At the end, a little butter, lemon zest, and chopped parsley gloss it up, and every grain is plumped with flavor, yet wholly distinct.
“It’s about making that rice ready to just be a sponge for the flavor,” he told me. Then he adds them to an already-simmering base of stock, lemon juice, fresh herbs, and salt.
He starts by rinsing the rice a few times, as so many cultures do, so that the grains shed any loose starches brushed off in transit.
But Twitty’s recipe builds on pilaus past, and has come out brightly flavored and perfectly cooked in every pot I’ve made, single and double batches alike.
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