Let’s talk about rice.
In the old days, people ate and lived communally; the landowners ate the same rice grown by the farmers, the same rice cooked by the women. The people in the kitchen cooked to keep the farmers healthy, so that they could eat healthy produce too. The common connection in everything gave motivation to excel in every person’s part of the process.
Indonesia is an agricultural country, maybe that’s why they have so many names to rice, depending on which stage it is.
A plate of rice prepared by someone loved, may it be slightly burnt or liquefied, still feels better than something from a restaurant. Understanding the connections, knowing where and for whom our efforts was going, gave meaning and hopefulness in the things that we do.
Or, how about this: You might still remember you grandma’s hands folding cake dough decades ago, but you can’t remember the taste of a baked bread from the supermarket – even if it has turned into poop by the time you’re reading this.
It’s much less convenient to cook your own food than take away, but people still do it anyways. And for good reasons. The elders used to say that the love in the hands that prepare the food is what makes it so memorable, so fulfilling. How would it not, when it is parts of their souls are added into the ingredients.
The thing with convenience is that it cheats on efforts, cuts back on the energy, time and money spent on creating. Convenience cuts back on the soul spent in creation, making the pleasure in the end products short lived and shallow. Simply put, instant gratification lead to instant dissatisfaction.
So, how would you prefer to have it served?