Photo by Pierre Bamin on Unsplash

Rice meant illness

Rice meant illness. Mostly manifested itself as a watery-gluey kind of soup for when you had stomach pain. I had many.

Kindergarten stressed me. The ladies terrorised you to sleep in the middle of the day and drink milk. You were expected to know the shapes and where the front of the trousers is.

Occasionally they’d serve overcooked rice with apple sauce and pinch of cinnamon. Revoltingly bland nightmare of a dinner at every communal canteen.

Cooking rice well was an arcane art no one in the country has mastered until parboiled rice descended upon us from abroad.

🥔 Next story is about potatoes.