Rice pudding was my comfort food as a child.
The way my mother saw it, if you had a cold you got rice pudding. And I loved my mother's rice pudding.
It was a rather creamy type, not too firm. And it did wonders for body and soul. The scent of sugary rice cooking on the stove for long hours would always signal imminent, supreme comfort. My mother poured the finished rice pudding on a large serving platter, creating a shallow sea of nubby kernels topped with a crisscross pattern of cinnamon spread by pinching the grains between her forefinger and thumb. Very expert, I thought. Pinching the cinnamon between fingers was a trick I picked up and now use on my own (less spectacular) rice pudding.
1 quart half and half
2 cups milk
1 cup short-grain rice (Carolina)
3/4 cup sugar