Spanish Rice

Spanish Rice
A true-life embarrassing moment

         The house was perfect; it had to be:  the in-laws were coming for dinner for the first time since we'd moved in and nothing was going to go wrong.  Of course, we're talking about something I was involved in, so you know that can't be true. 

         I had spent my entire Friday cleaning.  If it could be vacuumed, it was vacuumed; if it could be swept, it was swept.  I polished the counter tops until they sparkled.  The glass-top table was so spotless it was virtually invisible.  Every dish, every glass, every piece of silverware was gleaming.  Pictures were straight, books were organized, draperies perfectly pleated; even the bathroom sparkled.

         Hours had gone into planning the perfect menu for a Spanish celebratory dinner, from the tender tapas:  camarones en escabeche, to the creamy almendrado for desert; this would be an anniversary dinner they would not soon forget. 

         Handmade crepe paper flowers in bright bold colors decorated the table, with smaller flowers adorning the napkin rings specially created for the occasion.  When Tim's parents arrived, they were greeted by the smoky aroma of roasted tomatoes and peppers, the sweet, fruity scent of sangria, and the unmistakable pungent perfume of saffron.

         "Everything smells so wonderful," Mom commented, planting a kiss on my cheek as she entered the kitchen.

         "I hope it tastes that good," I replied, my confidence waning as the moment of truth approached.  "I've made all of these recipes before; all but one, actually, but it's the rice and it's so simple I don't think even I could mess that up." 

         Mom laughed, likely recalling the tragic ravioli affair when I broke her mother's rolling pin on my stiff homemade pasta dough.  But that's another story entirely.

         I served the sangria and tapas in the living room without mishap.  We then retreated to the kitchen for the soup, salad, and main courses.  I'd concocted savory pork sparerib soup:  caldo de puerco, that I served with hot corn tortillas and butter.  This was followed by a fresh green salad topped with sliced avocadoes and a brightly-colored pico de gallo of fresh tomatoes, corn, black beans, onion, garlic, and cilantro.

         The main course, pescado a la naranja, or orange fish, turned our perfectly.  The halibut steaks were thick and moist cooked to a creamy translucent white.  I crowned each with a wedge of hard boiled egg and sprinkled it with paprika and freshly chopped cilantro.  Beside that I placed a scoop of arroz con jaibas; rice with crab.  The saffron threads had turned the rice a beautiful golden color that contrasted with the green peas and pinkish crab meat.  I finished each plate with a pinch of shredded lettuce, a spoonful of pico de gallo, and a fan of orange slices.  The spicy scent of red pepper wafted through the air as I plated the entrees and placed each perfectly-arranged dish before my guests.

         Even Dad was impressed.  "It's the prettiest meal I've ever eaten," he complimented; and Dad rarely speaks, so that was a high honor coming from him.

         I turned off the burners, refilled sangria and water glasses, and took my place at the table. 

         I looked around the table and smiled to myself.  Breathing a sigh of relief, I spread my napkin across my lap, picked up my fork, and...

         Dad's sputtering turned the end of my sigh into a gasp.  "Water," he choked out, knocking his fork to the floor.  His face was bright red, made even more evident by his white hair and beard.

         "Are you okay?" I cried, pushing my chair from the table and grabbing the water pitcher.

         Tim put a forkful of rice in his mouth before getting up to retrieve his father's fallen utensil.  No sooner had he stood than he began choking, as well.  He rushed to the sink and spat a mouthful of half-masticated rice into the basin, allowing the cool water from the faucet to flow over his tongue.

         Tim remained, panting by the sink while Dad guzzled glass after glass of water, and the more water they drank the more I lost through tears and sweat.

         "Hot, hot, hot," Tim muttered, mopping his forehead.

         Dad coughed and took a deep wavering breath.  He nodded his agreement and used his napkin to dry the water droplets caught in his beard. 

         A collective sigh of relief rose over the table as I took each plate and scraped the rice back into the pan, trying to hold back tears of embarrassment and frustration.

         "What spices did you use?" Mom asked as I returned her plate.

         "I followed the recipe except when it said to use ‘packaged red chili powder'.  I didn't have a package that said ‘red chili powder' but I had one that said ‘powdered red chili peppers'."

         "Ah ha," Mom breathed, a knowing smile slowly dimpling her cheeks. 

         "They're not the same thing?"

         "No, honey, they aren't."  She smiled warmly as she shook her head and put her arm around my shoulder comfortingly. 

         Dad smiled and patted my hand and tried to cheer me up.  "Don't worry about it," he said with a grin.  "It only hurts when I breathe."

         I felt hot tears return to my eyes and I glanced across the table at Tim.

         "You wanted to make them an anniversary dinner they wouldn't forget," he remarked with a shrug.  "I think you've accomplished that."

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ID: 284049   (Rated: ASR) Boy, Was My Face Red  True-life embarrassing moments, large and small...most of them my own by justme

Arroz con Jaibas

Rice with Crab

1 onion cut into eight wedges
1 clove of garlic, minced
2 TBSP olive oil
¾ cup long grain rice

Combine above ingredients in skillet over medium heat and cook until rice is golden brown and onion and garlic become fragrant and tender.

Add:
1 ¼ cups water
1 8oz can diced tomatoes
1 chicken bouillon cube
½ tsp saffron threads
1 tsp packaged red chili powder  (It's better with Taco Seasoning Mix)


Cover and adjust heat as needed to simmer for 15 minutes or until most of the liquid is absorbed.

Add:
½ cup frozen peas

Continue cooking for 5 minutes.

Add:
1  7 ½ oz can chunked crab meat
2 TBSP dry sherry or cooking wine

Cook until crab is heated through.  Makes 4 servings.

NOTE:  In making this recipe repeatedly over the last 23 years, it has evolved into something better than the original recipe.  Just don't use powdered red chili peppers...trust me!