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Making brown rice? Don't follow the instructions on the box

When I was a kid, brown rice felt like punishment. Like the ever-increasing amount of whole wheat flour that would appear in my mom’s pancakes and waffles, brown rice with dinner felt like we had done something really wrong. My mom would always scorch it, informing us that, in other parts of the world, kids fight over who would get the crispy rice at the bottom of the pot. Charred rice cinders were the one thing my sister and I never felt compelled to fight over. My mom was right about one thing, though: Brown rice is better. It just took me 15 years ...