Growing up, we called it hamburger and rice.  Hamburger browned in a skillet.  Uncle Ben’s Converted Rice made according to the directions on the box.  The two ingredients are mixed together and served with salt, pepper, margarine, and a squeezable plastic lemon full of concentrated juice.

My dad grew up impoverished and hamburger and rice, often without lemon, was a staple.  Once he became a private in the Marine Corps, the meal became standard end-of-the-month fare.  We continued to have it throughout my childhood and early adulthood.

When I left home, I continued to make it.  It’s a favorite.

What’s not to like?

As my palate refined, I changed the recipe to coarse ground pepper and sea salt. Real butter.  I experimented with other types of rice, but the texture changed and wasn’t as pleasing.

These days I brown lean ground beef, sometimes ground round, and drain off the excess grease.  But not too much.  I try to preserve the beefy juices.  I dump in the rice, salt, butter, and water for the Uncle Ben’s and cover with a lid.  Twenty minutes later, I stir.  Let it sit for another 5 minutes, and plate.  Even though cooked together, the rice is pristine white, and the hamburger an earthy brown. 

I slather heaps of butter in the center of the mound.  Liberally apply fresh ground pepper and sea salt. Then the plastic lemon comes out and I, don’t sprinkle, no, I bathe the concoction in liquid sunshine.  And dig in.  I call my version Hillbilly Risotto. On blue and white porcelain pasta plates, it’s gorgeous.

I go in spurts with this dish.  I’ll have it once a week for several months and then not again for six months.  Ground beef is no longer 10 cents a pound, so this is not a particularly cheap meal to make any longer, particularly for one person.  But it’s tasty.  And the lunch leftovers are wonderful.

My dad has been gone for seven years and six months.  He still enters my thoughts regularly.  He loved to cook.  He didn’t go for fancy haute cuisine.  Aside from a spectacular stir fry, he was pretty much meat and potatoes —a testament to his upbringing, though his tomato sauce was known to provoke groans of pleasure.  I miss him and I miss the simple food of my youth.