Some readers don't like being told to go online to read more about a story. If you can't put it in the paper, some think, then don't bother telling me I need to know it. It's like those TV news promos: A popular breakfast item is causing homicidal psychosis across the Twin Cities. Is it Lucky Charms, Jimmy Dean Biscuits with Country-Style Meth or something else? The answer may surprise you! Tune in at 10.
You hate that sort of coy tease. I understand. So forgive me if I refer to something we did over at the Strib's merry Buzz.mn community blog: an undercover investigation of the Rice Crisis. You've read stories about rice shortages; you've seen TV news reports about leaping rice prices and runs on stores. So our hidden cameras prowled the aisles of a major warehouse food retailer, seeking the answer to the question: Has media hype over decreased rice supply led to panicked rice hoarding?
The answer may surprise you.
Or not. They were out of rice. The assistant manager said they'd been cleaned out since the weekend: People tried to buy 25 bags at once. Would more rice be forthcoming? He shrugged, as if to say the ways of international rice distribution were beyond his ken.
They had everything else, though. Sixty-eight thousand pounds of Chapstick, enough shelled nuts to feed the Mongol hordes of Genghis Khan, giant boxes of sugar-blasted grain nodules, and four groaning pallets of dog food specially formulated for overweight canines.
I will begin to worry about food shortages when they stop selling chow for fat dogs. I will worry when the nice ladies at the end of the aisle stop handing out organic blue-corn six-bean quesadillas with mango salsa and start passing out thin bricks of pressed algae smeared with tofu spooned from a tub marked PURINA.
But no bulk rice. Why? Well, it's quite simple. The weakened dollar, increased pressure from Chinese markets, diversion of croplands for biofuels, the position of the moon, the increase in subprime foreclosure rates, early reports of zombie infestation of major rice growing areas, Syrian troop deployments on the border, and, some experts suspect, stories about THE END OF RICE IN OUR LIFETIME.
Whatever the reasons, it's a bit disconcerting. It violates the unspoken compact we have with our grocery stores: If I want it, you will have it. The other day at the store I saw a man who asked for Rose Water, and the stockboys were momentarily flummoxed: Is that like the juice at the bottom of the buckets we stick the tulips in? But after a few urgent barked inquiries on the walkie-talkies, the fellow was steered to an aisle where a precious phial of Rose Water resided. He had the look of a man whose wife will be happy when he comes home.
