Congee when the temperature drops

When the temperature drops, back in NY, my go-to meal was a big bowl of pho or congee. Since moving to Colorado, the best trick I’ve found to combat being homesick and having the blues, is learning to cook comfort food, which is everything that brings me back home. 

Congee, or rice porridge, brings back some of my oldest memories. Big bowls for breakfast in Shanghai with grandma and grandpa—my favorite, most cherished memories fading fast but gelled by the remembrance of the taste of savory congee. 

Grandpa, my yieyie, alway made a pot of the thickest porridge from the previous day’s rice. He would pair the biggest bowl of congee, instead of rice, with every meal. That’s what he ate in the last few weeks of his life.

My dad inherited the love of congee. It has always seemed to me the ultimate “poor man’s food”—make a bowl of rice last longer by adding water. I remember my grandma’s story about my dad getting sent to the “countryside” to work. I would imagine him eating and living off of rice porridge.

When Chris and I lived together by the Seaport, we would always eat in Chinatown. Whenever we were in the mood for congee we’d go to XO, Noodle Village, or Big Wong’s. One of our first business ideas before the weed was our idea for the “Crazy Congee House.” You would order your base congee and then add whatever toppings you wanted like the Hong Kong Noodle Station that he loved so much. (Hey, you never know, maybe one day!)

Like oatmeal, everyone has their own preference for how thick or thin you like your congee. For example, I love it thick like a paste, and Chris likes it thin like a soup. So whenever I make it, I’ll make it super thick, the way I like, and then water it down later for Chris. 

I start first with making a beef bone broth. Every month or so I make a big pot of beef bone broth. I try to pick out the beef bones with the most marrow, because Chris and bb both love bone marrow. I’ll cook the bones for up to three days, and remove the the blood and fat from the surface as it rises. 

Whenever I ask any of our parents about measurements, they will never tell you in cups or ounces. Everything is by eye or sense. So to get it right, I’ve had to rely on a book that Chris’ cousin Jonathan left at our place when he left Denver, “The Wisdom of the Chinese Kitchen.” When we moved from our condo in Aurora to Evergreen, we cleaned out the storage unit and found the book buried at the bottom of a box Jon left with us. 

For every half cup of uncooked rice, use a quart of the bone broth. If my bone broth is concentrated, I’ll thin it out with some water. You can also just use water, but the broth makes the congee richer. Cook on medium high until the broth boils, then bring to a low simmer for a few hours, stirring often, and scraping the bottom of the pot. If it gets too thick, add more water.

There are a few favorite things I love to use for toppings that we get mainly from the Pacific Ocean Marketplace on Alameda in Denver. Thousand year duck egg in soy sauce, salted duck egg, green onion, toasted crullers (a long fried chinese savory donut), pickled radish in toasted sesame oil, pickled cucumbers in soy sauce, fried egg, white pepper, hot chili oil, fried fish skin (if we can find it), shredded pork or vegetable laver if you’re a loose vegetarian like me. My mother-in-law also adds peanuts and slices of ginger. The best thing about building your bowl of congee is you can make it your own, and leave out the pepper, chili and onions for the kids.

There are a hundred variations you can do with congee, and you’ll get different congee from different regions of China. Chicken congee, pork congee, fish congee, etc. For me, this is my chicken noodle soup. Weather is cold? Make congee. Kids are sick? Make congee. Feeling sad? 

Make congee.