I am being all homey in my new flat and my particular delight is buying in bulk. The opposite of my uncharacteristically Mother Hubbard life of the past year or so. Five litres of fabric conditioner stashed beneath the sink, pasta by the kilogram, family-sized shampoo... and now a 5 kg sack of Jasmine rice!
I delight in the feeling of plenty. Of knowing that if all goes wrong there will always be rice and nam pla at the ready. Most of all, I like dipping a cup in the rice sack; it reminds me of the grain bin from which I used to feed my chickens when I was 17. To pour rice out of a bag into a cup now seems so very mean and ungenerous an act.
Amazingly, I hadn't even thought about how the rice would taste until last night when I had some salmon to use. It turns out the rice is that gorgeous, fluffy, slightly sticky stuff that doesn't go to mush despite my lackadaisical handling of it. I was genuinely astonished it was so good.
It was one of those days when I could only cope with minimal cooking - and washing up. I thinly sliced a small fennel bulb and dressed it with a tiny dash of virgin olive oil and wine vinegar (no citrus in the pantry: Mother Hubbard). The salmon I lopped into fat chunks and bunged in a milk pan with a little oil and a finely chopped clove of garlic; this cooked gently and slowly, then I chucked in two tbsp sour cream. I know, very odd! But everything was served with the astonishing rice, on a summer evening, with contentment pervading, and it really couldn't have been nicer.
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