Pineapple Rice Pudding

The end of January. The third January since Marcus died, the first January since Bernice. The grief stacks rather than replacing itself—you don't get used to one loss before the next arrives, you learn to carry multiple losses simultaneously, the way you carry grocery bags: one on each arm, balanced, managing the weight, knowing exactly how much you can carry and adjusting when you can't. I am carrying a great deal. I am upright. I am at the stove. That is the report.

CJ called midweek to talk about Shanice, about his certainty, about where things are going. He is thinking about a ring. Not asking my permission—he didn't need to ask, he had given me the information and the information was sufficient—but thinking out loud with his mother, the way Simms children think out loud with me, because I am the kitchen and the kitchen is where things get thought through out loud. I said, "What is she like when things are hard?" He said, "She gets quiet and she gets steady. Like she's going into a different mode." I said, "Good. That's the one you want. Find someone who gets steady when things are hard." He said, "I found her." I said, "I know. I can tell. Go get the ring."

I made a banana cream pie this week. Not banana pudding—different, a proper pie with a pastry crust and a true pastry cream and fresh banana slices and the whipped cream on top done properly, high and proud and not apologetic. I don't make banana cream pie often because it requires more steps than banana pudding and banana pudding is better and I don't usually have time for the steps, but this week I had the time and I wanted the steps, wanted the discipline of them, the particular pleasure of a technique that requires attention. The pie was right. Calvin ate two slices and said, "This is better than the pudding." I said, "Calvin Simms, it is not." He said, "Loretta, I live here." He was right. This week it was better than the pudding. I will not say so again.

I said banana cream pie was about wanting the steps, and I meant it—but the pie is gone now, and what I keep thinking about is the principle: some weeks you need a dessert that asks you to pay attention, that rewards the discipline of doing each thing in order and not rushing it. This pineapple rice pudding is that kind of recipe. It is creamy and a little tropical and it requires that you stay close to the pot, which is exactly where I want to be right now—close to the pot, stirring, thinking about rings and steadiness and the particular weight of being upright.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 40 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

1 cup long-grain white rice
2 cups water
2 cups whole milk
1 can (13.5 oz) coconut milk
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 can (20 oz) crushed pineapple, drained (reserve 2 tablespoons juice)
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Whipped cream or toasted coconut flakes, for serving (optional)

Instructions

Cook the rice. Combine rice and water in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, then reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer for 15 minutes, until water is absorbed.
Add the milk and sugar. Pour in the whole milk and coconut milk. Stir in the sugar and salt. Increase heat to medium and cook uncovered, stirring frequently, for 18–22 minutes, until the mixture thickens to a creamy, porridge-like consistency. Do not walk away—it requires your attention and rewards it.
Incorporate the pineapple. Remove the pan from heat. Stir in the drained crushed pineapple, reserved pineapple juice, vanilla extract, and cinnamon. The pudding will continue to thicken as it stands.
Rest and serve. Let the pudding rest for 5 minutes before serving warm, or transfer to individual bowls or a large dish and refrigerate for at least 2 hours to serve cold. Both ways are right depending on the week you’ve had.
Finish. Top with whipped cream or toasted coconut flakes if you want something high and proud on top. It is not apologetic either way.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pineapple Rice Pudding — When the Steps Are the Point