Cooking rice for myself? Easy. No stress.
Cooking rice for guests?
Suddenly I’m Gordon Ramsay having a meltdown in my own kitchen.

I triple-wash it.
I measure the water like it’s nuclear fuel.
I whisper a prayer to my ancestors.
“Please don’t embarrass me today.”

Then I do the thing:
I put my finger in the pot to check the water level.
It’s the ancient technique. Passed down by sweaty aunties.

Then the pressure starts.
Guests are chatting. Someone laughs.
I stare at the rice pot like it’s a bomb with 15 minutes left.

Ten minutes in… I lift the lid.
Too soon.

Steam escapes. Moisture drops. The rice is now petty.

I close the lid and pray.

When I finally serve it?
Someone says:

“Mmm… slightly dry.”

I black out.
Next thing I know, I’m in jail for throwing a spoon.

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