The Art of Eating In - Cathy Erway [32]
3 tablespoons sugar
1 pound green beans, ends trimmed and snapped in half to roughly 2-3-inch pieces
2 scallions, chopped
2-3 dried whole red chilies (optional)
1 large bunch Thai basil leaves
Rice for serving
Mix chicken pieces in cornstarch and 2 teaspoons of soy sauce in a bowl. Cover and chill to marinate at least 30 minutes, or up to overnight.
In a large nonstick pan, heat sesame oil with the chilies, garlic and ginger until oil just begins to bubble. Add chicken and stir to brown pieces on all sides a little bit. Add rice wine, remaining soy sauce, and sugar. Stir until boiling, then cover. Let simmer on medium-low 8 minutes or slightly longer if using chicken with bones. Add the green beans and basil and stir the pan to evenly distribute them. Cover partially and continue cooking for 5 minutes. Add scallions and toss once more. Serve with white rice.
CHAPTER 4
Chilaquiles and Meringues
COOKING QUIRKS AND CHARACTERISTICS
The way a man cuts his meat reflects his life.
—Chinese proverb
A blotted canvas tarp was heaped in the center of the room. On top of it stood a paint-speckled three-step ladder with a can of white paint and a toolbox at its feet. The rest of the hardwood living room floor was bare, and so was the front of the cupboard in the bathroom. It smelled of fresh paint in the apartment, and I got the feeling that someone had just been inside it a short time ago.
Our new landlord had assured us that the apartment Ben and I were moving into would be ready by November first. About a week before the move-in date, he called me to see if we could move on the fifteenth instead. Actually, we didn’t have a choice—his contractors hadn’t finished the renovation. This sent off a wave of complications involving subletters, tricky math regarding our rent payments, and inconvenient timing—the fifteenth fell in the middle of the week. And now, at eleven o’clock on a Wednesday night, we stood in our new one-bedroom apartment, a van full of our stuff and three friends waiting outside.
A short month and a half ago, Ben and I had made the decision to move in together. Neither of us had really thought about leaving behind our old living situations before; I couldn’t have asked for a better roommate than Erin, and Ben loved his old neighborhood and apartment, which he also shared with just one roommate. But with the way we had been living for the past few months—together, essentially—a dramatic change seemed inevitable. Wary that we were burdening our roommates with a part-time third roommate, and prompted by the fact that our leases were due for renewal at the same time, we began looking for our own place.
Neither Ben nor I had ever lived with a significant other before. It had been somewhat nerve-wracking to think about at first, but once Ben and I started finding apartments that we liked and envisioning the new situation, it all seemed like it was meant to be. I’d started a new job that month, too. Finally I’d no longer be manning the office of a busy executive, taking phone calls and pushing papers around; instead I was working as a copywriter for a clothing company, where I had the chance to flex some creativity. It was a step in the right direction for me, and of course, I was still cooking and blogging away in the meantime. Ben helped me refresh my website with new graphics that he’d designed. There were plenty of changes that fall.
When we went to see the one-bedroom that we eventually rented, we immediately loved its old-fashioned details and the historic block of mansions the building was situated on. We also loved the neighborhood, Fort Greene, Brooklyn. It had a farmers’ market, a beautiful park, and a diverse community, yet the influx of trendy restaurants that were beginning to dot its main street told of its recent gentrification. We began imagining how we’d decorate our place, and collecting household odds and ends while checking off a list of items that we’d now have two of so we could discern which was better. But as we stood there, stunned at the scene when we opened