Learning to Cook My Father's Jollof Rice

My father makes the best jollof rice in the world. This is not an opinion. It is a fact that our entire extended family agrees on, which never happens.

For years I asked for the recipe. He'd say, "There's no recipe. You just know." This year, I finally convinced him to teach me. We spent a whole Saturday in his kitchen in Houston.

He doesn't measure anything. He tastes. He smells. He listens to the rice. "Hear that?" he said at one point, holding up a hand. "It's telling you it needs more pepper."

I took notes like a court reporter. My first batch was too wet. My second batch was almost right. My third batch, he took a bite, chewed slowly, looked at me and said, "Okay. You know now."

I cried a little into the pot. He pretended not to see. Then he made me pack up a container for every relative in town.