference (how I looked forward  to them!). These were bright warm lights glowing in the grey culinary landscape defined by the era. Also, my Godmother Lynn's Arroz con Camarones and her fabulous Black Beans were anachronistically delicious, and remain among my very favorite dishes.

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Rustic Oatmeal Crackers- A Glass of Wine Does Not Make a Meal...

That's a pink lady apple on the plate, 

along with a couple slices of supermarket brie.

...unless you have a cracker that is as sweet and savory and hearty and delicious as this- then add an apple and a slice of cheese, and your glass of wine- or a cup of tea- and lunch is rarely lovelier. 

During the holiday season it is a temptation to make the most lavish versions of the most lavish things. But true spoiling is in the details- it is in the most lavish version of the simplest things.

This is the first of several crackers I would like to share. They are unlike anything from a box (even a rustically elegant, very expensive box), and are the most straightforward to make (no rolling pin!).Those of you who don't live in Greece can buy good crackers (their role here is limited), but that makes homemade ones all the more special.

Here's what we'll need:

225 g/1 C butter 

200 g/ 1 C sugar 

120 g/ 1 C whole wheat pastry flour

10 ml/ 2 teaspoons salt

5 ml/ 1 teaspoon baking soda, dissolved in-

240 ml/ 1 C warm water

500-600 g/ 5-6 C rolled oats

Yes it does look like a quite a bit of butter and sugar, especially for a cracker. But consider it makes an astonishing large batch, and the resulting cracker has just a whisper of sweetness to underscore the natural sweetness of whole grain, and just enough butter richness to make them nice enough to eat on their own, without cheese or fruit.

Don't be tempted to switch out the butter
 for some less luscious fat-
the wholesome dairy flavor  flatters them.

Cream the butter and sugar together, blend in the flour and the salt, and add some of the oats:

then some of the water/baking soda mixture, then more oats, the rest of the water, then the rest of the oats.

It comes together quite easily- no need to overwork the dough. Pinch pieces the size of a small walnut and roll them into balls, spacing them evenly on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.

The balls of dough can be close together-
just leave enough space to flatten them.
They'll puff up a bit, but not spread.

Squash them with a small-bottomed, heavy glass:

The glass can be dipped in flour if it sticks to the dough.

A smallish glass gives us flat thin middles with thicker ragged edges- a nice look, and the part that bakes fastest is thickest as well so they bake very evenly. 

Put two sheets at once onto a moderate oven- 170 c/360 f, and switch racks after 15 minutes. they may need another ten minutes or so. they will have browned on the edges but the centers will have taken very little color. Do not bake them until they are firm to the touch, or they will be too dry. There will be a little give under the press of a finger, but that is only while they are still warm- they will crisp up into crackers as they cool.

This makes 80 very generous crackers. They are thick (for a cracker) and substantial in texture-but by no means hard, with a delicate, ideally balanced flavor. You'll be glad of the extras- a lavish version of a simple thing is perfect for sharing in a season of other less restrained pleasures.

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