The "what", the "why"...
What is comfort food? Well, Webster's English Dictionary defines... no, don't worry, I'm not going to sink quite that low.
Anyway, Wikipedia defines comfort food as "food that provides a nostalgic or sentimental value to someone" and, rather more insultingly, "may be characterized by its high caloric nature". I'm glad to declare that this little patch of cyberspace pays no heed to such quibbles. Plus, I think I'm more interested in the how rather than the what.
In 2017, an article entitled "Comfort food: a review" was published in the International Journal of Gastronomy and Food Science by Charles Spence (find it here) which traced the term back to a 1966 news article which coined the phrase in relation to emotional stress. In this circumstance, the dish/food prepared serves as the counterbalance which alleviates the consumer from their wretched state. I would argue that 50-years later we don't need a near-trauma to occur in order to warrant this kind of food; indeed as chronic stress takes hold of more and more of us, I think the recourse to comfort is something increasingly sought after.
As if to echo my thoughts, Spence's article goes on to discuss the drive for organisations (corporate or otherwise) to try and market towards a comfort seeking audience. This ranges from office-workers rocking up to a convenience store at 9pm hoping to find a boxed mac n' cheese, to astronauts who crave textures and flavours which remind them of the planet they drift 400 kilometers above. It seems that mealtimes are now another artery of life through which we need to inject some calmness, and even nostalgia.
What is comfort to me?
Over the years (by which I mean five or six, maximum) I've had trouble grappling with the idea of comfort food. When I started out at university and first begun the habit of cooking for myself every night, I felt somewhat scornful to the concept of "comfort food". It seemed to me as if it were a particular canon of foodstuffs, with mashed potatoes and chicken soup (neither of which really took my enthusiasm) at the vanguard. Undoubtedly, I must have had meals which I often cooked that made me feel better after a particularly troubling or anxiety-ridden day, which were more often than not during my undergraduate course.
Over time, my attitude to these kinds of things softened, but it wasn't something I ever really engaged with or consciously thought about. I think moving to London brought the food-as-therapy theme into a conscious position in my life. Not that living in the capital is a pre-cursor for therapeutic intervention, but the city has a habit of wearing you ragged, whether that be in body or mind. It certainly does for me.
As someone who finds cooking a familiar comfort (and, yes, I am aware of how lucky this makes me - to have a hobby which is also intensely functional) this inevitably led me to think of cooking and eating as a way to response to both need and desire; not just cooking something that "seemed" nice. This was the trail of thoughts and feelings which led me back to the concept of comfort food.
Initially, I had trouble thinking of what "my" comfort food was. I'm sure it's somewhat monolithic to believe that everyone has one and only one, as if it were ordained by some independent committee before birth. Indeed, my method of becoming calmer would be to cook something that had been on my mind throughout the day, I didn't feel like I had a go-to. Mac n' Cheese has always been a favourite of mind, but too much of an involved eat for me to be truly comforting (at least, that's what I want it to be). Mashed Potatoes require too much effort for them to not be a textural meltdown. The obvious options seemed closed to me.
However, I eventually came to a simple staple that seemed so very familiar for me. Something that was a constant, and would be virtually the same every time I cooked it. I could still exercise my shtick of "responding to need" by adding and subtracting as appropriate. I found my ultimate state of comfort after taking a bowl of leftover rice (from what I think was some form of Thai Curry - which YES there will definitely be a post for) and adding some soy sauce and sesame oil. That was all that was needed, and it felt homely, uncomplicated and exactly what was needed to feel like I was on solid ground.
Soy & Sesame Rice Bowl
Today absolutely felt like the right conditions to make this. In fairness, this concept had been on my mind for the previous two days and I had thought of allocating some time to prepare and write. However, it felt this afternoon like the elements converged perfectly to create the
conditions for this rice bowl to be prepared and consumed with genuine desire, rather than being produced as a procedural mechanism for my writing.
It was a rainy morning; beginning with a dense fog (NOT a mist, as was pointed out to me by my treasured housemate Rebecca) enshrouding the buildings around us as they became horizon-line silhouettes. The rain began as a small incursion, evolving into a downpour, before retreating once more and burnishing the midday gleam with a silvery tinge. The conditions were laid for a withdrawal to shelter and a bowl of something which tasted of assurance and stability.
Admittedly, this rice bowl was adapted from the simplicity of the three-ingredient soy/sesame/rice combo, but this was a reflection of what I felt like eating, as well as what was available to me. I think that almost every ingredient in a rice bowl is subject to being swapped out for something different, which is perhaps what makes it such a comfort. I know that I declared cauliflower the "blank canvas" of foods in my first post, but I think rice might just have a greater claim to that incredibly auspicious crown.
I think it's worth reviewing some of the ingredients I've added to the mix here; although this is very much a negotiable blend, some clarity is needed. I used a Japanese seasoning called furikake here which I got from a fantastic spice shop called Spice Mountain (find them here or at Borough Market if you're passing through). Although blends of furikake vary to an extent, my version consisted of roasted sesame, seaweed and lemon salt.
Another thing I added was sushi nori. I've found this in most major supermarkets (not just in London, but also in the mid-sized down from whence I hail). This roasted seaweed that mostly comes in sheets, and has a savoury, somewhat briny taste - also known as umami. While the most common use of this is to wrap sushi rolls, I tore a sheet of it into pieces and used it as a topping.
I think its needless to say that measuring quantities for a meal which would usually be eyeballed is a somewhat dissociative process. My usual instinct for this would just be to go with what feels right, but I think that going ahead and doing it demonstrated to myself that it's not impossible to do both. There exists a lot of snobbishness around cooking from recipes, and I don't particularly wish to engage with that. Recipes are helpful and reading them is instructive even if you don't then go ahead and use it. Challenging our own kitchen habits is a process that can only result in improvement.
Ingredients & Method
Prep time: 5 minutes.
Cooking time: 20 minutes.
Serves 1.
100g of white rice
1 tbsp of vinegar, lemon juice or shaoxing wine
1 spring onion
1 tbsp of dark soy sauce
1.5 tbsp of vegetable oil
2 tsp of sesame oil
1 sheet of sushi nori
1 tsp of furikake
1 large egg
Salt
Bring a small saucepan of water to the boil and add the rice. Generally, the ratio of water to rice should be 2:1 but it doesn't really matter if this isn't precisely followed. Once the water
has come to the boil, add salt and either vinegar, lemon juice or shaoxing before pouring in the rice. Bring to a medium simmer and cook for 10-12 minutes.
While the rice is boiling prepare your toppings. Finely chop the spring onion, separating the green parts from the white parts. Set aside and tear the nori into small pieces.
Once the rice has finished boiling, drain and set aside. Heat 1/2 a tablespoon of oil in the saucepan the rice was in before adding the white parts of the spring onion and frying over a medium heat for 1 minute.
Add the rice back to the saucepan and mix until the spring onion is evenly distributed. Add soy sauce and sesame oil, once again stirring to ensure even coverage. When the rice is piping hot, deposit it into a bowl to cool slightly while the egg cooks (it will taste better if it does not sear your tongue!)
Heat 1 tbsp of oil in a frying pan. When the oil is hissing and bubbling slightly, crack an egg into the oil. Cook the egg through. If the outsides are cooking faster than the centre, you can try spooning some of the hot oil on to the inside of the egg - but be careful to avoid cooking the yolk too quickly as this is best runny!
Once the egg is done, drop it carefully on top of the rice, before adding your prepared toppings. Eat with whichever utensils you prefer (I prefer chopsticks).
Adjustments
As I have hinted fairly strongly throughout this post, there are numerous adjustments that can be made here, and I actively encourage you to try and change this around based on your own personal taste. Might I suggest, however, that the rice, soy sauce and sesame oil remain a constant? It would take a lot of convincing for me to approve removal of the egg, also (aside from veganism and allergy) I have a few ideas of what could be done with this.
If you have kimchi to hand, I can't rhapsodise enough about the combination of earthy soy, nutty sesame, creamy egg and sharp kimchi.
If you are prepared to be more involved, the flavoured rice would make a great base for stir-fried or braised vegetables.
More flavours could also be added to the rice to broaden the range of the bowl; garlic, chilli and ginger would be a good place to start but I am sure the possibilities are endless.
Comments