As a first-time homeowner, I’ve been going through what I assume are typical, rite-of-passage growing pains that all newbies experience. I won’t bore you with scenes straight out of the movie “The Money Pit,” but since this is KoreAm Journal, I figured I’d use this platform to warn you about the rookie mistake new Korean American homeowners are particularly susceptible to. It has to do with something called Black Rice.

 

It was a Saturday morning, the day for household chores, and as usual, I was casually dusting the TV in the living room for 20 straight minutes while my wife tackled the kitchen. Suddenly, she called out, “Dave, we have a problem!”

 

I ran into the kitchen. She was pointing at a dozen tiny dark torpedos the size of pencil shavings lying on the kitchen counter.

 

“It’s mouse poop,” she said.

 

I laughed.

 

“No, honey, mice don’t poop that much,” I said, having no clue what the hell I was talking about, which, incidentally, is often when I feel most authoritative. “Clearly you’re mistaken.”

 

I examined the scene. Directly to the right of the counter was the oven, and sitting on the oven was the charred wok that I’d used the previous night to make fried rice.

“That’s it,” I said, pointing at the wok. “Yeah, the sesame oil sputtered so much that it just spread burnt rice all over the counter.”

 

My wife was skeptical, so I set about proving to her that it wasn’t mouse poop. And how does one prove that the tiny black flecks lying on the counter are not mouse poop? Why, by eating them, of course.

 

Duh.

 

“See?” I said, chewing with my front teeth because the flecks were so tiny, really using my tongue to try to discern some sort of flavor. “Yup, definitely burnt rice.”

 

My wife was relieved, while I went over to my computer just to make sure. I researched how to tell you have a mouse problem, and the first entry made my stomach turn over. Apparently, the main visible clue is that you have what looks like “black rice” all over your counters.

 

Mortified, I called up my dad for consolation, but he just started cackling into the phone. I could hear him shouting to Mom, “Honey, guess what? Our genius son just gave himself the black plague!”