Brown Rice

So, eventually I moved away from 63 Carmine Street further west into the deep West Village, to a charming red brick building with a court yard.  It was more upscale, quirky with great character. It was a smaller space but finally it had grown up attributes.  It was a big step and I started to upgrade my accoutrement.  One of the many things I purchased was a complete set of pots and pans.

I decided that I would make a big pot of brown rice every Sunday to have throughout the week.  I started cooking the brown rice and then popped in a movie.  I don’t recall what movie it was but it must have been engaging.  Deep in the movie, I’m smelling some cooking and I think my neighbors must be making potatoes.  A little later I smell the cooking and think, those potatoes are getting burnt, but boy, do they smell good.  Later still, I think those potatoes must really be burnt, I like burnt potatoes.  Later still I think, I think they better get those potatoes out of the oven, they must be really burnt.  Finally, I think – Potatoes!  That’s my brown rice! 

I ran to the stove. I burnt the brown rice and the brand new pot. The pot was burnt through and through. My new pot set was now less one pot. After telling the story, my friends gave me timers. I had quite the collection. I just don’t make brown rice anymore.  I still eat it though.