Our daily food comes with rice. It’s mainly for Asians but I heard some parts of the world eats rice, too. These are bland, soft, tiny grains that are usually white. I say usually because it has other colors, too! Two weeks ago I saw, though I did not dare taste it, what they call black rice. I should have tasted it so I can describe the taste here, but yes, it was black! I was a bit scared that it might stain my teeth and I still need to be somewhere else that day. This introduction has become too long.
The process of rice production is long and tedious. This is why farmers have a difficult job day in and day out. Unlike in the City, our rice here is not bought in the Supermarkets. We plow the fields (not me, but my father), we plant and we harvest them. The job is not done yet after harvesting. Before you can cook them, they have to be sun-dried and milled.
Now, our rice here is sun-dried along the road or I mean at the side of the road where all kinds of vehicles pass. It’s along the highway. Sometimes rocks, dusts and other irrelevant materials get thrown in. When they finally get in the rice mill, rocks get included and sometimes in the pots to your stomach. If you get lucky, you get to bite it and throw it away, you would chip your precious tooth first though.
So there, our helper does the removing of the rocks before she boils them hot.
Our food is no fancy at all. 🙂
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