Stir fries and ball bearings

The feeling I get as my dinner concept skitters off course, is something not unlike attempting to get across a room with a floor filled with ball bearings. What happens, after I get out celery, chicken and mushrooms with the presumption that I am going to produce something like a Chinese (or Asian in general) meal, is that I just lose my direction, I carom dangerously around the kitchen, cleaver in hand, as the goal of the meal that I once had clearly in mind abandons me. I cannot imagine why I bought mustard greens to add to this mess, squash, these stinking mushrooms (they’re fine when they’re cooked but raw they have a smell that is vaguely nauseating), celery, scallions, green pepper and bok choy. Oh, and that damn hot pepper. 

I blearily drag out all my various sauces that relate in some way to the Pacific rim—although not that horrific fish sauce—Thai red curry paste, gochujang, several soy sauces, mirin, rice wine vinegar, whatever the hell looked appropriate lurch to the pan, and in a haze of confusion slop this and that, whatever into whatever.

That feeling of disorientation, the bewildering sense of loss of purpose dissipates when I sit down to eat. Because, no matter. It always tastes the same. I have arrived at the same place I always do. Except for the mustard greens which tasted like, well, nothing. It was fine I ate it (for days), I’ll eat anything. Except anchovies and I’m gonna work on that. And maybe once I conquer that I’ll work on the fish sauce.






Stir fries and ball bearings

The feeling I get as my dinner concept skitters off course, is something not unlike attempting to get across a room with a floor filled with ball bearings. What happens, after I get out celery, chicken and mushrooms with the presumption that I am going to produce something like a Chinese (or Asian in general) meal, is that I just lose my direction, I carom dangerously around the kitchen, cleaver in hand, as the goal of the meal that I once had clearly in mind abandons me. I cannot imagine why I bought mustard greens to add to this mess, squash, these stinking mushrooms (they’re fine when they’re cooked but raw they have a smell that is vaguely nauseating), celery, scallions, green pepper and bok choy. Oh, and that damn hot pepper. 

I blearily drag out all my various sauces that relate in some way to the Pacific rim—although not that horrific fish sauce—Thai red curry paste, gochujang, several soy sauces, mirin, rice wine vinegar, whatever the hell looked appropriate lurch to the pan, and in a haze of confusion slop this and that, whatever into whatever.

That feeling of disorientation, the bewildering sense of loss of purpose dissipates when I sit down to eat. Because, no matter. It always tastes the same. I have arrived at the same place I always do. Except for the mustard greens which tasted like, well, nothing. It was fine I ate it (for days), I’ll eat anything. Except anchovies and I’m gonna work on that. And maybe once I conquer that I’ll work on the fish sauce.






Asian ish

What else can you do when you have a zillion vegetables. Stir fry! The phrase makes me cringe. I threw some corn starch in a couple of TBS of soy sauce and then I fried up a boat load of zucchini (yawn), celery, scallions and mushrooms. I have a bag of cooking peanuts so I threw in a handful. 

I mistakenly threw a splash of fish sauce into the hot pan. Jesus. The smell could kill a wolverine. 

I didn’t fall asleep onto the plate while I was eating it but that was only because I was afraid I’d get that fish sauce in my hair. 



Stir fry

I just cringe at the words. It reminds me of the 70s when everyone (my father chiefly) was into stir fries because they were healthy. Meh. Don’t get me wrong, I like Asian food but I want an actual Asian meal, Bang Bang Chicken, Sizzling Rice Soup or General Chow’s Something or Other not some slop thrown into a pan because it’s healthy (ugh), easy (lazy) and fast.

But I have a lot of Asian condiments for some reason that escapes me and had all the right vegetables so I whipped one out. It’s easy that’s for sure except that the meat and some of the vegetables have to get stirred and fried at different times for some culinary reason that I won’t go into here.

Fortunately there is no equivalent of the Royal Mounted Indian Food Policing system as regards Asian food because this meal bore only the vaguest resemblance to Asian food in that it tastes Asiany. And while I am sure they’d have eaten it, it tasted fine, they’d have been amused, or maybe bemused.

And yes, I did put all those things into. And yes, it was shrieking spicy hot.





Stir, er, grill fry

I may have invented this. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this although it couldn’t be possible that I am the first person who’s ever done it. I grilled a stir fry. Mushrooms, celery, peppers, onions and cabbage.

Meh, tasted just like a stir fry.

Not ratatouille

Nearly everything I cook for myself tastes the same. Or at least looks the same. I made a . . . I hate the expression stir fry, I don’t know why, I want to call it something like gai kwak jinn . . . but I made a stir fry using basically the same ingredients I used last night for ratatouille but the mushrooms were larger and I added cabbage.

Cabbage is amazing. I bought this cabbage last year. Seriously. And not on December 31st. Like in September. I used chicken (this was a getting-rid-of-crap-in-my-refrigerator meal), celery, red pepper and green onions.

The gai kwak jinn was passable. It looked better than it was, in fact it looked just like ratatouille. But there was too much soy sauce and I neglected to add fermented black beans. I also neglected to make rice or noodles. I was too busy watching Chopped. So I ate it just plain. I’m not sure if that’s allowed in Chinese circles. It seems not right. But then there were no cellophane wrapped fortune cookies at the end either.