In our household, the answer to that question was almost always “yes,” no
matter what time of day it was asked. I suppose this isn’t entirely
surprising, given that my paternal grandfather – before immigrating to the U.S.
– was a rice farmer in southern China. (My mom’s side of the family, on the
other hand, sold Froot Loops and Icees to their fellow residents in the poorest town in America.) Throughout my childhood, there was always an enormous
20-pound sack of rice in our pantry, and it never lasted long. I loved scarfing
down bowl after bowl of the stuff. (Preferably doused with soy sauce.)
As an adult, I lost interest in packing my belly with rice,
but it still made frequent appearances in our meals. Following common wisdom,
we transitioned from white rice to the “healthier” brown variety, and patted
ourselves on the back for doing so.
And then I went Paleo and abruptly cut out rice entirely. I
went cold turkey, refusing to touch anything made with rice: noodles, dim sum
dumpling wrappers, gluten-free (but not rice-free) treats. It wasn’t easy; when
I’d politely turn down a big bowl of white rice at family gatherings or turn
down an invitation to a Saturday morning dim sum orgy, I got quizzical looks,
as if I’d just stood up on a table and publicly renounced my heritage.
But is rice really so bad? Or was I too knee-jerk about it
when I jumped onto the Paleo bandwagon?
Let’s start with the basics -- after the jump...
