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Black Rice Porridge

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black rice porridge

black rice porridge

I discovered my favorite breakfast and I feel like Will Farrel as Elf….

Whenever I have it I behave like that. Which makes me think, is it just me or does everyone play their own film in their head?

For example, whenever I’m choosing what to wear, in my head I play the scene from ‘American Gigolo’.

Or when I’m pleased I feel like saying ‘alright, alright’ alright’ Mathew Mcconaughey style.

Whenever I’m dancing, I’m John Travolta in ‘Saturday Night Fever’. People who went dancing with me know exactly what I’m saying, as I like my dance floor to be empty, that’s why usually I’m the first one on it and I come off as soon as it gets crowded.

Or whenever people try to interrupt my lunch break:

I could go on for ages, but let’s concentrate on my favorite breakfast for a moment.

It’s just gorgeous and nutritious. It’s a Chinese type of porridge, and there is no oats in it.

According to Chinese medicine it’s good for anyone who’s concerned with longevity or anyone who wants to darken grey hair, recover from a serious illness, etc. Basically it’s great to strengthen your kidneys.

Black Sesame Porridge:

(from ‘Ancient Wisdom, Modern Kitchen’ by Yuan Wang, Warren Sheir and Mika Ono)

4 tbsp black, toasted sesame seeds

1/2 cup brown short-grain rice

1 1/2 cup water

pinch of salt

1 tbsp honey

rice milk

goji berries, any fresh fruit you like

1. In a food processor grind sesame seeds and rice as finely as possible.

2.In a small pot bring water to boil then add  rice mixture stirring so it won’t clump. Add salt to taste (can be omit).

3. Lower the heat and simmer for 10-15 minutes until cooked. Pop the mixture into a food processor again and whir until creamy.

4. Add honey to taste. Serve with rice milk and fruit.

I usually cook big batch of rice and sesame seeds, keep it in a fridge and warm up with rice milk whenever I want to.

black rice porridge

black rice porridge

black rice porridge

black rice porridge

 

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About potatofaces

People who cook always go on about precious memories of childhood food one of their family members cooked, how daddy or nanny taught them the importance of cooking and eating together, and they still remember the comfort food they produced, amazing dishes whipped up by brilliant but humble cooks in their family. Well, let me tell you, it was totally different in my family. My mother’s family – totally useless as cooks, who could survive on bread and butter, cooked once a week a terrible, terrible meal, usually some kind of meat piece with lots of brown sauce. Also, they were never bothered about eating together. That’s maybe why most of them were depressed and suicidal. My mother followed that path and couldn’t really cook, and because I never wanted to eat meat, was warning me that ‘one day I will regret it’. Probably because my mother wasn’t into cooking my sister at the age of 12 took over and started producing amazing dinners and cakes. Well, luckily for me and her we weren’t that genetically doomed because apparently my father’s family were gifted in that compartment. I can only presume it was genes, as my father divorced my mother when my sis and me were little and he strongly believed that he also divorced us. So, we were growing up never having any contact with him and as a result, couldn’t learn how to cook from him. That’s why I believe the love of cooking ( and the ability) was just passed to us genetically. My father, short time before he died, unexpectedly felt an urge to contact us. First he gave my sister a mandolin (that’s another thing I know about him- he played a few instruments). My sister refused to talk to him, he then decided to contact me and wanted to spend some time with me. I didn’t want to, as he was a stranger to me (I was 11 or 12 at the time) but as I was promised I could leave whenever I wanted to, I went to the village he lived in. There I tried his mother’s cooking everyone was raving about. It was simple and amazing, I wish they were as family dedicated as they were at baking, cooking, making pastries, wine, tinctures, you name it. But I ate, drunk, and got bored of strangers who were my family and demanded to be let to go home. One of the last things my father said to me was that I should start learning English because I might need it one day, which I ignored for another 16 years… Because my sister was such a domestic goddess I wasn’t really bothered about cooking. I got hooked properly after my son was born and I wanted him to eat healthy and get everything he needed, especially that it wasn’t his choice to be a vegetarian (yet). And that is how the story begins…

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