Eating - Jason Epstein [37]
Pretending to be his wife, Professor Chao writes, “Making others feel at ease is as true of Chinese manners as of American manners, but we apply the principle very differently. Sometimes we seem to be actually quarreling and fighting when we are really each trying to be more polite than everybody else. The important thing is that in that wrangling atmosphere everybody feels happy and at ease, because things are going as they should.”
Several of Mrs. Chao’s basic recipes have inspired the more complicated versions in later Chinese cookbooks, and several of his/her attempts to create an equivalent vocabulary in English have become part of the culinary language, such as “stir-fry” and “pot stickers.” Mr. Chao’s attempt to introduce “ramblings” for “hun-t’un” (wonton), “which differ from ordinary, neat-edged wraplings by having fluffy or rambling edges like the tails of a goldfish,” didn’t catch on. But Professor Chao adds this footnote: “The same spoken word, written differently, means in fact the nebulous state of confusion when the world began,” an elevated thought to accompany your next bowl of hun-t’un soup.
How to Cook and Eat in Chinese is once again out of print. My copy is brittle with age. Much of it is out of date. Today leaf lard is hard to find, but ginger is everywhere, and bok choy and hoisin can be found in most supermarkets. But the recipes are still basic and true. Perhaps in the digital future a virtual copy of the Chaos’ book will turn up. If so, cooks will still find the recipes useful. They will not daunt amateurs and will inspire experts.
EGG FOO YUNG
The other day, I ordered an oyster omelette in a neighborhood Malaysian restaurant. The eggs were cooked quickly over high heat and therefore were tough, the oysters were too small and too few, and the seasoning was off, a hasty job by a careless cook. Years ago, the Chinese omelette called “egg foo yung” could be found on Chinese restaurant menus practically everywhere. In the 1960s, Jane Jacobs, my ten-year-old son, Jacob, and I were exploring northern Canada at the northern terminus of the rail line at Moose Factory, a remote settlement at the foot of James Bay, a southern extension of Hudson Bay. Moose Factory consisted of some bleak Inuit dwellings, a run-down motel, and two Chinese restaurants bearing identical signs—“Mets Chinois et Canadien”—and probably owned by descendants of the Chinese crews that built the railroads and prepared their native cuisine themselves. The egg foo yung that we were served was an adequate relic of New York’s Chinatown in a sub-Arctic wilderness. Now the dish seldom appears on New York’s Chinatown menus. But I still serve my version of Mrs. Chao’s authentic Cantonese oyster omelette. It’s quick, easy, and delicious. Chinese fish markets and upscale supermarkets carry jars of shucked West Coast oysters, which cost less and are easier to use than local oysters in the shell, but if you can’t find bottled oysters, the fishmonger will shuck some for you if you can’t shuck them yourself. For two, you will need about a half-dozen medium oysters, six eggs, a handful of bean sprouts, a celery stalk chopped fine, a few green onions in one-and-a-half-inch julienne strips, two tablespoons of oyster sauce, a pinch of sugar, a smaller pinch of salt, sesame oil, and some cornstarch. Quickly stir-fry the oysters in peanut oil in a ten-inch pan or wok until they puff. Drain and save the oyster liquid, and reserve the oysters in a separate bowl. Then lightly oil the pan again, and toss in the bean sprouts, chopped celery, green onions, sugar, salt, and oyster sauce. Stir-fry over high heat for a minute or so, and add to the reserved oysters. Clean the pan, warm it, and film it again with peanut oil, and pour in the eggs, lightly beaten. Reduce the flame. As the eggs begin to form a bottom, mix in the vegetables and oysters, and cook the mixture slowly over moderate