Rice Cooker Revenge – Chapter 4

RYU

“You know, I was thinking about something…”

The rice cooker is contemplative this morning as I spoon rice from its bowl and prepare to season it. I really should tell it to be quiet. I don’t care what it’s thinking about except if the rice is done or not.

“What’s that?” I can’t help myself, and The Chef isn’t in the kitchen right now to berate me. He’s out in the seating area talking to Yoshinoro, the old man who seats and serves people. I close the rice cooker’s lid gently and spread the piping hot rice out on the giant, shallow wooden bowl we use for seasoning. It’s important to let the rice cool and season it at the same time. We serve sushi rice with the tempura, pickles, and a soy dipping sauce I really love and try to mix up at home. Mine comes close but it’s not the same.

“I was thinking we’re both too good for The Chef. He’s a real dick, and we’re the ones who deserve better.”

“Ha. Hilarious. Since when do rice cookers get up in arms about their station in life?… Sorry. Poor choice of words.”

“Because I have no arms?”

“Maybe.” I dip my head, angry at myself for poking fun at the rice cooker. It’s got a fast wit and a hot temper, but it’s my only friend in this kitchen. Well, my only friend in this whole town.

“Forget it. It was funny. Anyway, I thought maybe I would show you how to make the batter for the tempura.”

“Show me?” I laugh, dribbling the seasoning mix over the rice and folding it over a few times.

“Poor choice of words.” It laughs again, and I hide my smile. “I’ll tell you. After all, I’ve been sitting here on this counter for seven years now. I’ve seen it all. There was this one time, I watched two people have sex on the very butcher block you cut carrots on.”

“Ew. Really? I hope it was bleached.” I glance over at the butcher block. I will never feel the same way about it again.

“I can’t be sure. Anyway, I believe in you, Ryu. I think, of all the past trainees The Chef has had, you’re the best of the bunch.”

I finish seasoning the rice and cover the bowl so the rice doesn’t get too cold. The Chef likes the rice at a warm temperature, and I really don’t want to piss him off today.

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but what’s the point? I could learn from you, but what would I do with the knowledge if The Chef won’t let me use it?”

The rice cooker is quiet, and sitting there, cooling down from doing its job, I don’t think anyone has ever taken the time to clean it properly. I grab a rag, wet it with scalding hot water, and wipe down the rice cooker inside and out. It’s obvious the thing is neglected and never taken care of. Bits of burnt and dried out rice are wedged into every crack, and the inside heating elements are crusted with rice starch. I unplug it, open all the parts, and shake it over the garbage to get the desiccated rice out, scrub out the inside, and wash everything in warm water before I put it together again.

The rice cooker sighs. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” it says as I plug it back into the wall.

“You’re just like new again.” I run my finger over the crack in the lid. “Well, almost.”

I turn away to drop the rag in the sink.

“Wait! Grab a piece of paper and a pen. Now. Before the tyrant comes back in.”

I hesitate because as poor as I am, I have neither of these things on me. But The Chef keeps a cup full of pen on his “desk” (it’s really just a piece of plywood on crates in the corner of the kitchen), and I doubt he’d miss one pen. I sneak over, careful to glance out the kitchen door, but I find the rest of the restaurant empty. Soft laughter comes from the front and through the sliding glass door, the chef and Yoshinoro are smoking and talking to the old lady who lives in the next building over.

I pull a paper receipt from the trash, a pen from the cup, and go back to the rice cooker.

“Okay, what?” I ask, standing over it.

“Let’s start with the batter…”