As a hungry child, growing up in a large family, some forays into cooking were essential. My early rice-making experiments, however, were exercises in frustration. I would start with a large sloshing pot of icy water and, having transported it to the stove with wobbly hands, I’d dump in a bag of rice and wait for results. It seemed to take ages for the water to heat up, as I peered down hopefully at the submerged pile of grain. Eventually, things would begin to bubble and steam, but long before the rice came close to “al dente”, the water had boiled down, exposing an island of uncooked rice, with an acrid burning smell emanating from the bottom of the pot.
