The Day My Bias Against Pre-Washed Rice Vanished

For Japanese people, rice is more than just a staple; it’s the heart of our diet. Yet, many of us harbor a secret hesitation toward "Musenmai" (pre-washed rice). We tend to think that convenience comes at the cost of flavor—perhaps because we’ve convinced ourselves that the ritual of carefully washing and polishing rice is a necessary act of respect for its taste.

In my daily life as a dance instructor, I’m constantly moving, which has led me to develop my own philosophy on food. I once heard that people with truly resilient bodies don’t crave delicacies or complex dishes; they prefer surprisingly simple food. Looking at myself—someone who rarely ever falls ill—my diet is almost boringly basic. I mostly stick to the simplest staples.

It’s said that rickshaw pullers in the Edo period possessed superhuman stamina, fueled by nothing more than brown rice balls and pickles. In the end, perhaps it’s "high-quality simplicity"—stripping away the unnecessary—that makes a person truly sturdy. As the saying goes, "Those with truly strong bodies do not chase delicacies; they cherish a single, simple plate." My dining table follows this lead: just rice and a few modest side dishes.

I recently ran out of rice and decided to try "Uchi-no-umai" from the Kawada region of Fukui Prefecture. It came with a thoughtful pamphlet that radiated the farmer's passion. Fireflies, as you know, can only survive in the cleanest environments. This rice is grown in paddies so pure that fireflies dance there in summer; and while they use the latest machinery to ensure quality, they remain committed to traditional natural farming.

This rice is "dry-processed," so while you give it a quick, light rinse before cooking, there's no need for heavy scrubbing or polishing. When I cooked it, the grains were firm and the sweetness was distinct. It was seriously good rice—far beyond what I expected from a pre-washed variety. It made me realize that my belief that Musenmai was "second-rate" was nothing more than a stubborn bias.

In the rationality of "no scrubbing, just a quick rinse," there is a sincere craftsman’s spirit. Encountering something "easy yet authentic" feels like finding a small treasure. In an age of efficiency, choosing not to scrub the rice isn't a shortcut; it's a form of wisdom—avoiding unnecessary friction to deliver the grain's inherent energy to the body as directly as possible. A simple bowl of white rice after a long day of dancing—sometimes, that’s all I need to fuel my tomorrow.