A while back, I knew someone who had the strangest habits in the kitchen, one of which was that she never rinsed the soap from her dishes before putting them on the rack to dry.  There they would sit, lined up neat and clean, with great bubbles of dish soap sliding down the edges of glasses and bowls and drip, drip, dripping onto the counter-top.  She contended that this was completely normal for Europeans and that it was we “crazy Americans” who were “obsessed with hygiene” and “environmentally unfriendly.” (European readers, please feel free to chime in on this topic: do you rinse the soap from your dishes after washing? This inquiring mind wants to know.)

At any rate, whether you out there in the internet rinse your dishes or not, it is no matter.  I am merely here to tell you about some rice I made tonight.  It had great beginnings, I tell you what.  That rice was destined to be perfect sushi rice, sticky but not mushy, deliciously seasoned, the whole deal.  I have made sushi plenty of times before, and I have a rice cooker, so the whole venture is very nearly fool-proof.  In fact, I had made quite the tasty pot of brown rice a couple of days ago (which is nice indeed with some diced chipotle peppers in the pot as it cooks) and was feeling tip-top as far as my rice-making skills.  What could go wrong?  Nothing.

When the rice cooker was finished steaming, I looked in and saw a most lovely mountain of sushi rice staring up at me from its depths, still bubbling.  Bubbling with huge, iridescent, rainbow-hued bubbles.  I lifted the glass lid and watched as the bubbles seemed to pop in slow motion, and up to my nose wafted the delicate scent of cucumbers.  Mmmm, I thought to myself.  Cucumbers.  Just like my cucumber-scented dish soap.

Oh, no she didn’t, you might say, but people, oh yes I did.  I hadn’t rinsed the pot thoroughly after washing out the remains of my chipotle brown rice, and along with tonight’s meal I had steamed up a delicious batch of soap.  As I dumped the sad, sad soapy sushi rice down the disposal, I faced the last remnants of my mistake: a thin, slippery, plasticky film of cooked soap sliding down the walls of my rice pot and plop, plop, plopping into the sink.

I suppose we crazy Americans are a bit obsessed with hygiene, and we can be awfully unfriendly to the environment, but on this point I will never concede:  RINSE THE GODDAMNED SOAP FROM YOUR DISHES.  Learn from my mistakes!  I have no idea what kind of wine you would serve with soap rice, anyway, do you?