When I
packed up my things in preparation for the move from parent’s home to
apartment, I made sure to box up a few staples from our downstairs food storage
treasure trove to take over to the new place: a few cans of green beans, a couple sleeves of spaghetti and
accompanying spaghetti sauces, chicken-flavored ramen (which I planned to eat
with chopsticks so I could fit in with the guys), and a gargantuan bulk box of
granola bars. Of course, Mom was my key accomplice in the heist: “Have some of
these too,” she said, thrusting a collection of canned Alaskan salmon into my
sagging cardboard carryall.
It was
enough to get me through at least a week or two before I’d have to shop on my
own. I was ready. Spaghetti was no sweat, ramen, even less, and with the canned
veggies to balance the diet, I was all set. Making my first solo-meal at the
new place was exciting. With water set to boil, I tore open the spaghetti and
readied our wok to use as a saucepan. Grabbing a can of spaghetti sauce, I
opened a drawer and reached for a can opener.
I didn’t see
one. I checked another drawer. No dice.
I scoured the kitchen—“there’s no way," I thought. "It must be here." I called out to the ren: "YUAN!!!
SHUAI!! YOU GUYS GOT A CAN OPENER?”
They didn’t.
They just didn’t. I knew these guys could cook; in fact, I knew they could cook
well. I had previously enjoyed some drop-dead delicious dishes at their place
so I think my incredulity is justified. Still in disbelief, I then tried using
a knife to access the sauce, which failed miserably. I gave up and used the situation as an excuse
to meet one of our neighbors. (Nice to meet you Tina! Thanks again!)
It is not
uncommon for a Chinese home to be without a can opener. Ask some of your
Chinese friends about it and they might not even know what contraption you’re talking
about. Fresh food is a big deal, and the benefits certainly show not only with
the great taste of the food that comes out of the middle kingdom, but the health
benefits the food provides as well. People that have been to China (or people that have been to
the Noble Engineering library at ASU, for that matter) tell me. How many morbidly
obese—heck, lets just say obese—Chinese people have you seen?
With all
this in mind, I went with our neighbor and experienced shopper-chef Amy a couple weeks ago to the Asian
supermarket at Mekong plaza in west Mesa. My goal was to shop for a week’s
worth of Chinese-style meals that were equal parts tasty, healthy, and easy to
make—all on a college student budget. We snatched up bok choy, mushrooms, green
peppers, tomatoes, potatoes, broccoli, tofu, eggs, some frozen veggies, and a pound
of pork (gotta have that pork). I spent just over twelve bucks.
A couple of
days later, I went over to Amy’s house to make sense of my exotic and
inexpensive combination of greens. “Teach me how to make a simple dish,” I
said. “Whatever is fine—just make my hands do every step of the cooking process." She
graciously obliged, instructing me to clean the veggies and potatoes, measure
the appropriate amount of water for the rice cooker (“up to here” she gestured,
pointing to her index finger), and prepare the meat with soy sauce, tapioca
flour, and cooking wine (awww yeah!). I chopped, I diced, I sautéed, I
stir-fried, stopping occasionally to add some salt or water to the wok and, much to my surprise, the concoction smelled increasingly delightful as I went along.
The results
were delectable. Pork with potato and black fungus (There has GOT to be a more
appealing name for fungus. In Chinese we say mùér 木耳 which literally means “tree ear” and figuratively
means “highly delicious” Help me out, culinary translators). The whole experience, including preparation,
cooking, eating, and clean-up took about and hour and a half. Done.
Amy and I have gotten together a few more times since that occasion for
continued cooking classes. The results have been even tastier. I’ve even made
some of the same dishes on my own (without help even from Handsome Shuai or the Boss) and managed to whip up something filling and great-tasting. My twelve
bucks has since turned into more than 10 meals and I haven’t had to twist a can
opener to churn out a single one.
