<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Rainy Day on Kitchen3N</title><link>https://kitchen3n.com/tags/rainy-day/</link><description>Recent content in Rainy Day on Kitchen3N</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Mon, 06 May 2013 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://kitchen3n.com/tags/rainy-day/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>Khichuri (Rice and Mung Bean pilaf)</title><link>https://kitchen3n.com/posts/2013-05-06-khichuri-rice-and-mung-bean-pilaf/</link><pubDate>Mon, 06 May 2013 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://kitchen3n.com/posts/2013-05-06-khichuri-rice-and-mung-bean-pilaf/</guid><description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="https://kitchen3n.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/img_0942.jpg"&gt;&lt;img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-423" alt="Khichuri (Rice and Mung Bean pilaf)" src="https://kitchen3n.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/05/img_0942.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;For Bengalis, rain does not mean good books, cozy blankets or hunter boots. Nor does snow signal hot chocolate, snowmen or shoveling. No, for Bengalis, any sort of precipitation means only one thing: khichuri. Growing up, I always noticed, though never understood why on any overcast, slightly cool day, the first thing my dad would request was khichuri. I&amp;rsquo;d think to myself, in the usual teenage overly dramatic Holden Caulfield voice: &lt;em&gt;Khichuri is just rice and daal cooked together&amp;hellip;WHAT is the big deal? &lt;/em&gt;So, like Peter in The Snowy Day (can you tell I&amp;rsquo;ve been reading a lot of big and little people classics?), I thought and thought and thought about it.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>