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Ink runs in my veins.
That's not a surprising statement, as any old newspaperman will make the same figurative claim.
Only I make mine literally. At least I can now. You see, the wife and I recently returned from a trip to Spain. Among other delicacies, I treated myself to a pile of seafood in black rice.
Now, when I ordered the dish, I assumed black rice was a mere variant of the grain. Sort of like blue corn or red wheat.
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