If there is one food that defines me, it’s this rice: lightly spiced, burnt orange from tomato paste, accented with whatever vegetables are kicking around. My mom has made this rice practically her whole life, after learning to make it from her mom, who learned it from her mother-in-law, my great-grandma Lupe (short for Guadalupe). Great-grandma and great-grandpa Angel emigrated from Mexico to the U.S. in the 1920s. Eventually they ended up in eastern Washington and my grandpa (mom’s dad) became a farmer.
Every Sunday, this rice would be on the table, no matter what else Lupe was serving. “It was always part of every meal at my grandma’s house, no matter what else we had there was always that,” my mom told me a few years ago, when I was interviewing her to include the recipe in my mini cookbook. “She made flour tortillas all the time, pinto beans, carnitas, fried potatoes, stuff from the garden.”
My mom’s family, and every Mexican and Mexican American family they knew, called this rice sopa, short for sopa de arroz. It is also called sopa seca, meaning dry soup. You may know it as arroz rojo or Mexican rice.
I finally learned to make it for myself in 2009, when I was studying abroad in Moscow, Russia, and craving a taste of home. My friend Kelly and I cooked it in my host mom’s little kitchen, where the little wall-mounted radio was always on and the particularly sentimental songs would move my host mom, then 85, to tears. We also made chicken in mole poblano, doctoring a jar of Doña Maria sauce that I’d brought from home. My host mom, not quite used to so much seasoning, tried it and her eyes grew wide as she covered her mouth and said, “Pozhar!” (Fire!)
Fast forward to the spring of 2020, when we lived in DC and were still in the early covid stage of not making unnecessary grocery store trips. I wanted the familiar comfort of this rice. One hitch: the recipe requires tomato paste. Fresh tomatoes would also work, but we didn’t have those either. But you know what tomato product we did have?
Ketchup.
So I made the rice with ketchup, tossing an apologetic prayer to my great-grandma, hoping she wouldn’t be too upset with this development. The very next day as we were out walking, we came upon a box of free things — seemingly elicit in those hazy days of thinking covid could be easily passed through objects — which included a mostly unused prayer candle of la Virgin de Guadalupe, after whom my great-grandma was named. This was obviously a message from the beyond that great-grandma was happy I was still making her rice, ketchup and all. (It was a double message, because I’d always wanted one of these candles but felt weird buying one since I’m not Catholic.)
Once we got to Colorado, I tried making the rice on the stove, per usual, to utter disappointment. Despite adding extra liquid and cooking longer, the rice was still a little crunchy on the inside, the grains mushed together. Allow the USDA to explain:
As atmospheric pressure decreases, water boils at lower temperatures. At sea level, water boils at 212 °F. With each 500-feet increase in elevation, the boiling point of water is lowered by just under 1 °F. At 7,500 feet, for example, water boils at about 198 °F. Because water boils at a lower temperature at higher elevations, foods that are prepared by boiling or simmering will cook at a lower temperature, and it will take longer to cook.
While I’m confident I could adjust the recipe to work on a stovetop at high altitudes (many places in Mexico are at a higher altitude than Denver, after all), I also believe in doing things the easy way every once in a while. I bought a rice cooker. I followed the recipe up to a point, then transferred it all to the rice cooker, and boom:
Perfect rice.
Sopa seca, on the stove or in a rice cooker
2 tablespoons oil, plus more as needed
1 medium onion, chopped
1 cup long-grain rice
2 carrots, diced
1 teaspoon salt, plus more as needed
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 teaspoon ground or whole cumin seeds, plus more as needed
1 teaspoon ground coriander, plus more as needed
1 teaspoon chili powder
¼ teaspoon dried oregano (preferably Mexican)
2 tablespoons tomato paste (or a chopped tomato)
2 ½ cups hot water or broth
A few handfuls diced zucchini, optional
A few handfuls diced bell pepper, optional
A few handfuls fresh or frozen peas, optional
A few handfuls fresh or frozen corn, optional
To make it on the stove (for elevations below 3,000 feet): Warm the oil in the pot over medium-high heat, then add the onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned. Add the rice and a little more oil, if needed, so that the grains are mostly coated in oil. Cook until the rice is evenly golden, stirring frequently so it doesn’t burn.
Add the carrots, salt, pepper, cumin, coriander, chili powder, oregano, and tomato paste, stir, then reduce the heat to low. Pour in the water or broth (watch out for steam!), plus the zucchini and bell pepper, if using. Taste the liquid: it should be quite salty and flavorful (the rice needs all that flavor). Adjust seasonings if it seems bland.
Cover and let cook for 10 minutes. Do not open the lid to check on the rice until 10 minutes are up. After 10 minutes, stir and add more water if it seems like you’ll need it (you have 8 more minutes to go). Add the frozen peas and corn, if using, then cover and cook another 7 to 8 minutes, until the grains are tender and the liquid is absorbed.
To make it in a rice cooker, use a large skillet instead of a pot, then after you stir in the carrots, spices, and tomato paste, scrape it all into the bowl of your rice cooker. Add the water or broth (same amount, but it can be cold or room temp), stir, taste for seasoning, then add any other vegetables you’re using on top. Cover and cook per your rice cooker’s specifications.
Yield: 4 to 6 servings
Next time, a cookie recipe from my dad’s side of the family. ‘Tis the season.