Rice is Life
"Eat rice!" Growing up, that was the Cantonese equivalent of "bon apetit!," "bottoms up!," or saying grace. It marked the formal commencement of a meal together, which always started with a bowl of homemade bone broth soup and a big bowl of plain white rice. I was so sick of the stuff, because we ate it twice a day, noon and night, until I was probably in my teens. Even then, it was served at least once a day, every day. We didn't go out for dinner that often, because eating out was a nightmare with four kids, and also a major expense. Instead, my immigrant parents dutifully prepared potfuls of white rice to serve, along with the fresh veggies and meat that made up our everyday meals.
Sometimes, to change things up (and use up leftover rice), my dad would whip up a batch of fried rice in his giant wok. Other times, he would treat us to some delectable sticky (glutinous) rice or a big vat of creamy chicken congee (rice soup) just for the heck of it. Even when we vacationed in the big city, we would often gravitate to Chinese restaurants for their set menu meals, which always consisted of meat and veggie dishes....and rice.
As a kid, I never appreciated how much this staple food features into culture. To me, it was the bland filler that was served so that we wouldn't have to eat as much meat. It was the cheap Asian equivalent to potatoes or bread, a flavour absorber and the means to getting the last of a tasty sauce. I never considered how much the word "rice" featured into the vernacular, or how the food itself represents so much more than just sustenance.
But it does. Usually, the first question my mom or my late dad would ask me on the phone or via FaceTime was whether I had 食咗飯未呀? That is, did I eat rice yet? Except that they weren't really asking if I had eaten at 9:30pm at night. Instead, the question was (and has always been) a way to greet someone, an easy conversation starter, and a means by which people showed their love and concern for one another. It was a bridge to social engagement and connection between people of changing generations, cultures, languages and interests.
It only dawned on me as an adult (and a low-carb'ing one at that) how much rice also equates to comfort. When I feel sick, I want to eat congee. When I am having a bad day, I long for some well-prepared fried rice. And when I do take that indulgent bite (or two) of the stuff, I'm always brought back to my childhood, and I miss it. I miss the food itself, and I miss the simplicity of being a kid, sitting at our kitchen table enjoying a heaping serving of the white grains with my family. Long before handheld devices were a thing, we used to gather together for our meals, and we talked. Sharing a simple meal of rice and meat and veggies meant we also shared about our day, and took the time to catch up on each other's lives. It was a time when everyone felt safe, loved, and also provided for, because my folks worked hard to ensure that our tables and our refrigerators were always abundantly filled with food.
Things are different today. My kid hates rice, and I can't eat much of it because it is so carb-heavy. When we dine out, it rarely gets ordered, and when I gather with my family, it's only a side dish rather than a staple. Eating meals together isn't the same when there is only Hubbs and Little L and myself, versus a big family of six. And because we love Jesus and we don't speak a lot of Cantonese here, the 食飯! has been totally replaced with saying grace.
But I really miss rice, and everything that is associated with it. Today, with the cover of cloud obscuring the sunshine, I miss it especially.
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