It happened. The unthinkable. The moment I didn’t know I was dreading. My beloved rice cooker—the one that’s been with me for ten solid years, the unsung hero of so many meals—gave up on me this weekend. Out of nowhere. No warning. Just…done. I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t even realize we were on the verge of a breakup. One minute I was setting it up to do its thing, and the next? Silence. Cold, heartless silence.

For ten years, that rice cooker was my ride-or-die kitchen companion. It knew me. I knew it. It was simple, reliable, never asking for more than a scoop of rice and some water, never making a fuss. It was there for me through thick and thin—literally, because, let’s be real, sometimes I got the water-to-rice ratio wrong. But it didn’t care. It did its job without complaint. We had a rhythm.

And then, just like that—poof! It’s like it decided it had done enough. Like, “Hey, I’ve been serving you for a decade. You’re on your own now.” And I felt bereft. I mean, how do you even process that kind of loss? I wasn’t prepared for this. No one tells you how much you can grow attached to a kitchen appliance until it’s gone. I stood there, staring at its lifeless body, wondering where it all went wrong. Could I have been more careful with it? Did I push it too hard? Or was it just its time?

Naturally, I did what any sensible person would do when faced with such a crisis: I went online to find a replacement. I thought, “OK, maybe this is the time to level up. Let’s see what fancy new models are out there.” But as I scrolled through the endless options—rice cookers with LED screens, rice cookers that talk to you, rice cookers that practically want to join a Zoom call to discuss the best rice cooking strategy—I just couldn’t. I didn’t need fancy. I didn’t want fancy*l. I wanted simple. I wanted beloved.

There’s a certain beauty in simplicity, you know? I don’t need my rice cooker to do anything other than cook rice. I don’t need it to be “smart.” I just need it to show up, do the job, and quietly sit in its corner until next time. Is that too much to ask?

So, after briefly flirting with the idea of upgrading, I ended up buying the same one. Well, more or less the same one. Turns out they don’t make it exactly like they used to (because of course they don’t), but I got one that’s close enough. Sure, they’ve slapped on a few more buttons and given it a sleeker look, but it’s still my rice cooker at heart. And that’s what matters.

Do I feel better now? A little. But there’s a part of me that still feels sad about the old one. It was with me for a decade, after all. It’s weird, isn’t it? How do we get so attached to the things that make our daily lives just a little easier? And how when they’re gone, we feel a strange, almost irrational sense of loss? It’s like an era ended in my kitchen.

So, here’s to my old rice cooker. You were simple, steadfast, and irreplaceable (even though I did technically replace you). You served me well, and I’ll miss you. But the rice must go on, and thanks to your not-so-fancy successor, it will.