The Perfect Mejedderah

Hi all,
I've finally found the secret to a great mejedderah (a traditional Middle Eastern rice and beans dish), very similar to the one my grandma makes.
My grandma used to make this very often, and we'd be thrilled when we smelled it from outside their home. Her version had white rice, whereas mine has brown long grain rice, but other than that, it's very much like hers.
Which is wonderful; because I don't know about you, gentle reader, but my memories from home and childhood are very much memories of scent and taste. Shabbat lunches at my grandma's were a delight; she is a wonderful cook, and though she hosts less than she used to, she still has a touch for everything edible and an amazing combination of creativity and order.
The other place I enjoy eating mejedderah is in a small restaurant in a gas station near my parents' home. Theirs is very brown and delicious, but not like my grandma's. I suspect their spice palette is different.
Anyway: I've been making mejedderah ever since I started living on my own, and something wasn't quite right. Ever. And I just figured out what it was.
My onions weren't caramelized enough.
I'm so glad I realized this, because now I'm eating a nice bowl of mejedderah as I work, and thinking of grandma. The technique for browning them properly is well-explained by my dear pal Barbara, right here, and I strongly recommend you make plenty, because they are so useful for quite a variety of foods. I combined them today in my split-personality-spring-soup, made with various sweet roots and spring fresh greens.

Mejedderah
2 large yellow onions
lots of olive oil
1 cup long grain brown rice
1 cup brown lentils
salt
pepper

Slice onions thinly and brown them in a heavy onion skillet, according to Barbara's instructions.
Place about half the browned onion in a pot with the rice and the lentils. Over a high heat, swish around rice, lentils and onions, until everything is glossy and shiny and happy.
Then, add 3.5 cups of hot water. Wait for a boil, then lower the heat to a medium flame, add salt and pepper to taste, and cover the pot.
When all rice and lentils are ready, mix them with the remaining caramelized onions.
Yum.

Oh, Boy, What do I do with this?

Yesterday, I had lunch with my dear grandparents at their house.

Lunch at the grandparents' is always a source of joy. Beyond the pleasure of hanging out with them, my grandma is a fabulous cook. Her cooking influences hail from Russia and from Egypt - two places where the family had been before being in Israel. Accordingly, we get some traditional stuff like gefilte fish (carp balls, which, as opposed to the Polish version, are spicy rather than sweet) side by side with spicy exotic vegetable stuff. However, decades of cooking with the same ingredients have made my grandparents completely ignore the world of whole grains.

Ahhhh, don't I like all those "traditional foods" advocates, who say that whatever your grandma cooks is good for you! Don't these people know that white rice and flour, and refined grains, have been available for a long, long time, and enjoyed a reputation of being more palatable? While the grandparents know the benefits of fresh fruit and vegetables, and cook wonderful, creative dishes with them, they are a little bit afraid of whole grains.

So yesterday, my grandma took the plunge, and cooked quinoa from a packet that included some raisins and almonds and nuts. It came out very good, but she was very hesitant about doing other things with quinoa.

"You can buy this in bulk, like rice", I said.
"Really?" she said increduously. "But then how do I know about the fruit?"
"You don't have to have fruit", I said. "You can cook this with vegetables".
I got strange looks.
"Yeah", I said with lots of conviction. "All those amazing dishes you make with white rice? You can make all of them with quinoa".
"Wow", my grandpa joined the conversation. "This is really good."
"Like your mejeddera", I said. "You can make your mejeddera just the same, with the lentils and onion, except use quinoa instead of the rice".
"You know", said my grandma corageously, "I went to the store and almost bought brown rice. Except, with those rough peels, how can it cook at all?"
"C'mon", I argued, "if it wasn't cookable, why would people sell it an eat it? Of course you can cook it. It takes a little more time".
"But it probably has a different flavor", said my grandpa.
"Yeah, it does", I replied. "It tends to be a bit of an acquired taste for folks who are used to refined grains. But it's really good once you get used to it".

A short discussion revealed that the grandparents do eat barley and buckwheat and quite a variety of beans. "There", I said, "you do eat beans and whole grains. So you can just add a couple more to your repertoire".

My grandma promised she'd do some experimenting, and we'll see the results next week when I come back for lunch. Hurrah!

In the meantime, for your sakes and for posterity, I'll try and collect her traditional wonderful Russian and Egyptian recipes, and come up with healthier versions for them whenever needed.