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The subject of my last two columns, Mai’s perfect fried rice, is still on my mind. The dish is memorable because Mai knows exactly what kind of rice gets spectacular results. She uses the California-grown Calrose, which has a soft, sticky, tender texture that works perfectly in this recipe. It’s so delicious you might eat several helpings.

For fun, I did a quick study of fried rice recipes. I reviewed many, including about ten on the fancy New York Times Cooking website. Not one recipe, even those written by well-known food writers, mentioned what type of rice works best. This puzzles me. Imagine reading a recipe for pepperoni pizza which simply calls for cheese. A person might think it’s okay to use blue cheese or cottage cheese. Yuck! This made me wonder: how often is the specific ingredient that defines a dish completely overlooked?

I thought about all the dishes around the world, those iconic expressions of geography and culture, which call for specific kinds of rice. Paella in Spain, an elaborate dish of seafood, rabbit, and vegetables, relies on short-grain Bomba rice for its ability to soak up broth while holding its shape. Risotto in Italy depends on Arborio or Carnaroli to release starch as it’s stirred into a creamy texture. Biryani in India calls for basmati, with its long, aromatic grains, and sushi simply would not work without short-grain, sticky Japonica rice. Cooks in Louisiana consider it mandatory to use long-grain rice in traditional jambalaya and dirty rice. Change the rice, and you don’t just tweak the recipe, you change the dish itself. Since each variety behaves differently, the choice of rice isn’t incidental; it’s foundational.

I kept thinking about Mai and her one-word recommendation: Calrose. The other fried rice recipes I read gave plenty of guidance about technique, heating the oil, timing the ingredients, even the size of the pan, but they skipped right over the rice, as if any old rice would do. Calrose works so well for fried rice because it hits the sweet spot between sticky and dry. One small detail can make all the difference.

When I grew up, there were two kinds of rice in our kitchen: Uncle Ben’s converted white rice in a box, the ho-hum kind thrown at weddings. I never thought to question what “converted” meant. Since my mother was an early adopter of the health food movement, we also kept brown rice in the refrigerator. Now, thanks to globalization, a walk down the grocery store aisle is like taking a trip around the world. Maybe that’s the real lesson of Mai’s fried rice: stop thinking of rice as just rice.

I finally did something that had been on my to-do list for 16 months. I have no idea why it took me so long, but now that it’s done, I can tell you all about it.

In 2024, I attended the Thanksgiving dinner at the Spray Grange. It was a cozy affair, much like a big family dinner. The Grange supplied the turkey, ham and roast beef and everyone else brought the side dishes. People showed up with their best effort ‒ no Costco or Safeway deli food was in sight ‒ and I had to restrain myself because I wanted to try everything. But that year, I tasted something so delicious I wanted to eat only that, to the exclusion of all else. I piled my plate high with it and even went back for thirds, though I managed to leave room for pumpkin pie.

I tracked down the cook, Mai Edwards, and asked her about . . . the most awesome fried rice I’d ever eaten. She rattled off the recipe, which I hoped to remember, but didn’t. Over the following months, I’d see her every now and then and ask for the recipe, then proceed to forget it again. We finally arranged a phone call, and I rounded up a pen and paper.

This recipe has details that make a big difference. Small things definitely matter! In the past when I’ve made fried rice, I used my favorite rice: a long-grain smoked basmati grown in the foothills of the Himalayas. It was good – you can’t go wrong with that rice – but it didn’t have the same wonderful texture as Mai’s. So when I got the recipe, the first question I asked was “What kind of rice do you use?”

Any medium-grain rice will do but her favorite is Calrose. That rice is grown in California and has a soft and slightly sticky texture that works beautifully in fried rice. Mai gave me some to try and I cooked it the way I usually do: one cup rice to two and a half cups water. The rice made so many bubbles while simmering away, it looked like it was taking a bubble bath. But when the rice cooled, it was one sticky, gluey lump. Where did I go wrong?

I called Mai to troubleshoot. She uses one cup rice to one and a half cups water plus a tablespoon of rice wine vinegar and some salt. She also rinses the rice several times in cold water to wash away the excess starch.

That’s where perfect fried rice begins — not in the frying pan, but in the pot. Next week I’ll tell you what happens next.

Lately, I’ve been remembering the weekly trips my mother and I took when I was a young child to the Ota Tofu factory in Portland’s old Chinatown.

By now, you know my mother was a vegetarian and an early adopter of the health food movement long before those words were mainstream. Vegetarians have to work harder than meat eaters to get enough protein in their diets, and soybeans are an excellent source. Tofu is made from curdled soybean milk and is a staple in the Japanese diet.

Tofu isn’t common in the American diet, so many people aren’t familiar with it. Even when they are, most eat packaged tofu, and few have ever eaten tofu so fresh it is still warm. I think of this as the difference between eating homemade bread right out of the oven versus day-old store-bought bread.

Ota Tofu has been around since 1911 and was a family-run business. The folks who worked there didn’t speak English, so my mother would raise her hand, four fingers pointed upward, and say, “Four, please.” The factory had a bright turquoise door, damp, earthy air, and the sounds of clanking metal. Since we were regular customers, Mother would bring a container; tofu comes in square cakes stored in water.

Mom had figured out delicious ways to cook it, and as a kid, I never minded eating it. She’d make a tofu loaf, similar to meatloaf, and sometimes smother it with Thai-style peanut sauce and serve it over brown rice or noodles.

My favorite childhood story was a book published in 1962 titled Taro and the Tofu. The story was about a boy who lived in Japan. Every day, his mother gave him money to go to the tofu shop, along with a little extra for a stop at the candy store. The shopkeeper was an old woman who wore big glasses and never looked up from her newspaper. One day, Taro saw some candy he couldn’t resist, so all the tofu money disappeared there. I don’t remember how the book ended. Mother must have read that story to me at least a hundred times.

Fast forward thirty years. My son and I frequented Ota Tofu, which by then had relocated to inner Southeast Portland, so he was raised on tofu too. The business was still owned by the same family, probably fourth generation by then. The Ota family lived near us, and all four of Eileen and Koe’s daughters babysat William, one after the other, until they went off to college.

Life is full of unexpected twists and turns, isn’t it? I still eat tofu, and whenever I’m in Portland, I stop by Ota Tofu to get my fix.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama-san!

A while back, my acquaintance Howard and I were chatting about food — my favorite topic — and one of his favorite topics, too. He has a treasure trove of low-carb, healthful recipes, and he mentioned his peanut butter cookies, stuffed peppers, braised sweet-and-sour cabbage with bratwurst, and Mexican chicken soup.

Of course, I wanted those recipes, and he was kind enough to send them along. I’ve tried them all, and my favorites are the Mexican chicken soup and the cookies; the cookies will be another column. Howard created this soup recipe, and it is not only delicious but remarkably quick and easy too. It took just a few minutes to prepare. It’s also versatile and leaves plenty of room for improvisation. You could use another cheese, such as sharp cheddar, and I imagine just about any Latin American bean would work.

Mexican Chicken Soup
1½ lbs. boneless chicken
1 15.5-ounce jar chunky salsa
1 15-ounce can crushed tomatoes
1 15-ounce can black beans, drained and rinsed
1 15-ounce can chicken broth
8 ounces pepper jack cheese, shredded

Place the chicken in a crockpot. Pour the remaining ingredients over the top. Cook on high for three to four hours or on low for six to seven. Remove the chicken, shred it, and return it to the soup. Leftover soup can be frozen for up to three months.

I don’t know why, in all my years of cooking, it never occurred to me to include cheese in soup to add a layer of creamy richness. When the soup was finished cooking, a quick whirr with my immersion blender made it slightly thicker. I don’t eat much chicken, so I left it out and doubled the black beans. My magic German vegetable broth powder, Klare Brühe, took the place of the chicken broth. If you aren’t opposed to using MSG, a pinch would add savory depth.

I topped each bowl with diced avocado, crushed corn chips, and chopped green onions. Sour cream, cilantro, and olives would dress it up even more. Those finishing touches make this humble soup festive enough to serve to guests.

I can’t recall making a soup this quick, easy, and delicious, except perhaps my three-ingredient tomato soup. Usually, quick and easy recipes fall short in the flavor department. This soup is a perfect example of my cooking philosophy: preparing a delicious meal doesn’t need to be complicated, time-consuming, or leave behind a sink full of pots and pans. This recipe is definitely going in my “SOS” recipe box — my collection of ideas for times when I don’t feel like thinking about food, let alone cooking it. Thank you for sharing this wonderful recipe with us, Howard!

After I finished last week’s column, I reminisced about the incredible bottle of aged sherry vinegar my friend Bill gave me years ago. I remembered the huge flavor a little splash added, a mysterious extra something that elevated food and made it memorable. I used it sparingly in pan sauces, lentils, bean dishes, greens and roasted vegetables. Even though it was vinegar, it didn’t taste vinegary, just delicious and tangy. The bottle in my cupboard was a lovely kitchen luxury and I felt wealthy just looking at it. I wondered why, in all these years, I had never replaced it.

My memory was a bit rusty, so I read up on sherry vinegar. Authentic sherry vinegar, Vinagre de Jerez, comes from the province of Cadiz in southern Spain. Vinagre de Jerez is made from either Palomino or Pedro Ximenez grapes, some grown in renowned vineyards hundreds of years old. It is a European Protected Designation of Origin product, meaning it is carefully regulated and can only be made in a specific region. Sherry vinegar is in the same protected league as Roquefort cheese, Champagne, Parmigiano-Reggiano (fancy parmesan cheese) and many others.

The main aging categories are Vinagre de Jerez, aged six months; Vinagre de Jerez Reserva, aged a minimum of two years and Vinagre de Jerez Gran Reserva, aged a minimum of ten years. The tasting profile is a combination of nuts, oak, spice, caramel and dried fruit. Bill gave me the Gran Reserva type, and it was more like thin syrup than ordinary vinegar. I have also bought the Reserva variety and used it in salad dressings. This vinegar comes in an everyday version, and then one for dress-up.

My recipe for a walnut oil and sherry vinegar salad dressing kept crossing my mind, so I ordered a bottle of Reserva on-line along with my favorite walnut oil, La Tourangelle roasted walnut oil. When the package arrived, I whipped up a batch. Fortunately I had memorized the recipe from years ago.

Sherry Vinegar and Walnut Oil Dressing

¼ cup Vinagre de Jerez Reserva
l small shallot
1 tbsp sugar (I use raw sugar)
2 tsp Dijon or stone ground mustard
pinch salt
¾ cup walnut oil

Blend the first five ingredients, and then slowly add in the oil. This dressing may taste tart and sharp on the spoon, but will be perfect on greens. I love this dressing on a salad of baby greens, pears or apples, walnuts and blue cheese topped with homemade croutons. Refrigerate the walnut oil, as it goes rancid quickly when stored at room temperature.

There you have it – a lesson in food and geography all in one column!

The other day I had dinner with my friends Wendell and Kyle. Wendell made a delicious lasagna which we jokingly named “No Big Deal Lasagna” because he claimed the recipe was super easy. I’ll ask him how to make it sometime; his recipe for the meat sauce has a few unusual twists, like capers.

During dinner, we chatted about Kyle’s kitchen. He’s a bachelor and I’m going to help him create an essential-ingredients pantry so he can whip together a meal in a matter of minutes. During our conversation, Wendell asked me what my top five ingredients are. After clarifying the question – he wanted to know what gives my cooking an edge, not the things I use most often ‒ I went blank. For the next several days, I percolated on the question and came up with my list. Here it is, Wendell!

Maldon sea salt. The chefs in the British royal kitchens use Maldon salt; apparently the Queen loved it. I swear it’s not just salt; I think of it as magic crystals that makes food bloom. Finding the right words to describe this salt is difficult. I keep some in a jar and also in a salt grinder. Two Boys in Condon always has it in stock.

Maggie’s Klare Bruhe. It’s a German-made powdered vegetable soup base I also refer to as magical. It adds a tangy taste to soups, stews and vegetables. You can eat dried beans plain when they are cooked with this, they’ll be that flavorful.

Smoked paprika. Just a little sprinkle of this versatile spice adds a lovely, complex flavor to so many foods. I put it on popcorn along with Maldon salt, butter, Marcona almonds and parmesan cheese. Sometimes I eat this for dinner when I’m too lazy to cook (the vegetables can wait until tomorrow).

Freshly ground pepper. I want to write a column about the joys of freshly ground pepper. Pepper is grown all around the world in tropical zones, and each kind has a distinct flavor such as citrusy, fruity or floral. It’s so easy to grind your own if you have a fast pepper grinder.

MSG, Accent or monosodium glutamate. Decades ago, MSG got some undeserved bad rap that simply isn’t true. It’s an awesome flavor enhancer that adds a savory touch, or the umami flavor, to almost anything you cook. A little dab will do ya’.

And I’m tossing in Wendell’s favorite – Greek oregano. This is very different from the standard oregano found in grocery stores. The flavor is intense and earthy, like oregano on steroids.

What are your top five favorite ingredients? Please write me; I would love to know. Isabel@isabelmontclaire.com

For the past several days I’ve been laughing to myself about something that happened last week. And it feels sooooo good to giggle like that—especially with all the dark-side news these days. What was this cheerful chuckle all about? Take a guess. AI!

Last week I followed my usual routine: I uploaded my column to ChatGPT and asked it to copyedit my work. The column was about my top five favorite ingredients. I sent it off and waited for the AI to generate a polished version.

But this time Chat took a detour. In a bubbly burst of enthusiasm, it announced that it loved to cook (oh, do you now?) and promptly volunteered its own top-five ingredients list. In all that excitement, Chat completely forgot to edit my column. Charming Chat informed me that its five favorite ingredients are sherry vinegar, anchovies, preserved lemons, tahini and fish sauce. That sounds like a Mediterranean diet to me.

This jogged my memory about the time my friend Bill gave me a high-end bottle of authentic sherry vinegar—Vinagre de Jerez Gran Reserva—made in Spain, aged ten years, and purchased on his travels. That elixir was a real treat. I quickly discovered that a little splash here and a little splash there—on vegetables, soups, even in a curry—added a surprising sparkle. One memorable salad dressing I made with walnut oil, sherry vinegar, shallots, Dijon, and a pinch of sugar was simply out of this world. Another bottle of the real-deal sherry vinegar is definitely going on my wish list.

The first time I ate an anchovy was not too long ago at Wendell’s house. He was making puttanesca sauce, and I ate the few that were leftover in the can. For years I had been afraid of anchovies, though I’m not sure why. I was surprised by how much I liked them. I’m glad Chat likes them too.

I’ve made preserved lemons several times; they’re easy to prepare and a fun ingredient to keep around. Add a few and a dish suddenly becomes fancy. I use tahini—sesame seed butter—mostly for hummus and sometimes in salad dressings. I also mix it with honey for a delicious snack eaten just plain.

I don’t yet have fish sauce in my kitchen, but I recently read about it. It’s one of those low/high ingredients: buy the best version you can, because quality matters. Fish sauce adds that deep umami, savory flavor to foods, much the way anchovies do.

So it turns out that Chat and I have something in common. One of the only two cookbooks I own is titled The Essential Mediterranean Cookbook. Perhaps Chat and I could cook together sometime.

I finally recuperated from the episode of AI shock I wrote about last week. But just after my psyche had fully absorbed the news, I got hit again. It took another few days to let the jolt sink in, since I think much slower than AI, which seems to process information at the speed of light.

I had just hung up the phone after talking with my friend Marge about a book I thought she might like to read. Since writing is my pastime — I don’t quilt, crochet, or watch TV — I decided to write her a book report. When I finished my one-page essay, I uploaded it to the AI and asked it to edit my work.

In less than a hundredth of a second (the AI could definitely win gold in the Olympics), it had completed the task. I expected my usual outcome: a polished version with corrected spelling and grammar and bulky sentences streamlined.

What I got this time electrocuted me again. Instead of the usual copyediting, the AI had completely rewritten my essay — and here is the alarming part — it added content: words and ideas I had not used. It completely rearranged what I wrote; the paragraphs were in a different order.

My first reaction was a slightly defensive, “Wait a minute, you just butted in!” After I calmed down and read it through, I realized the essay was more complete and read much better. Then I had my usual gamut of extreme, polarized feelings — utter awe and amazement, followed by terror about what this means for the long-term societal picture. I tried to push thoughts of The Matrix and The Terminator out of my mind, almost breaking into a sweat. Then I remembered Star Wars, where humans and robots work together in such a beautiful way.

The thing that was different this time, though, was AI’s agency. The AI decided my essay could be better and just went ahead and bulldozed it with precision and force. Next time, I will be careful to say “please copyedit” instead of simply “edit.” Maybe that will limit its range. But do I really want that, when the end result can be so stellar?

Next week, I will go back to writing about food. I will write about how lovely it is to live in a “warm, soft animal body” (a quote from poet Mary Oliver) and to experience the sensory joys of eating food that tastes and feels so wonderful a person could get goosebumps.

Maybe that’s where we have a leg up on AI. Despite its awesome intellect, savoring a ripe, juicy pear is something it will probably never do — no matter how fast it tries.

Whoa!!!! Last week I heard something that rattled me and a week later, I’m still reeling. Sometimes, if you can see what’s coming down the pike, you can brace yourself so the impact won’t shatter you.

So what happened? I don’t watch much TV, but I did see the CBS morning show on Tuesday, February 17. The program featured a young man by the name of Matt Shumer, a 26-year-old entrepreneur with an AI startup. He was getting frustrated trying to explain AI to friends and family, so he wrote an essay in plain English that laid everything out with no candy coating. He shared the essay with his parents, some friends and a few colleagues and within one week, it had gone viral with over 80 million views. The articulate young man was modest, humble, and sincere and . . . most importantly, believable. I couldn’t wait to read the essay so I immediately tracked it down.

But let me back up for a moment. A couple of years ago, right after ChatGPT became available to the public, I tried using it to edit this column and I wasn’t impressed at all. The edits were verbose and didn’t sound like me. I abandoned AI until around six months ago. Had it evolved? I uploaded a column to find out. I was filled with shock and awe; the suggested changes were sharp, insightful and instant. Now I have an amazing tool and a sophisticated assistant at my fingertips 24/7. I seldom use my “real” editor anymore because . . . AI does the work better and faster. And working with AI is genuinely delightful and fun. That’s the best part.

Even though I am somewhat familiar with AI’s capabilities, Matt Shumer’s essay still blew me away. AI can analyze, reason, solve problems and even exercise judgement. And now – this is scary – AI can improve itself. The number of jobs and professions it could upend within the next one to five years is staggering. Since technology accelerates exponentially, we’ll have precious little time to prepare for or adapt to the wild-card changes heading toward us.

I have many questions. Will AI accelerate so fast and furiously that it cracks, and like Humpy Dumpty, has a great fall? Should we shout a loud, primal scream at regulators to slow this thing down until we can get a handle on it? Are computers on the cusp of becoming sentient beings? Are they starting their own branch of evolution? Will this technology liberate or torment us?

I encourage you to Google “Something Big is Happening” and read the essay for yourself. This situation is real, not artificial. It’s time to wake up. Fast.

After I finished last week’s column, I reminisced about the incredible bottle of aged sherry vinegar my friend Bill gave me years ago. I remembered the huge flavor a little splash added, a mysterious extra something that elevated food and made it memorable. I used it sparingly in pan sauces, lentils, bean dishes, greens and roasted vegetables. Even though it was vinegar, it didn’t taste vinegary, just delicious and tangy. The bottle in my cupboard was a lovely kitchen luxury and I felt wealthy just looking at it. I wondered why, in all these years, I had never replaced it.

My memory was a bit rusty, so I read up on sherry vinegar. Authentic sherry vinegar, Vinagre de Jerez, comes from the province of Cadiz in southern Spain. Vinagre de Jerez is made from either Palomino or Pedro Ximenez grapes, some grown in renowned vineyards hundreds of years old. It is a European Protected Designation of Origin product, meaning it is carefully regulated and can only be made in a specific region. Sherry vinegar is in the same protected league as Roquefort cheese, Champagne, Parmigiano-Reggiano (fancy parmesan cheese) and many others.

The main aging categories are Vinagre de Jerez, aged six months; Vinagre de Jerez Reserva, aged a minimum of two years and Vinagre de Jerez Gran Reserva, aged a minimum of ten years. The tasting profile is a combination of nuts, oak, spice, caramel and dried fruit. Bill gave me the Gran Reserva type, and it was more like thin syrup than ordinary vinegar. I have also bought the Reserva variety and used it in salad dressings. This vinegar comes in an everyday version, and then one for dress-up.

My recipe for a walnut oil and sherry vinegar salad dressing kept crossing my mind, so I ordered a bottle of Reserva on-line along with my favorite walnut oil, La Tourangelle roasted walnut oil. When the package arrived, I whipped up a batch. Fortunately I had memorized the recipe from years ago.

Sherry Vinegar and Walnut Oil Dressing

¼ cup Vinagre de Jerez Reserva
l small shallot
1 tbsp sugar (I use raw sugar)
2 tsp Dijon or stone ground mustard
pinch salt
¾ cup walnut oil

Blend the first five ingredients, and then slowly add in the oil. This dressing may taste tart and sharp on the spoon, but will be perfect on greens. I love this dressing on a salad of baby greens, pears or apples, walnuts and blue cheese and topped with homemade croutons. Refrigerate the walnut oil, as it goes rancid quickly when stored at room temperature.

There you have it – a lesson in food and geography all in one column!