sometimes i eat day-old, unrefrigerated rice
and other mild confessions of negligence and desire
There are 2 recent happenings in my life you must be made aware of.
One: I recently bought myself a Zojirushi rice cooker. Hailing from Japan, the micro computerized Fuzzy logic technology 5.5 cup model with capacity for white/mixed rice, sushi, porridge, sweet rice, and brown rice- is now home in my kitchen.
And two: I recently learned of a bacteria deadly to humans that grows in cooked rice called Bacillus Cereus.
When I was 17, I took a food safety course for my $9/hr hosting job at White Spot that somehow deemed me more qualified to pack take-out and buss tables than a 17-year-old without a food safety course. So clearly, my knowledge and real-world experience is above average. But I do take food safety seriously, as anyone should. At home I don’t put raw meat on the top shelf of the fridge, I have a separate cutting board for meat, and of course, I don’t let food sit out at room temperature if I can help it. And 9 times out of 10, when I’m in doubt, I throw it out.
However, I’m also infatuated with my new Japanese rice cooker. Every moment in each other’s presence is new and exciting. I see her sweet form sitting on my counter and just can’t help but linger. The little song she sings when I press the ‘cook’ button.. (she’s perfect and always will be perfect!) However, as newfound love can be, it halts most other brain function and ultimately makes you kind of stupid. After dinner, I unplug her and leave here there on the counter in her glory. But there have been a couple of instances now where I’ve forgotten the leftover rice in the pot overnight.
The facts: Bacillus Cereus can kill you. The longer the rice sits out, the faster the spores multiply and unleash their toxins into every fluffy nook.
But even with this newly acquired knowledge, eating day-old rice still just seems fine. You open the lid of the cooker and see the room temperature rice just sitting there. Maybe you take a nice, long whiff. It doesn’t smell off. It doesn’t look ready to kill you. Instead, it looks at you longingly, pleading for another chance at consumption. You know it should be thrown out- 15 hours at room temperature, surely Bacillus Cereus has been making its way around in there. But also- it’s only been one night..it wouldn’t actually kill me…
At an utter standstill over what to do, I make my breakfast and leave the rice there until lunch time. (Nice!) Then comes decision time. I heat up my leftover curry on the stove looking straight ahead and then slowly I look over to the rice cooker. I know what I must do- oh but if only I had the strength to do it!
I visualize my two options. I take my rice paddle and scoop myself a generous serving of the soft jasmine grains. A hearty meal with a side of impending doom- the swift end of my life a mere 24 hours later, goodbyes with my family and friends in the hospital, my final memory hearing my sister say ‘but why did u eat the rice tho’ as I go towards the light. Or! I pull out the garbage bin and paddle all the rice neatly into the bin. Done.
I take a sharp inhale. I quickly scoop the rice into my bowl, microwave it for 30 seconds, and eat it with my curry. And spoiler- it tastes really good. And another spoiler- I don’t get sick.
Maybe my body had just enough good bacteria to kill off the Bacillus Cereus. Perhaps all day my intestines were at war, and that evening I passed billions of dead organisms that fought bravely on my behalf. Or maybe there was no Bacillus Cereus this time for some reason. Maybe there‘s never Bacillus Cereus with Japanese ‘fuzzy logic’ technology. (No, I don’t know what it is either but I bet it’s as good as it sounds!)
I toil with the thought of waste like this. I love rice and I hate throwing food away- especially in this (strange, terrible) economy. It seems like there are always things I should do that I can’t do, some vague, underlying morality in every decision or un-decision in my life.
Also, I’m a late bloomer. Translation: I’m in my late twenties and I have no money or prospects.
My twenties have been a messy affair of longing, passion, marriage, divorce, pain, dead-end jobs, slightly less-dead-end jobs, and applying to university (again). My twenties have also been warm sunlight streaming through a stain-glassed window sending pink and gold and green-tinged rays onto my skin, healing generational wounds I had no idea were even there. Learning how free I am, letting ego relinquish its grip, feeling pain I was only ever taught to repress and curiously offering my body the gift of neuroplasticity: the ‘wasting’ of my twenties saved my life.
‘Late Bloomer’ is also the ultimate oxymoron. Translation: ‘Wasting your life’ is a concept that doesn’t really exist in the same way that a flower has never once bloomed late literally ever. If anything, it’s capitalism spanking you on the bum bum reminding you that you’ve got ‘important work’ to attend to and you’re falling behind and that’s B-A-D spells BAD!
I feel into late-stage capitalism as a sort of pressure cooker wherein most of us are near explosion, looking around at each other red-faced and sweating in a sort of bystander effect haze while our intestines squish into our ribs. We are witnessing in real time our world leaders’ failure to prioritize climate action and stop genocides and the generations before us still expect us to choose a career, buy a home, and raise a family.
What happens when young people don’t want to participate in any of that whatsoever? I find myself much more drawn to revolution than I am to any semblance of participation. But reality is revolution is slow.. sort of! Revolution unfolds while you eat a warm slice of apple pie as much as it does while you’re out protesting on the streets.
And so I still attend my university classes, clean my bathroom, go for walks, and write.
There is a Big Truth in my life I cannot seem to run from: life is for living, for being alive! And the important diligence of my life is to be present, and the present moment always has something to teach me- that or it is pleasure-full.
So then, I give up the notion of ‘getting my shit together’ and I trust that there is still space for me to be me. With all of my shit undone, the credit card debt to my name, and a revolution of togetherness I want into.
To waste a moment, is to forget you’re alive and living! To waste a life, I think, is to miss the pleasure of the present moment right in front of you. And to waste the rice you left out overnight, well, that is okay.
P.S. everything is perfect and I love you.
P.P.S. when in doubt throw that shit out.
