June 14th, 2009

canadese

*I* wouldn't have minded if the arctic land bridge had been closed by magic

The local supermarkets have reasonable prepared meals, but I never buy an entree from the Italian one without being reminded of those poor Meiji envoys sent to the capitals of the west in search of culture, technology, post offices, school systems, navy organization and you name it. What they spent most of their time searching for was a bowl of rice. A plain bowl of rice. A bowl of plain rice. Something without butter, parmesan, herbs, bits of chicken, bits of mushroom and bits of things best not asked about, that hadn't been stewed in meat stock for an hour, stirring constantly until reduced to mush. Plain white rice cooked in just enough water for just enough time and separating into fluffy grains. They didn't get it, poor sods.

So basically, Fiesta Farms, I'll bear the tomato stock and peas but no, rot it, I do *not* want the corn niblets.
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