The Ar-Cee

My school has a lot of money. It is a public elementary school so don't ask me why, or how come Sami's school just around the way is so worse off. All I know is that it has a lot lot of money and I can tell because it built an entire English Adventure Zone next to my classroom. The area was constructed with the single purpose of helping students become more comfortable using English in real-world situations. In it, there is a mock supermarket with painted, plastic and styrofoam  fruits and vegetables that, be it not for their unfamiliar weight and lack of smell, would fit right at home in any brownbag lunch or icebox. There is a doctors office with waiting room and operating tools, a movie theater with working screen, a mock, sliced open passenger airplane, a customs counter, and a restaurant. Other, non-English related hints of wealth include 50 inch plasma televisions in each classroom, plush leather recliners in the teachers' rooms, and recently purchased ping-pong tables and equipment strictly for teacher use. And not some ratty used tables you would see in a basement, wobbly legged and liable to crash if bumped. These are nice tables.

With this in mind, I was pleased, but not altogether surprised when my advisor asked if there was anything I needed for our apartment. Apparently my school had come into even more money and was looking to spread it around outside of the classroom.

I asked for a rice cooker, mainly because the contract called for the school to provide either that or a toaster and we got the toaster. Also, cooking rice was a real pain in the ass. Back in the states I always just used the instant stuff, but over here, they would sooner eat rat poison (and I have become a convert as well. Instant rice sucks). First I would put the rice in an amount of water I guessed was right and then turned on the burner. When the water started to boil I lowered the gas fueled flame to barely flicker. Because the gas burner is too powerful, even at the lowest setting, the water would over flow. I would lift the lid to cool it and drop the level while giving it a good stir. At first I only muster mush and a burned bottom. Eventually, I learned how to baby it the right way, but who has time for that?

When I made the request for the rice cooker the teachers looked at each other and shared a secret smile before offering me a toothy grin and a thumbs up. As if I had said the magic words and gained admittance into a secret society. When the apparatus came days later, they clapped and pranced as if it were Christmas morning in 1983 and 1955 respectively.

The rice cooker is big, the size of a football helmet. Not a normal sized one though think of the one Steve Tasker wore with an extra layer of protection. An aesthetic compromise made after too many concussions. It is white and has four buttons whose function I could not translate. When I kindly asked for instructions on how to use it, the older of my co-teachers extended herleft index finger and created a level line across the second knuckles of her right hand.

"Water here," she instructed.

"I don't understand," I said.

"Water here, and push," she said, making the same gesture with both hands and then pointing to the big red button.

"Uh, ok."

I eventually learned to cover the rice with enough water that, when pressing my hand down flat against it, the water level just reached my second knuckles. This trick works perfectly no matter how much rice I put in. These people know their rice.

Through experimentation, I have also taught myself how to cook other food stuffs. Oatmeal is easy, as is chicken which always comes out moist, and I really like to make pasta and mashed potatoes (when the potatoes are done, stir in your butter, milk, cream cheese, scallion whatever). The pasta took some work as it came out a little gummy at first, but the magic that occurs when the lid is locked creates an incredible concentration of flavors. I even make pork sandwiches with homemade barbecue sauce- ketchup, brown sugar, splash of soy sauce, pepper, garlic and a can of coca-cola all in the Ar-cee. Yes, I named my rice cooker and yes, the name is a play on its initials. I took the idea from Arby's.

As our time in Korea is winding down, I know I am going to miss the Ar-cee, the good times we've had, the good food we've created, however at this moment, four large Rubbermaid storage bins are collecting dust in my grandmother's basement. Our unopened wedding gifts from two years ago sit stacked in the quiet darkness of those bins. I know there is a table top deep fryer in there, and I've often thought of frying up my own chicken wings on a Super Bowl Sunday. There is an iron skillet that is going to be perfect for camping. I plan on somehow mounting it over an open fire, sizzling up bacon and frying the eggs in the drippings on a cold, woodsy morning.  Of course, there is a rice cooker in there too, and that's the first thing I am going to use. I probably won't even pull out the instructions. I already know that all it needs is water up to there (points to knuckles).