Ricecapade Part 2

Reader, I cooked my rice*. It came out fluffy, unburned, and with a pleasing pliant texture. It was brown rice supreme. It also took about an hour and a half (including the soaking time) so the alternative to this agonizingly long period of time is to do the Quick Cook.

“What is that — what’s playing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star?” said my long-suffering room mate.

“Um, the cooker,” I told her.

I could not tell you whether that was awe or apprehension on her face.

So far I have also successfully made fluffy, crunchy quinoa and I have found rather a good recipe for summer quinoa salad [avocado, fried onions and bell peppers, cashew bits (that was more of an impulse), in a lemon and olive oil dressing].

What we have learned about this adventure is that a) this cooker is worth it, b) I suffer from an affliction called hypertrophic dissipative cognition**.

Thankfully, I had help with our blender. We inaugurated the beast during the finale of The Bachelorette, which was sort of a super-concentrated version of a normal episode. To buoy ourselves up through this morass of melodrama (and keep ourselves occupied during commercials) we blended frozen fruit, wine and orange juice. The frozen tropical fruit mix with white wine and OJ was fairly spectacular. if I do say so myself. Personally I also enjoyed pushing buttons and pulverizing food. 

This past week, though, I superseded both the cooker and the blender in terms of large consumables: I bought a mattress. I don’t think I’ve ever slept in a mattress that made any ergonomic sense. I got through what we used at home in Singapore without too much trouble, but then there was the dorm room twin size bed, which was not so much a mattress as a thin layer of depressed foam; the hand-me-down bed as I moved out into another apartment in Austin; and another inherited mattress when I moved to California.

It’ll be nice to know that my back is probably going to be treated better, and that I’m the first person to have slept in this mattress. 




*Totally unnecessary reference to Jane Eyre, apropos of nothing. 

**To fellow suffers and the disbelieving, it’s called “overthinking”


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