Where I’m from, we eat rice. White rice or yellow rice. Arroz con pollo (rice with chicken) or arroz con glandules (rice with peas). It feels like we eat rice almost everyday. If I ate anymore I would be sweating it out. Rice with fried eggs for breakfast. Rice with chicken for dinner. Rice in a main course or rice as a side dish. Sometimes rice by itself. My mom makes it, my aunt makes it, and I even make it. The rice is steamed in a big pot, at any given time of the day. The smell of fresh rice fills the house. Especially if its yellow rice. The smells of the seasoning can be smelled down the hall, outside of the apartment, all the way to the elevator. My favorite is when its hot and fresh, and steam is emanating from my plate because of it. I feel good when I am eating my family’s rice. It fills me up; warms me from the inside out. When I lived with my parents, I used to love it when my mom would put a little cheese on top of a piping hot scoop of rice. The cheese would melt and give the rice some extra flavor. MMM, delicious.
HMGT 1102 / Section 7404
Professor John Richard Akana
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