Rice pilaf sings of hope, of heartbreak, of heedlessness. Non, it glistens, je ne regrette rien ("No, I regret nothing").
Pilaf shares much with its near namesake, Edith Piaf, the French chanteuse famous for her lack of regret. Each has a past. The innocent girl, once abandoned, grew to sing with abandon. Likewise the innocent grains _ browned in butter, peppered with pepper and simmered in stock _ develop depth.
This rice is no blank slate, no side-of-starch, no white-carton staple. It's savory and savvy.
The cook, settling down with plate and earbuds, casts her eyes, in the singer's signature pose, skyward. She takes heart from pilaf, from Piaf, from a rosy perspective. Or, as Piaf would have it, from la vie en rose.
