The Riches of Rice

Seung Mae is raising her eyebrow at me. I wait.
"You should finish your rice."
"I know, it's delicious. But really, I'm full."
Her eyebrow pushes further toward her sleek, black hairline.
"You have a cold. Rice is good for colds."
I eat another spoonful of rice.
In the town of Yang Yang, South Korea, Seung Mae is my best ally and my biggest dietary critic. We sit on the floor, where a wreckage of the feast we have just consumed litters the table. Mussel shells and shrimp heads lie amongst numerous empty panchan (side dish) bowls. The remains of a spicy, seafood soup simmer on a burner set in our table. "Hangover soup!" one gleeful diner informs me. Tongue still burning, I lift one more bite of rice into my mouth, appeasing Seung Mae. A shrimp, lately beheaded, gazes blackly on, making me feel grateful not to have been hungover for the mutilation and subsequent consumption of the unlucky mollusks and invertebrates.
For the last few weeks I have been eating Korean food, delicately dancing with long, slim, steel chopsticks and enjoying every bite. Seung Mae notices.
"You're fatter,"she states without preamble.
"Maybe it's the rice," I say with a grin.
"Rice doesn't make you fat."
From Seung Mae I learn that rice is good for your health. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and even dessert feature rice in its various forms. Rice porridge cures stomach ailments, while rice cakes celebrate triumphs and mark tragedies.
One day, I go to her house for lunch and I am impressed, but not surprised, to see an elaborate display of meat, soup, side dishes, and of course, heaping helpings of gleaming rice. She smiles and says,
"In the past, only rich people ate white rice. Now everybody can eat rice."
I nod.
Before I leave Korea, Seung Mae and I enjoy a last lunch of dolsot bimbimbap: rice that arrives at our table sizzling in a stone pot, bright yoke of a raw egg glistening on top. As I shovel the steaming rice into my mouth, Seung Mae smiles. I am finally finishing my rice. I feel rich.