Recently, I had the opportunity to visit with my brother and his girlfriend, who now live in Washington state. (Which is much much farther away than San Francisco, for the record.)
We went out for some fabulous Thai food on the last night that I was there. When the waitress asked what kind of rice we would prefer, my brother and his girl ordered brown, and I opted for white. Despite the fact that I habitually order brown. When my brother’s girl asked why it made any difference, my brother said something along the lines of- “We were raised hippie. Eating white rice is considered somewhat of a crime!” Discussion ensued on how the hippies are, of course, correct, in that white rice offers almost no nutritional value, while brown rice is all kinds of good for the tummy and other parts of the body. In the end we agreed that while the good things are good for you, and should be eaten as a rule,* the less good things can induce much greater satisfaction- a thrill akin to, say, committing a crime? Not that I would know, as I am an innocent, doe-eyed, do-gooder of no ill repute whatsoever. Naturally.
We talked about rice and hippies until our delicious tea arrived. When the rice came, we deemed my bowl, “crime rice.” The other two ate their good-for-you rice, and I deeply enjoyed the crime I was consuming. (Crime is especially delicious under Spicy Tofu Pad Thai.) We left with full bellies, big sated smiles, and lots of leftovers.
That was a long way to go to get to this-
Today is my brother’s birthday. FELIZ CUMPLEANOS, MI HERMANO!! Eat some crime rice!! Feel that mad thrill!!
Everyone else, I encourage you to indulge yourself in your crime food every now and again, whatever it may be.
*For the record, I had rice last night, and it was brown. It felt wholesome and pure, and not like committing any sort of crime, whatsoever. Solid.
