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Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Bhasmati Madness.

So I have a question for your Mr. Rice, why can’t I cook you?

Everytime I try, you turn into a goopy mush or a burnt disaster. Granted, I am not a Chef Ramsey, (I don’t like to call my mushroom soup a dirty fucking whore), but you aren't exactly creme brule you know?

All you require is heat and water. Heat and fucking water...that it! So why is it that I still manage to fuck you up? I have destroyed entire pots in my quest for edible rice. I have spent real dollars in an attempt to cook you, and yet you can’t grace my plate without being an abomination to my pallet. I either add too much water, or too little. You either adhere to the bottom of my pan with a fierce gorilla hold or you drip off my spoon with a texture reminiscent to baby food.


Listen rice, even though it’s clear that you have a long standing vendetta against me, I beg you stop this unnecessary hate. Why can’t we just get along? Why can’t you, me and chicken side dish just sit down and have a good time? Why do you have to be such a dick?

I love you rice, I really do, now I just want that love reciprocated. Is that such an unreasonable request?

You know what? Forget world peace, all I want for Christmas is fluffy rice.

P.S: I promise I’ll stop cheating on you with pasta if you would just put out occasionally. Frigid carb.

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