comforting congee with egg omelette

comforting congee with egg omelette

Rice has been a traditional staple of the Chinese for centuries. Depending on region and subculture, the Chinese have created myriad variations on the same theme. One common favourite among the southerners is rice porridge, or congee. My forefathers many generations ago hailed from the Canton region. The congee favoured by the Cantonese has a smooth texture, where the rice is boiled for far longer and the grains are almost completely broken down. Sometimes, meat and vegetables are added to the mix for a more robust flavour. However, when one is unwell, then it is served plain, sometimes with little side dishes, much like that in Spanish tapas.

Incidentally, rice does have anti-inflammatory and calming effects, and it is also non-gluten. However, I am not fond of congee, and my brain associates it with illness, because this is what we were given in our childhood, when we are unwell. So, why the sudden urge for plain, boring, congee? The old autoimmunity has been kicking around like a child in a panic attack. The pain levels have been on a constant high for far too long, without remission, and that signals inflammation going on everywhere. Yes, although I am not emotionally hurt in any way, my body is still suffering from the built up stress over the three filth-riddled expletive-loaded months of living with that person who calls herself a variety of names (no doubt to escape her own shadows) and the culmination of the too long Wagnerian drama. Nobody likes being betrayed and robbed, but that woman did not just stop at thievery, rather, she and her lackey, another self-styled ‘PR/media specialist,’ had the gall to come back with nasty and untrue accusations, self-obsessed cantillations on top of and completely disregarding their criminal act of thievery. Laugh at their sociopathic gall? Oui. Laugh at my own naiveté? Yes, too. That I could’ve offered empathy, sympathy and charity to someone I didn’t even like at all from the very beginning, ignoring my own innate Aspie “sixth-sense” (as Tony Attwood puts it) a Random Act of Kindness. I am chuckling, and I do think it is a good lesson learned along an exciting adventurous journey, but my body isn’t pleased.

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