If there's one thing I can distinctly remember from my childhood it's March third of every year, also known as Girl's day. I don't know when exactly my grandma started making us dress up in tradition Japanese kimonos. Maybe it was even from my very first Girls day when I was merely one year of age, but I know it started from traditions long time ago which my great great grandmother taught my great grandmother, who then in turn taught my grandmother who's been working hard to teach the new generations. On Girls Day, aside from dressing up, I also remember eating Sekihan, a tradition red bean rice served as a special occasions dish in Japan. I grew up basically eating red rice. My grandmother always was the one who cooked it at every get together we had, such as birthdays, Girl's and Boy's day, New Years, and more. And I never knew how to actually make this dish that's been so treasured by our family until recently, when I interviewed my grandmother.
When I asked my grandmother how to make the Sekihan, she didn't just give me the recipe and show me how to make it. She also told me stories about everything; how it originated, how it was passed on from generation to generation, and funny little anecdotes about the parties and events we that she makes Sekihan for. "The recipe changed over the years." She told me, with a far off look in her eye. I could see that she was remembering memories from long ago. My grandmother told me how they didn't have rice cookers or electric stoves back in the day, so it was harder for her mother to make it then it is now, but they managed to, just because it was a tradition. My grandmother has been making it so much that she's done her own alterations to the recipe. Most recipes of Sekihan call for only a sprinkle of azuki beans, but she found out that people really liked those, and it gave it taste, so in turn she puts more than the normal recipe would call for. After testing out a bunch of different ways, she finally found the perfect recipe for red rice, the one she now has given me.
"Older women are very surprised when we are still doing it you know. Not many Japanese families have continued it." She says. I really should be surprised we do continue it. I thought to myself. It was actually a very yummy thing to eat, and it brought so many memories, even to me. I remember my sixth grade graduation, coming home and having a small party with my family. I got to choose whatever I wanted to eat that night, and of course one thing on my list was Sekihan. Every trip my family took to the mainland was accompanied by a small bento sized box of red rice for each of us. "It's good luck." My grandmother would always say, smiling. "Good luck for a safe and good trip."
Then she showed me how to cook it. The azuki beans go into boiling water, and stays there for an hour. You can see the cold, almost transparent steam rising above it about ten minutes in. The beans turn from hard, to puffy, soft, and edible when its done. While you wait for the beans to cook, we started mixing the rice. My grandmother's recipe mixes the sweet rice which is pure white, and the American white rice which is more of a clear color. The red coloring of the rice comes from the water used to boil the azuki beans. Pouring everything together (the rice, the azuki beans, and the red colored water) into a rice bowl, we then put the bowl into the rice cooker and waited.
Red rice doesn't really have a strong smell. It's not flaming red, but more of a soft brown red. The rice itself is pretty soft, but not mushy. It looks perfect with a sprinkle of either tan or black sesame seeds when it's done. My grandmother made me a bowl for myself to eat, and I scarfed it down, just like I normally do.
Before I knew how to make this, I guess I might have took advantage about eating red rice. I am so fortunate that it was something always avaliable for me, but before this project, I never once asked my grandmother for the recipe. I never listened to her family history or memories from her childhood. If I never had done this project, maybe there would be no one who knew how to continue to tradition of Sekihan if something were to happen to my grandparents. But thankfully, now I know. It's not just a food. It's a food that reminds me of my proud achivements, and exciting adventures to other states. It's a food that reminds me of growing up and my childhood. It's a food that makes me, me. And that's what's so special about it.
"Older women are very surprised when we are still doing it you know. Not many Japanese families have continued it." She says. I really should be surprised we do continue it. I thought to myself. It was actually a very yummy thing to eat, and it brought so many memories, even to me. I remember my sixth grade graduation, coming home and having a small party with my family. I got to choose whatever I wanted to eat that night, and of course one thing on my list was Sekihan. Every trip my family took to the mainland was accompanied by a small bento sized box of red rice for each of us. "It's good luck." My grandmother would always say, smiling. "Good luck for a safe and good trip."
Then she showed me how to cook it. The azuki beans go into boiling water, and stays there for an hour. You can see the cold, almost transparent steam rising above it about ten minutes in. The beans turn from hard, to puffy, soft, and edible when its done. While you wait for the beans to cook, we started mixing the rice. My grandmother's recipe mixes the sweet rice which is pure white, and the American white rice which is more of a clear color. The red coloring of the rice comes from the water used to boil the azuki beans. Pouring everything together (the rice, the azuki beans, and the red colored water) into a rice bowl, we then put the bowl into the rice cooker and waited.
Red rice doesn't really have a strong smell. It's not flaming red, but more of a soft brown red. The rice itself is pretty soft, but not mushy. It looks perfect with a sprinkle of either tan or black sesame seeds when it's done. My grandmother made me a bowl for myself to eat, and I scarfed it down, just like I normally do.
Before I knew how to make this, I guess I might have took advantage about eating red rice. I am so fortunate that it was something always avaliable for me, but before this project, I never once asked my grandmother for the recipe. I never listened to her family history or memories from her childhood. If I never had done this project, maybe there would be no one who knew how to continue to tradition of Sekihan if something were to happen to my grandparents. But thankfully, now I know. It's not just a food. It's a food that reminds me of my proud achivements, and exciting adventures to other states. It's a food that reminds me of growing up and my childhood. It's a food that makes me, me. And that's what's so special about it.
