The Miraculous Rice Cooker

Cooking rice in Asia is a lot like grilling burgers in America - a person is seemingly born with the ability to do it, and no one dares speak up if he or she doesn't actually know how.

In America, preparing rice was simple. I just read what Uncle Ben had to say on the back of his box, although I still often managed to turn it into soup or leave an inch or two burned on the bottom of the pan.

Rice is a staple of my diet, but I had no idea how difficult it would be for me to prepare it at home. It's not that rice is hard to find in Singapore. The options are limitless - long grain, medium grain, short grain, white rice, premium quality fragrant rice, brown rice, mixed rice, red rice, jasmine rice, basmati rice, parboiled rice, calasparra rice, calrose rice, glutinous rice, calmochi rice, unpolished rice. There's rice from India and Thailand and China and Australia and you name it.

I've never seen so much rice in Singapore, but all the rice from all over the world shares one trait in common - there are no directions how to cook it. This is Asia. Everyone just knows how.

For the first month, with the exception of dining out, I had to pass on the food I love so much. I was too embarrassed to ask how Singaporeans inherited the rice-cooking gene, while I had to rely on a list of step-by-step instructions.

I turned to pasta, which I also enjoy, but like many items in Singapore, pasta isn't cheap, often selling for more than $2 a bag. Aside from price, I just didn't want to be defeated by a grain.

Over this past month, the members of my department have been quite patient with my endless cultural questions, especially Joseph and Nora, who are both from Singapore.

So, this week, I finally worked up the courage to ask them how I, too, could learn to cook rice. I expected a long, complicated series of instructions, or a reference to some kind of family secret, but Nora just smiled and said, "Aw, the rice cooker."

The rice cooker.

I'd seen them in every store in Singapore, but I assumed they were just for restaurants or families of five. Certainly, I didn't need one, until I couldn't crack the rice code.

Joseph generously offered to lend me an extra one from home. Yesterday, I set it up and decided there was no time like the present to conquer my rice phobia. Off to the store I went, thinking I'd play it safe and purchase a bag of white rice, since it's normally simple to cook and fast.

I went as far as picking the bag up and walking toward the cashier. Then, I got cocky, spotting a bag of brown rice, my old nemesis. I'd ruined many a pan with my foe.

Just start off slow. Work up to the big leagues. Get a victory under your belt first.

But I wanted to see what my cooker was capable of doing. I went for it all, buying brown, unpolished, Thai rice.

Joseph told me that the rice-cooking process was easy. All I had to do was put in one cup of water per one cup of rice and leave the rest to the machine. Sounds relatively straightforward, but you must understand that a Singaporean's recipe for the correct mixture of water and rice is a lot like a barbeque aficionado's recipe for BBQ sauce. There's a whole lot of opinions. In Singapore, the internet is full of debate about just the right rice/water combination.

However, I stuck with Joseph's advice and went one for one.

The minutes passed. I knew that brown rice takes a lot longer, but I assumed that I did something wrong because the machine continued to run, not automatically stopping, as Joseph told me it would do when the rice was finished.

I fought the temptation to open the lid. I waited, assuming that the bottom of the cooker would be coated with a thick blanket of burned rice. I began to think how I would tell Joseph that I had ruined his machine.

Then, after about an hour, the machine beeped, announcing it was time to open the lid. I hesitated. If I failed, I'd have to go back to the $2 pasta, hanging my head in shame.

Slowly, I popped open the lid. No smoke, but surely I'd done something wrong. I gently plunged my wooden spoon inside and moved around a few grains. Nothing charred. Nothing stuck to the bottom. Just perfect rice.

The rice cooker managed to do what I had not been able to accomplish over years of trying - cooking brown rice to perfection.

Last night, I read that the seemingly uncomplicated rice cooker is actually a quite sophisticated kitchen appliance, detecting the moment that the water inside the machine has steamed off and the rice is ready to eat. Then, it manages to keep the rice warm for hours without burning a grain, and best of all, the machine is known for being extremely forgiving of operator error.

And so, I achieved another small, Singaporean victory, solving the mystery of cooking a bag of rice. The pasta could wait until another day.

A Busy, Unusual Weekend

I couldn't have planned the school calendar any better. After our first week of classes, we got to take Monday off for a national holiday, so I ventured out to see a few of Singapore's popular sights.

One such location is Sentosa, an easily accessible island resort just a quarter of a mile offshore. I went for the beaches, but a visitor has to first navigate a commercial maze of shops, restaurants, a theme park, hotels, golf courses, and picture takers to get anywhere close to the water. The Singaporeans certainly know what they're doing because there's no other way to get to the beaches except through the monetary gauntlet.

Of course, no outing in Singapore would be complete without a good thumb workout.

By the way, there's a new smartphone accessory sweeping Singapore - the Selfierod. Now, users are able to indulge in taking their own pictures without stretching and straining their arms. It completely eliminates the possibility that an obsessed selfie taker would actually have to interact with passersby to assist in the picture-taking process. Autonomous technology is such a wonderful thing.

One might think that Singapore is a beachgoers paradise, but, actually, there are few because of urbanization. The three beaches at Sentosa are man-made. They're nothing special, but a dip in the water is a dip in the water, and I certainly welcomed the chance to cool off.

For some reason, the stars on Sunday must have been out of alignment because I kept encountering one strange situation after another. First, I saw a Singaporean being so bold as to eat food on the bus, which is illegal, and on Friday I spotted a guy drinking water on the subway, which is also prohibited. It was quite comical because he looked around repeatedly before slipping his water bottle out of his backpack and sneaking a quick swig.

However, nothing was as bizarre as what I witnessed at the beach. I headed to one of the more secluded beaches where there are less kids. Still, I estimate there were at least 30 people in the area.

After swimming, I sat down in the sand and noticed a guy about 50 yards away sitting in the water splashing himself. Let the record state that it was a Westerner and not a Singaporean.

Anyway, something about his bathing suit just didn't appear to be right. Then it struck me. The man who was quite content just splashing in the water was also quite naked.

Now, keep in mind I wasn't in the liberal-minded French Riviera. I was in Singapore, a country where littering and spitting on the sidewalk are illegal. Perhaps, I should have tried a citizen's arrest, but sometimes I think it's better to let certain things lie.

The previous day I checked out another market, Tekka, which has quickly become my favorite. It's located in Little India, and there's dozens of food stalls to choose from in the hawker center.

Ever since I was a boy, I've always loved bread, and a particular bread I can't resist is Naan, which is a leavened, oven-baked form of flatbread. It's best if you're able to find it made in a traditional Tandoori oven.

As I was wandering around trying to decide what to eat, I saw a long line of people waiting at an Indian stall, which is always a good sign, and detected this friendly gentleman proudly stuffing his oven with Naan.

My culinary snack decision was easy.....hot, buttered Naan.

Wow!

If you're getting the impression that I'm doing a lot of eating in Singapore, you're correct. Food is a national obsession here, and there's no shortage of exotic, tasty options to sample.


The cost of living is quite high in Singapore, but there's always a bargain to be found at the hawker center food stalls, where a filling meal will just set you back three or four American dollars.

There's also bargains at the fruit and vegetable stands, depending on one's nationality and bargaining skills.

Singapore is no different than any other country - natives tend to get price breaks. When I lived in New York City, I heard countless stories about out-of-towers getting ripped off by taxi drivers.

For the most part, I think merchants are honest, but a Singaporean the other day summed it all up rather nicely.

"If you've got an emergency, it's a good idea to let people know you're an America," he said, "but if you're in the market it's the last thing you want to say because people know you can afford to pay higher prices."

However, above all, I guess it's a good idea to stay inside one's bathing suit in Singapore, regardless of one's nationality.