Triumph!

Yes, friends, I finally won, and revenge never tasted so good. I emerged victorious, and all it took was a burned finger, singed taste buds, lots of tears, several destroyed pots, and, worse, a damaged ego. Today, I made good rice!

I don’t know what possessed me, but I felt particularly brave this morning. As I sat down to do my reading for next week, I felt the urge to make beans and rice. I finally had some time to sit around while they cooked, so I quickly set out to work before I could remember my previous failures and the pain they caused. As my Michigan friends can attest, making rice and even beans has been a harrowing experience over the course of the past year. First, I bought a crock-pot last year, thinking that I could let things cook as I ventured to class or the library for hours at a time. I put some beans in there one weekend, and I ended up cooking the beans for forty-eight (yes, 4-8) hours. I wish I were exaggerating. At the end of two days, the beans were still not done, and I went hungry during this forced fast. I wish I could say that I emerged spiritually renewed after the fast, but I only had horrible thoughts about what I would do to the crock-pot. Needless to say, the crock-pot was relegated to the back of the cabinet with all my third-rate appliances.

Second, a couple of friends and I developed a lunch club on Sundays after church last year, and we took turns hosting it. On my Sunday, I made enchiladas, a salad, and rice, a pretty typical Sunday meal at home in Texas. The enchiladas were tasty; the rice was not. I somehow scorched the rice after receiving repeated warnings from my mom and sister to keep plenty of water in the pot. Defiantly, I decided to serve the rice, claiming that the rice was still edible and, underneath the scorched smell, actually flavorful. They did not agree, but I ate the rice over the course of the next week to prove them wrong. I showed them…and my grand nemesis, rice.

Finally, I had a friend come over for dinner one day, and I decided to make a similar meal, including rice. Never to be defeated by rice again, I vowed to keep plenty of water in the pot. I succeeded. I managed to undercook the rice but not scorch it. We sat down for dinner. Crunch, crunch, crunch. “I know I undercooked it this time, but trust me, it’s better than scorched rice and still has a great flavor.” She did not think so. I ate my crunchy rice for the rest of the week in my next act of defiance against rice.

See, this is why this day is so momentous. Rejoice with me. I promise not to get cocky, though, for rice is a formidable, scrappy foe and has tested people around the world for so many generations. I have won this battle, but I have a lifetime to win this war. Rice 2, me 1. Now, I guess I need some witnesses for my victory. Who wants to eat?