Mushroom Fried Rice with Peas

There are few culinary formats as universally beloved—or as endlessly customisable—as fried rice. What begins as a utilitarian solution to leftovers can, with a little attention and a few smart additions, become a deeply gratifying dish in its own right. This mushroom fried rice with peas delivers just that—complex flavour, quick assembly, and a vegetarian profile that doesn’t leave anything wanting.

This is not the kind of rice dish that leans on dairy for richness or eggs for structure (though you’re welcome to add them if you wish). Instead, it relies on the interplay of ingredients that know how to carry their weight: mushrooms for umami and body, peas for brightness and texture, and a handful of aromatics to keep everything grounded and vibrant.

Why Fried Rice Endures—and Why This Version Works

Unlike many quick and healthy dishes that telegraph their simplicity, fried rice maintains a kind of quiet elegance. It’s one of the few meals that can be pulled from a handful of pre-cooked staples and still taste like it came from deliberate hands.

The key here is contrast—heat and savour, softness and bite, richness offset by restraint. This version balances those dynamics with purpose. Where many vegetarian fried rices fade into neutrality, the mushrooms add weight and depth; the peas lend sweetness and colour; the rice acts as canvas and conduit.

Ingredients (Serves 2–3)

Aromatics and Base:

• 1 tbsp toasted sesame oil (or neutral oil, if preferred)
• 2 spring onions, whites and greens separated, finely sliced
• 2 garlic cloves, crushed
• 1 tsp grated fresh ginger
• 250g mushrooms (button, cremini, or shiitake), thinly sliced
• 1 cup frozen peas
• 2 cups day-old rice (white, jasmine, or brown)
• 2 tbsp tamari or soy sauce
• 1 tsp rice vinegar or lime juice
• Freshly cracked black pepper

Garnishes (optional, but encouraged):

• Chilli crisp or sesame seeds
• Fried egg or sliced omelette
• Pickled vegetables or quick cucumber ribbons
• Coriander, if you lean that way

Method

1. Begin with heat and fragrance: Set a wok or wide pan over medium-high heat. Add the oil, swirling it to coat the base. Toss in the white part of the spring onions along with garlic and ginger. Stir for about 30 seconds—long enough for the aromatics to bloom, not so long they turn acrid.

2. Introduce the mushrooms: Add your sliced mushrooms to the pan. They will, at first, release liquid. Let them. The moisture will eventually evaporate, and what remains should take on colour and edge. Don’t rush them—golden edges mean flavour. Add a small pinch of salt to encourage browning without overloading the dish with sodium.

3. Stir in the rice: Once the mushrooms have reached their turning point—browned, softened, and concentrated—fold in the rice. If it’s clumpy from refrigeration (as it should be), break it up gently with your spatula, allowing grains to reawaken in the heat.

4. Add peas and seasoning: Pour in the peas. They’ll thaw quickly in the heat and offer contrast both in colour and temperature. Follow with tamari or soy sauce, vinegar, and several turns of black pepper. Let it all sit for a minute or so—still on the heat—to encourage those little bits of stickiness that come from patience and restraint.

5. Finish with greens: Remove from the heat and stir in the spring onion greens. Plate immediately, with any of the optional garnishes you favour.

The Tactile Logic of Good Fried Rice

It helps to think about fried rice less as a one-pot recipe and more as an unfolding process. Each component brings not only flavour, but a distinct physical response:

• Mushrooms give chew and heft, more like meat than a vegetable.
• Peas pop gently, delivering brightness and sweetness.
• Rice, properly handled, offers contrast: soft interior, crisp edges.
• Sauce coats rather than saturates—it amplifies, not overwhelms.

And in the background, the aromatics do their work—not loudly, but persistently.

Practical Guidance for Subtle Success

• Cook the mushrooms in stages: If your pan isn’t wide enough to hold them in a single layer, divide and conquer—overcrowded mushrooms steam instead of sear.
• Use cold rice—but warm your pan: Lukewarm rice turns to mush. Cold rice, when it hits a hot surface, reacts. That reaction is essential to the texture you’re after.
• Don’t stir constantly: Let the rice sit undisturbed in the pan for short intervals. These moments create the golden, slightly crisp patches that mark a truly good fried rice.
• Finish with acid: Not just salt, Soy sauce builds the bottom note; vinegar or lime lifts the entire dish to a place that’s bright and clean.

Variations, Should You Fancy Them

A spiced version

Add a whisper of five-spice or toasted cumin seeds to the mushrooms for warmth and dimension.

With egg

Stir through soft-scrambled egg, or top each bowl with a fried egg and a spoonful of chilli oil for richness and contrast.

With a crunch

Serve alongside quick-pickled vegetables—daikon, cucumber, or carrots—to introduce crispness and acidity.

With a nutty lift

A handful of roasted cashews or crushed peanuts adds texture and protein, particularly if skipping the egg.

Nutritional Overview (Per Serving – Approximate)

• Calories: 410
• Protein: 10–12g
• Carbohydrates: 38g
• Fat: 18g
• Fibre: 5g

This vegetarian fried rice offers a well-rounded nutritional profile, especially when paired with a protein booster like egg or tofu. It’s substantial without being heavy, and plant-forward without being austere.

Who This Dish is For

It suits the rhythm of a midweek evening: uncomplicated, quick, and deeply comforting. It’s also infinitely customisable, allowing for reinterpretation depending on what your kitchen holds. Whether you’re feeding one or stretching leftovers to feed three, the dish adjusts with ease.

It’s a particularly useful entry point for those transitioning to more plant-focused eating. The mushrooms carry the umami load, and the rice delivers familiar comfort. There’s no need to apologise for its simplicity—it’s deliberate.

Final Thoughts: Quiet Confidence in a Skillet

This mushroom fried rice with peas doesn’t shout. It doesn’t strive for fusion or flourish. Instead, it earns its place through texture, balance, and honest flavour. It’s the sort of meal that you return to not because it dazzles, but because it understands you and your time constraints, your cravings, your need for something warm, complete, and unpretentious.

And at the end of the day, that’s what the best dinners do: they meet you exactly where you are.