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Bestie Prompt: Smells in the Kitchen

For as long as I can remember, there's always been a rice cooker in my mother's house.

There is also one in my Baba's house.

And my Aunt's apartment.

And my apartment.

It's Okinawa. Everyone has a rice cooker.

But there is nothing like the smell of fresh steamed rice coming to its completed end as the moist thick steam fills the air.

Rice paddle in hand, I always delight in being able to take the first taste. Plain fresh rice, sticky and hot, it's an explosive grain of ancestral flavor.

It's a staple food.

Comforting in its simplicity, but filling in its purpose.

It accents and lifts the other food it is paired with.

Much like myself. I too, am nothing beyond a lowly grain, sturdy and simple, prone to soften with a little heat.

Some people want to be the fancy expensive lobster dinner, fine dining, fine clothes, fine taste.

I just want to be the rice. Dependable, accommodating, warm, and filling.

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