Let’s get one thing out of the way right at the outset: nobody likes rice cakes. Not really. Nobody really likes them.
To those joyless, health-conscious, figure-watching, yoga-doing hippies among you who protest that, actually, you do like them (kind of, sort of), my rejoinder is as followers: no, you don’t. You are deluded. The aforementioned qualifiers attest to the delusion, and my description of you at the beginning of this paragraph explains the reason behind it.
But it would be far, far too easy simply to make the observation that nobody likes rice cakes, and to gesture towards an explanation for their continued production and sale. And we at Average Food Blog will not rest content with platitudes; we will continue to extract labyrinthine strands of grandiloquence from the maw of simplicity.
Rice cakes are basically a metaphor for life. We consume them mindlessly, like we wander in and out of days and weeks and months and years. We have come to accept their blandness as normality, and we desire more of them, in the same way as we desire not to die. Any deviation from the normal course of things causes within us a twinge of unease – this is no different as regards the surprise we feel upon discovering some foreign body atop our rice cake (chocolate, yoghurt, etc) than it is when some unforeseen event tilts our life off its axis. I could go on drawing parallels, but I can’t think of any more.
And while we’re on the subject, rice noodles are crap aren’t they? Stringy and gooey.
This may be as shocking for you to read as it is for me to write, but I’m beginning to think that the only good place for rice is in a piece of rice. If you claim that you like things other than rice to be made out of rice, then I’m afraid I cannot relate to you on any level. (Except the coatings of them flyer saucer things. They are quite nice.)