When I first got married, I decided to prove my culinary skills with the simplest of tasks: cooking white rice. I looked at the size of the uncooked rice and thought, “I could easily eat two cups of this, so one cup for my wife and two for me should be perfect.”
What I didn’t realize was that rice is a master of deception. That tiny, innocent-looking cup? It swells. It multiplies. It grows like it’s plotting world domination. By the time I lifted the lid, the one cup for my wife could have fed a small village, and my two cups…well, let’s just say I could have fed a football team…with leftovers to spare.
We ate rice for days. Days. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I had just discovered the true power of rice: it’s not food, it’s a force of nature.
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