Curried Rice Pilaf

The dental office called. They're reopening. August 3rd. New protocols: masks (always), face shields (always), enhanced PPE between patients, temperature checks, the works. They want me back. I want to go back. I want to clean teeth and earn a paycheck and be Sarah-the-hygienist instead of Sarah-the-everything. But going back means leaving Elijah. Leaving a six-week-old baby with Mama, who is magnificent but also in her sixties with arthritis and high blood pressure, during a pandemic, while the baby is still breastfeeding, while the baby's immune system is brand new and the world is full of a virus that nobody understands yet.

The math: I need the money. The unemployment helped. Terrence's contributions helped. The savings helped. But the gap is real and growing and the dental office paycheck is the only thing that closes it. The math doesn't care about my feelings. The math says: go back to work. The feelings say: stay with the baby. The math wins because the math always wins because the feelings can't pay rent.

Mama said: "I'll take him. Every day. I took Kevin and Amber and you. I can take one more." She said it like it was nothing. Like adding a newborn to her daily care was equivalent to adding a side dish to dinner. But I saw her face — the determination underneath the casualness, the iron will of a woman who will NOT let her grandchild go to a stranger when she is alive and capable and ten minutes away. Lorraine Mitchell will take the baby. The debate is over. It was over before it started. Lorraine Mitchell makes decisions the way she makes cornbread: quickly, without sugar, and without apology.

I started pumping. Building a freezer stash. The pump sounds like a robot having a conversation with itself: whirr-click-whirr-click-whirr. I pump at 6 AM, at noon, at 10 PM. The bags go in the freezer, labeled with dates, like a library for breast milk. Chloe saw the bags and said: "That's a LOT of milk." It is. It's approximately four gallons of effort and hormones and the desperate determination of a woman who is going back to work and wants her baby to have the best even when the best requires a machine that sounds like a fax transmission from 1997.

I made fried rice — the leftover kind, the clean-out-the-fridge kind, the recipe that is more philosophy than recipe. Whatever vegetables you have, whatever protein exists, rice from yesterday, soy sauce, an egg, a hot pan. Fried rice is the meal of transition. The meal that takes what was and turns it into what is. I'm in transition. From home to work. From three months of pandemic cocoon to the world outside. From the woman who held the baby all day to the woman who holds the baby in the mornings and evenings and trusts the hours in between to Lorraine Mitchell and the yellow blanket and the grace of God.

I said fried rice, but what I made was really closer to a pilaf — rice cooked slow in broth with curry and aromatics, warm and golden and a little earthy, the kind of thing that fills a kitchen with a smell that says someone is taking care of things here. After I finished pumping that evening, labeled the bags, and put them in the freezer next to the others, I needed that smell. I needed to stand at the stove and stir something simple and feel, for ten minutes, like I had a handle on at least one thing. This Curried Rice Pilaf was that thing. It’s become my go-to for the nights when the math and the feelings are still fighting it out — because it doesn’t ask much of you, and it gives you a lot back.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups long-grain white rice
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 small yellow onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 teaspoons curry powder
1/4 teaspoon ground turmeric
1/4 teaspoon ground cumin
2 3/4 cups low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/3 cup frozen peas (optional, stirred in at the end)
2 tablespoons fresh parsley or cilantro, chopped (for garnish)

Instructions

Sauté the aromatics. Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the diced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 1 minute more, until fragrant.
Toast the rice and spices. Add the rice to the pan and stir to coat in the butter. Cook for 2 minutes, stirring frequently, until the rice smells slightly nutty. Sprinkle in the curry powder, turmeric, and cumin, and stir for 30 seconds to bloom the spices.
Add the broth. Pour in the broth and add the salt and pepper. Stir once to combine, then bring to a boil over medium-high heat.
Simmer covered. Reduce heat to low, cover with a tight-fitting lid, and cook undisturbed for 17–18 minutes, until the liquid is absorbed and the rice is tender.
Rest and fluff. Remove from heat and let the pilaf rest, covered, for 5 minutes. If using frozen peas, scatter them over the rice before covering to rest — the residual heat will warm them through.
Serve. Fluff the rice gently with a fork, taste and adjust salt, and garnish with fresh parsley or cilantro. Serve warm as a side or a simple main with a fried egg on top.

Nutrition (per serving)

Curried Rice Pilaf — The Meal That Turns What Was Into What Is