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Wild about wild rice

Time to take this renegade off the do-not-touch list and put it on the table
glendabyline

If any artist were to tackle painting the beauty and quirkiness of a pot of cooked wild rice, it would be Maurice Grosser.

Grosser, a native of Alabama who lived in New York, gained more of a reputation for his paintings in Europe than in North America, where he barely made a blip on the art radar screen. Here he’s better known for his writing on art.

But one show of his in Paris in 1939 met with critical acclaim. It featured paintings of fruits and vegetables rendered in Grosser’s trademark draftsmanship — careful, sensitive, rich. Only these strawberries and peppers and melons were “heroic” in size — two, six or 12 times their natural proportions.

To capture wild rice, it would take this kind of larger-than-life scale along with the kind of sensitivity that Grosser displayed, his appreciation for the brushstroke, and how the paint must be applied. Are the layers added thickly or in a thin wash, or soup, as it was called?

Does the study start with a “dead painting” in black and white to block in the structural elements and light values of the grains that are alternately curled like wee caterpillars protecting themselves from a cold spring rain, or puffed out straight, their tips exploded like ruptured pine needles?

Will the dead painting be left to dry, or is it still slightly wet when we go for the colour on top? If the latter’s the case then the only brush that will do is a large one of pig’s bristle, since wet paint applied with small brushes on top of wet paint would only result in “a troubled surface and a muddy tone”. What we are after is an infinite variety of warm browns, from the lightest — almost the shade of good vanilla ice cream — through caramel and fudge tones, to a deep chocolate brown shot with burgundy.

Also, as Grosser points out, a softer brush of marten or sable wouldn’t be able to provide the loaded brush strokes that will produce the “grain” we need, the swirls and dimples, the wiggly grooves and little rivulets along the sides of each kernel of rice.

As you might guess, I was reading Grosser the other night right after I’d made a pot of wild rice; the two fit together like a lid on a good rice pot.

Unfortunately, unless you’re in Manitoba or Minnesota, wild rice can be hard to find and when we do, most of us are afraid to cook it. Most of the time, you’ll see a pre-packaged blend of wild and other rice. But when you do find the real McCoy, grab yourself a few packages and just don’t look at the price. It’s worth it.

The thing is, wild rice is a seed from an aquatic grass, so it’s packed with nutrients and fibre, not to mention all those gorgeous colours and textures. Rich in protein and iron, and low in calories, a little goes a long way. Hard-working pioneers like lumberjacks would eat it for breakfast with honey or maple syrup and milk. It would keep them going all day until suppertime. I warmed up some leftover wild rice this morning for breakfast, and its sweet, nutty flavour shone through without any sweeteners. That was hours ago, and I’m still not hungry.

Wild rice also goes a long way in terms of volume, making it more practical than it seems. To cook the batch that a friend brought back from Minnesota, I rinsed it well, adding one cup of wild rice to three cups of water boiling rapidly in a heavy-bottomed saucepan. Then you reduce the heat and simmer it covered 35 to 55 minutes.

Some recipes say to simmer it just until the grains puff up, but I liked its doneness after a full 55 minutes (I also added a pinch of sea salt). Drain off any excess water, fluff it with a fork, then let it sit a minute before serving. Depending on the size of the grains you’ll have three to four cups of cooked rice, beautiful and delicious, and easy to use as your imagination dictates.

I think two factors have put people off using pure wild rice. One was our good, practical Canadian mothers, who no doubt thought it expensive to buy if they didn’t live in Manitoba. The other off-putter also arises from those same practical Canadian moms, who might have thought the texture and flavour would upset their mashed-potato crowd. Or that such a raw, natural product from wild marshes and ponds, which, ironically has become an icon of sophisticated taste, had no place at the dinner table.

So too bad for us that North American wild rice ( zizania aquatica ) doesn’t grow in B.C. It’s a beautiful-looking grass with long slender leaves, and grows in flooded places like lakes or alongside sluggish rivers. The stalks, which can be up to 10 feet tall, bear large, dark, lacey flowering panicles containing the grains of “rice”.

Four different species are found ’round the world, but ours only occurs from Nova Scotia to Manitoba, then southwest to Minnesota and down to Texas. The bag that you find on local store shelves will ideally come from Manitoba or Minnesota, where any growing in state waters must be harvested by First Nations people.

They collect it in canoes, with one person paddling carefully — an upset would be a disaster — and another gently beating the panicles to shake the grains into the boat. August is the traditional wild rice month there, but most of the harvesting occurs in September. The rice ripens at different times, so one area may be gone over up to eight different times.

In Manitoba, Lake Dubois is the heartland of wild rice country. In fact Dubois rice, which you can find at The Grocery Store, is known for its quality. By contrast, commercial growers have tried wild rice in California, but the results have been disappointing.

A good year will yield 100 to 200 pounds per acre, compared to traditional rice that yields 4,000 to 5,000 pounds per acre. Once the grains are collected, they’re cured in long narrow rows until the chlorophyll dissipates. The rice kernels are then parched to remove the moisture, their husks removed, et voila, the beautiful dark shiny grains are ready for your pot or painting, depending on your mood.

On the other hand, raw or cooked, it’s so lovely to look at, you just might want to sit and stare.

 

Glenda Bartosh is an award-winning freelance writer who will hold the tax lady to her promise of slogging back some wild rice on her next visit to Manitoba — it’s only about five bucks a pound there.