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As she was preparing the meatloaf tonight, Daughter said, “I’m related to the Salad Bitch and the Rice Master and I can’t do either well.”

Don’t let the words “Bitch” and “Master” fool you. It is Hubby who is the Salad Bitch and I am the Rice Master. Hubby earned the nickname during one of his many restaurant jobs. He was in charge of prepping the veggies for salads. He is fast and precise with a knife and his veggies are chopped and sliced to perfection. If you are familiar with the inner workings of a commercial kitchen, you’ll know that Salad Bitch is a term of affection.

I am the Rice Master, having a sixth-sense about when the rice is done cooking without having to watch a clock. I’ve not always been a master of the long or short grains. My mom always used Minute Rice when I was a kid and taught me how to use that instead of regular rice. Minute Rice doesn’t expand as much as regular rice does, so when I first cooked regular I ended up making waaaaaay more than I was attempting to make.

Live and learn and practice, dear Daughter, and you may one day be the Rice Bitch Salad Master.

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