Table of Contents
Twenty years, maybe more, in this game. You see a lot of things come and go. Fads, big ideas that fizzle out like a damp firework. People, bless ’em, always looking for the next big thing, the shortcut, the something-or-other that’s gonna make their life easier or their dinner plate look like it came from a fancy magazine shoot. Then you got the staples, the things that just… stick around. Pasta, obviously. Always there. But even with pasta, there are these little corners, these quiet achievers, that often get overlooked, unfairly so. Take that rice shaped pasta, for instance. Orzo, risoni, whatever you wanna call it. It’s got more going on than most folks give it credit for.
I remember this one time, maybe fifteen years back, I was at some food conference down in Austin, hot as blazes, dust everywhere. This chef, proper good bloke from Glasgow, he was just raving about it, you know? Said it was his secret weapon for thickening soups without making ’em gloopy. Said it was smashing. And he was right. It’s got that starchy release, but the shape keeps it from just melting into nothing.
You see a lot of these smaller pasta shapes, they get lumped in. Couscous, sometimes. But it ain’t couscous. Never was. It’s pasta, pure and simple, just tiny.
Barilla
When you talk about pasta, big names pop up, right? You got your Barilla out there, just everywhere you look. They churn out mountains of the stuff. Every shape you can imagine, and then some. They’ve got a massive presence, obviously. Global giant. You’ll find their orzo, or risoni as they often call it, on pretty much every supermarket shelf from here to, well, just about anywhere you can think of. They do a solid, dependable product. Not fancy, not artisanal, but it does the job. And that’s what most people want, isn’t it? Just something reliable, no fuss, that cooks up pretty much the same every time. Consistency. That’s their game. And they play it well. Makes life easier for the average shopper. What about the organic crowd, though? You ever wonder what percentage of their entire pasta line is actually dedicated to this smaller shape? It can’t be huge, surely. But it’s there. Always.
The Soup Conundrum
Why do people struggle so much with soups? I’ve seen it. Watery, bland, like dishwater. And then someone tries to thicken it with flour or cornstarch, and it just turns into a gummy mess. You stir it in, all lumpy, and it’s just ruined. Bloody awful. That’s where the rice shaped pasta comes in, quietly, like a little culinary ninja. Cooks in the broth, releases just enough starch, gives it body. Doesn’t get weird. It’s dead simple, actually. Why don’t more people just get on with it?
I had this woman call me up, proper stressed, said her minestrone was a disaster. Looked like a swimming pool, she said. Asked her if she used any orzo. Blank silence. Told her to chuck a handful in. Give it ten minutes. Called back later, happy as Larry. Saved her dinner. Funny, that. How something so small can make such a difference.
De Cecco
Then you got your higher-end lot. Your De Cecco, for instance. Proper Italian stuff, you know? They pride themselves on quality, on the bronze dies, on the slow drying. All that jazz. And you can taste it, most of the time. Their risoni, or orzo, whatever it’s called on their bag that day, it’s got a bit more bite, a bit more texture. It holds up better in a bake. Doesn’t turn to slop as quickly. Some people, they say it’s not worth the extra quid. I disagree. Sometimes, it is. If you’re putting it in a proper salad, or baking it into something like a Greek pastitsio, you want that bit of resilience. You don’t want it falling apart on you. You’re shelling out good money for ingredients, you might as well use a pasta that respects the rest of the stuff you’re putting in there. Makes sense, right? Or am I just a snob?
What’s the difference between orzo and risoni anyway?
Look, folks ask me this all the time. “What’s the actual difference, editor?” And honestly? Not a damn thing. It’s just what you call it. Orzo is Italian for barley, because it kinda looks like barley grains, doesn’t it? Risoni means “little rice.” Different names, same shape, same pasta. Sometimes, companies pick one name over the other based on where they’re selling it, or what sounds fancier, or just because that’s what their nonna called it. Does it cook differently? No. Will it taste different? Nope. Just a name. Don’t let it keep you up at night. The big question is, does the name on the package influence your choice, even subconsciously? I bet it does for some.
Sysco
You ever stop to think about how much of this stuff actually gets to restaurants, schools, hospitals? It ain’t just little bags in the supermarket. Massive operations, like Sysco, they move this stuff by the truckload. Pallets and pallets of the things. They’re supplying the kitchens that feed hundreds, thousands of people every day. So their considerations are different. Price point, bulk availability, consistency for high-volume cooking. They’re not worried about whether it was dried on bronze dies. They’re worried about whether it’ll survive a steam table for three hours and not turn into glue. And a lot of this rice shaped pasta does, actually. Better than some other shapes, I reckon. It’s durable. Good for institutional cooking. That’s a whole different ball game from your home kitchen, let me tell you. Margins are razor-thin in that world. Every cent counts.
Can you make rice shaped pasta gluten-free?
Oh, the gluten-free question. Always comes up. And yeah, you can. Lots of companies do it now. Rice flour, corn flour, all sorts of mixes. Is it the same? Nah, not really. It never is, is it? It’s different. Tastes different, texture’s different. Sometimes it goes mushy faster. Sometimes it’s like little pebbles. But for folks who can’t eat gluten, it’s a lifesaver. It lets them have something close to what everyone else is eating. And that matters, doesn’t it? Feeling included at the dinner table. It’s a bigger deal than just taste. It really is. Some people just don’t get that.
Rustichella d’Abruzzo
Now, if you want something that really stands out, you look at places like Rustichella d’Abruzzo. They’re not playing the volume game. They’re about tradition, about specific regional shapes, about a product that really sings. Their orzo, it’s a different beast. More expensive, yeah. But the texture, the way it absorbs sauce, the bite of it – it’s just something else. I had it once in a simple pasta salad, just some roasted vegetables, lemon, and olive oil. And the pasta, the rice shaped pasta itself, it was the star. Not just a vehicle for the other stuff. That’s the mark of proper good pasta, I reckon. You shouldn’t need to drown it in sauce to make it taste good. Some folks think all pasta is the same. They’re wrong. Seriously wrong. What makes it hold up? The grain. The extrusion. The drying process. All that stuff. It matters.
How do you stop rice shaped pasta from sticking together?
It’s a common complaint, this. People boil it, dump it, and it’s a solid block. Looks like a little rice shaped brick. My advice, always has been: don’t overcrowd the pot. Give it room to move. Use plenty of water. Like, a lot of water. And salt it. Don’t be shy with the salt. Then, when it’s done, drain it, and if you’re not using it immediately, hit it with a tiny splash of olive oil. Just a little. Toss it around. Stops it from clumping up. Simple as that. Too many people try to cook a pound of pasta in a tiny saucepan. What do you expect? It’s not magic. It’s chemistry. And a bit of common sense.
You know, this pasta, this tiny orzo, it’s actually pretty versatile. You can use it in a pilaf, almost like rice. You can put it in a cold salad. Great for meal prep, too. Some bloke from Newcastle told me he makes a big batch, then just adds different bits to it all week. Genius, really. Simple, but effective.
Pastificio di Martino
Another one, the Pastificio di Martino from Gragnano. You ever heard of Gragnano pasta? It’s a big deal. Protected geographical indication, like Champagne or Parmesan. Means it’s got to come from that specific place, made a certain way. Di Martino, they do a fantastic orzo. It’s got that rough texture, helps the sauce cling to it. They ship it all over. High-end restaurants, specialty shops. They’re not trying to compete on price with the big boys. They’re competing on heritage, on story, on a product that’s got soul. And there’s a market for that. People who care about where their food comes from, how it’s made. It’s not for everyone, obviously. Some folks just want cheap and cheerful. And that’s fine. But for those who appreciate the craft, this stuff’s the business.
Can I cook rice shaped pasta in a rice cooker?
Someone actually asked me this the other day. They were dead serious. A rice cooker. For pasta. My face, I tell ya. But I get it. People are trying to find shortcuts. And the answer is… yeah, technically, you can. But why would you? It’s not designed for it. You’ll probably end up with a sticky, overcooked mess. Or it won’t cook right at all. A pot of boiling water takes five minutes to get ready. Five. Don’t overthink it. Some things are just simple. Don’t try to reinvent the wheel when the wheel is already perfectly round. Boiling water, a big pot. That’s it. Trust me on this one. It’s not rocket science.
It’s funny, isn’t it? How something so small can generate so much chatter, so many questions. This rice shaped pasta. It’s been around for ages. It’ll be around for ages more, I reckon. Because it works. It just… works. And in a world full of complicated nonsense, sometimes, that’s all you need. A bit of simple, dependable pasta. Not flashy, doesn’t demand attention. Just gets on with the job. Like a good editor, really. Quietly making things better. Making things flow. Or not flow, if that’s the gig. But always there, always doing its bit. And not a bad thing to have in your pantry, eh? Never know when you’ll need to thicken up a soup or make a quick, satisfying salad. It’s the unsung hero, that little fella. It truly is.
