As a child at the family table, rice was anathema to my foodpreferences. Yet my mother served it often as the side dish to a main course. That box of Uncle Ben’s held a prominent place in the cupboard. But the best I could do was grit my teeth and roll it around my fork soaking up its starchy blandness. In fact, the only way I would eat it was with a good pour of maple syrup over it, presaging my sweet-tooth proclivities.
Rice grits (photos courtesy of Anson Mills)
