I went to Crazy Fire for lunch Friday, the first time in a long while. I handed my bowl of food to the cook working the grill and continued a conversation with my coworker.

In a few minutes, my lunch was ready. The cook, a large Latino, brought me my lunch and waited to hear what type of rice I preferred.

“White,” I said.

He stared at me blankly. Too much noise in the restaurant, I thought. Time for a different tack.

“Blanco,” I told him.
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