Hello World,
Mama’s been craving Fried Rice.
Lemme tell you – this is weird moment-in-apex for all Asians, but especially Asian-Americans.
Non-asians telling me what’s authentic or not.
I’m also Italian, so the beef with “Northern-Food” has been well depicted. I get pissed off every time I hear “broccoli and oriechette” when oriechette was made by Amish Pioneers and Pennsylvanian Mennonite Goat-Herders, so essentially the Poconos that isn’t Italian or lived in a community with them. To learn what pasta is ya know, and the Chinese in the City taught you about Lo Mein – which is eaten in Asia. By Tourists and on American Bases 🌘🌘 I live here and I’m Native American and Indigenous but China means a lot to me.
Which also hurt as an Asian kid that wasn’t Asian enough for the white kids or white enough for the Asians…somehow and I am the one lacking culture when I do my best to celebrate em all as an Indigenous-Soy-Mixto lil bean o this Earth.
I parlayed life in phone calls and attestments as the fish roe turns to caviar and the hammerhead shark have brought his gulley of jockies in insisting me not feeling the quakes of an eternally pregnant wife and babies, babies, babies foreva foreva. Lil reminitions of mini-me’s and combos and permutations of how these lil donor babies take up a whole box after awhile. And twin dragons galore.
They’re very excited. [Husband + Entourage.]
I don’t want to cook.
Cravings waiting on groceries, happens..family scheduling shit. Everyone got their own task.
And I, freshly 24: craved fried rice.
…so this inherently the problem. An Asian-American in the line of sight where I craved fried rice and I’m the asshole that sanctioned Panda Express for dinner last night to vanquish the cravings..and those beautiful scoopy heaps of the fried rice I crave the most besides my mom’s Filipino version: is Panda Express.
I’ve been called a fake-asian because of this. Dumbass.
The same people who couldn’t take the time to understand Mandarin is the national-languica for Business-Standards. We all speak Cantonese.
Then I was a dirty Cantonese because I hid I was Chinese with Filipino and then Spanish and Italian and Indigenous and Moorish and now I’m fake-Cantonese because I’m not a purebred!!
🤯 Asia would find this bombastic.
But a common American experience nonetheless. One whisper-rendition of “I’m Indigenous-Siberian.” And I got 27 red letters by the end of the night in Manila-evelopes bc of the Filipino and I’m eating seaweed bean stew, gelatinous sesame beans curd cake, and zchataowski!! Cantonese Kugle!
There was more than tempura, sunflowers, and gambling huts left by our Western Companions o Traveling.
Even the classification of how Northern-Indian cuisine can’t be classified with Southern which is just known as Indian … Kinda feels like fucking over half a country’s culture.
It’s a roll in NY and a biscuit in the South, but it’s the bacon, egg, and cheese that unites us all.
If you eat turkey – I’m not gonna be a jerky; that would be haram to your halal.
And that’s a common saying in China that no one talks about only expecting us to be government employees, real tall basketball players, ninjas somehow instead of kung fu monks, or like Vietnamese in the rice paddies. Which is like Chinese, but I wouldn’t snub them the same way Taiwan [they gave us boba you motherfucker, and you still call it “bubble tea” have some fucking respect. Damn it. 🤬🥷🏼😮💨🍃] gets snubbed in their own culture and ethno-religions and cultures. Similar to Okinawa, similar to the Philippines. [Ube + Taro imma bring it up since no one wanna talk about it and the Boba argument. Pansy ass. Use the asian-dialect it’s not that hard to say that word. Boba / Baba. Baby want milky? Drink it with the tea and purple yam root you mf asshole. Anyways.]
I could go on and on forever.
Understanding that like 5/6 of the populable world is inhabited by Asians and the Globe is Asian-Majority and bro that’s why we ain’t got time to beef with you. Very crowded in the Motherlands. A billion people in One-Country and it’s like the size of the Northeast of America stopping at Pennsylvania but not including. Then India is like the exact same size as Nevada.
And Americans think they’re the crowded ones… Pftt. I’m one of them. How hypocritical.
And as I am the Asian-one, I’m the asshole that has to cook Fried Rice and feel like a copout bc they hate the only national to international chain’s fried rice and I’m like yo – dats Gansu Rice. Waz wrong with it?
Don’t have an answer except it’s fake?
You grew up on boxed mac and cheese and think noodles are waxed – they’re salted. But lemme help you.
You grew up around White Americans and you’re ignorant bc you just ain’t met one of us.
Well, there’s a local Asian-Hillbilly half+half or some Uncle that came after his nephew was born and just never left and he said he was from the Motherland and he just meant DC and more than likely an IT/Defense worker that requires family-living to ensure: someone’s gonna make use of that damn grid and keep the Internet up.
And we starve, and struggle to wash clothes.
And think of all the simple meals that made us happy with an origin of probably gaming and deep-web-rabbit-hole researching the internet just bc information is accessible and our parents of any culture we come from have the understanding – that had been rare for all of Time until the world started a’ changing.
And the knock-knock-knock on heaven’s door to tell there are Fried Pork Chops + Smoked Sausage Fried Rice or my dad’s Ribs and Shrimp + Mushroom Fried Rice… Were the happiest moments of real hunger waiting for the food to cook. (As a Child, and presently. Still happens from time to time. And I eat my beloved Fried Pork Chops in bed and lift my gums with the bone-marrow poke and suck on the oil fat. Sorta? Like Sam from iCarly. But the Asian duality version. Every Asian GRRRLL got an Irish-Native Fascismile twin. There’s always a White-Girl-Equivalent in every man and woman out there of Non-Cascadian Permutation Peeps.. you’re not left out. Show us the ways at the drive-thru and your convenienced-culture The
Gas
Station
Truly is Thine-Bounty. (Non-white-people sentiments as we want to understand how everything can be a casserole and why the mayo and egg are necessary and not fatty..but binders instead of sesame or coconut or panko… Truly fascinating 📝 more notes so I can appease the oighte/blanco/ygarliquehummustoned in my life. The other one is Brown. But we all went to Harvard. Nuff said 😬🫣🥶☺️. [Don’t be assuming bruh. Why ask. Fellow white-passing individuals that actually take flattery to be noticed they come from a culture other than white-american where they don’t fit bc of colorism in their own community in America and even worse in the Motherlands. A lot of people refer to it as “The American Glitch” lowest light levels in the planet and we all get pale af. I haven’t been so tan since I had recess everyday and I was much paler in my travels above Vietnam in Asia and much darker and not orange than I was as a kid in America. Flex ya checks – it’s latitude and sunlight bih not the nostrils o yo nose. I’m js 🤷🏻♀️ keep up mane.]
The aroma permeating every layer of the house. Before we had good windows to open them. Grease and oil and air pops and slight yells from touching the hot tongs.
And now I sit here realizing I haven’t uploaded a single picture bc I’m kinda pissed off on my period and Im self-loathing I had to stoop this low.
Another Secret: No Asian has ever perfected their Fried Rice recipe, why?
The rice is always different.
So here we are. The meat + cheese. The actual recipe and not a smidge of the things I think about when I’m cooking and not writing them preparing to edit after I eat and realize I wasn’t so hungry.. or that fried rice is mega in macros y calores.
Besides craving Fried Rice there’s always the conundrum.. I could put anything in it, huh.
I wanted some meats.
This pack of pork belly strips has been in my freezer for awhile. Bottom of the totem pole in my scheduling-stacked-structure: time to get rid of it.
Had a bag of frozen peas I’ve been living off. I think I used it somewhere in another Cooking with Intuition.
I’m not sure anymore. I realized it had been close to a month and I do one or two of these a month. At least aim to. Being a writer and working in IT and Gaming, let alone everything else or reviewing streams and seasons of certain shows – I don’t have a lot of time to cook and I don’t want to everyday.
I try to only cook once a day. Leftovers in the morning or a decent breakfast. I’m more of
A Forager how I eat.
So that’s how I create flavor combos for how I cook, which sometimes are hits and become memorable recipes that are all my own somehow.
I never really cook Fried Rice unless I have frozen peas because I love the texture and of, course it’s my favorite part of Panda Express‘s fried rice. And I still didn’t get it right. But she was tasty and I got a lot more left.
One thing, some of ya readers have noticed – I cook a lot of frozen ingredients.
Which is also common in Asia or cooking with Ice besides for drinks or desserts. Meat included bc it be cold up there in Gansu mane. Much Cooler than Korea, not frozen like Siberian. But 5ft into the mountain and I feel like a floating amoeba fluttering on my toes. Oh Mount Li, she is beautiful.
I decided to just defrost for a .2lb and didn’t quite finished.
They were still semi-frozen and cuttable on the end and into the middle and back of the grain of the pork belly, slice and chuck that shit down mane.
Always looks like a blooming onion falling apart to me cutting the frozen strips that way.
I don’t have a wok. My mom gave my aunt my fried rice wok bc I was getting crazy spinning that shit for tempura and sloshing grease burns on my arms I stopped feeling. 9 years old went crazy (it lasted until 2016 this leg of “perfecting a recipe” I gave up on that. Big moment for Imposter Syndrome and wannabe-Chefs that never went to Culinary School and is self-taught and watched at every counter and stirred the pot until I became a prep chef. Now I’m a Family-Executive at 24, sounds about right.
So yeah, cast-iron.
No oil.
The other wok I’ve never used, but woks are casked-iron in China.. I think I can acclimate. I cook paella on planchetas, and fajitas in woks.. been everywhere man. Even in hardware – acclimate. It’s not fusion if the ingredients are the same and the hardware is different. We used to cook on fire. Bullshit me later. Then show me, Texture 🤌🏼.
{Can you tell I’ve competed and been a judge to champion as well?}
Some people cook bacon in a dry, cold pan. Bacon is made from pork belly. Mushrooms dry create extra juice once you introduce it to oil after a sear. Pork Belly works very similar.
A lot of people have heard “layer your flavors” I’ve discussed layering your fond and drippings. The next level is -layer-yo-fat.
Like any 24 yo Chinese or sumthin Gal, I got the good oils on top of my mini-fridge’s pantry. In this case, I used Sesame and Grapeseed. Which is traditional, I prefer it with vegetable oil honestly, but as tradition – we were almost out of canola. So sesame and Grapeseed it was. But comes in later/soon!
Don’t worry too much about burning that pork belly. Takes like 4 hours without oil to do it. Don’t try that home either. It’ll be a grease fire, word of advice and Caution!
[from the fat releasing. for the white-americans… If you’ve ever been yelled for getting the kettle too hot for the cracklings and set your porch on fire, just know I’ve seen other 8-35 year olds do this as well. Listen to Your-Elder-that-Cooks.]
One thing I’d like to touch on – about 3% of Americans are home cooks. Imagine in the most bio-diverse pool o people in the world: and like 3 milli of us only be cooking out here??? [That’s a lot of cultures to cover tho, I must say. Imagine the bounty of regional tastes and fusion-fare!!]
Makes me think of men that will marry any woman that can cook and then they get buched by -pulled-out-da-box and served on a plate. It takes 6 months to make really good Mother for a Yeast Roll. If you’re gonna fake your cooking and fake your marriage – you could at least TIP 25+% also known as “Group30” for your fake-accomodation of someone else’s hard work. Thank you! Don’t come back again! ☺️🫶🏼
Anyways. Scott Conant references in a jumbled-jungle of paraphrase or not bc I think of him every time I see a Red Onion, I don’t even have to cook it: we move forward 😄👩🏻🍳
I toy with this a lot in my brain. Raised-by-Food-TV started with Julia Child. And James Beard made it happen and haunted all those who learned with her for centuria-and-following.
I still come up with new ways.
I hope that’s helpful Elder-Chefs eating more frozen or takeout these days bc they left the brick+mortar position.
Or newbies that think you’re like me: Iron Chef (Japan/Original) was home cooks and street food stall workers ONLY. Imagine the juxtaposition of Americans thinking we’re all hauty-taughty and only listen to the Violin and live in Brown Loafers and Chefs hats.
We play viola or cello motherfuckers, and it’s sweats and sneakers. Basically how Americans think of Europe and then you meet the Eastern-bloc and they got no idea what Europe you talking about homme g – you mean a resort?? It’s gotta be a vacation land they’re talking about 🤣🤣 Indonesians know what I’m talking about.
“You vacation in the Philippines and South America and you’re white??” Funs out, someone’s lying here. Dat scary to natives as well, you can’t wear your good clothes the whole time or they’ll know you’re American.
Well Honey, the truth is everyone local here knows I’m American and they just got questions what it’s like over there for the family. Like visiting your fucking cousin and going to Florida and some shit. Whatever. Reno for my Family. We persist further in the direction.
SO!
2 Garlic Clove – smashed then sliced.
Half Onion: sideways/on-the-bias slice vertical, them horizontal from the side again. (Oblique Minced)
Sliced-bias.
Think of it like supreme-ing an orange but make it onion and keep the roots in-tact and on a half face and not round-the-world.
Got it? Bc you’ll get it eventually, even if you don’t now.
Onions + Garlic (aromatics.) in the pan, on top of the pork belly slices.
Sesame 3sec drizzle than Grapeseed all across and round the outer-edges of the pan in a circle.
Salt! A lot of it. How else is it gonna dry out! That’s chemistry.
The Next Ingredients go-quick.
Moms had tons of citau, Japanese eggplant, and bittermelon. Might as well put some fresh Chinese green beans in the Northern-Chinese Rice.
It’s heartier. And harder. So more susceptible to being cooked than tasting like raw-chlorophyll.
YES, WE USE THE CELERY LEAVES. *ahem* sorry there, had to clear my throat. [now we have fresh herbs and something light green in the pan without breaking out the canned-parsley.
Another Note: frozen items mean they defrost in the pan. which means the steam they were frozen in – adds natural
stock to your pan.
They say it’s bad luck to put salted duck egg in fried rice. It’s traditional, and if you can pull it off it’s delicious. It’s been in my fridge for awhile. Alone in there. A special occasion. A weary electrolyte meal for the harvest of no meals, just ingredients or lack of snack.
It seems like such a good idea. And it never turns out that way if you bring broccoli into the mix. Something too-fortunate about it to have all the ingredients you want.
One is bound to be spoiled once you unwrap it.
Linear line and a lil peninsula in the middle of the egg.
One unfortunate shame in life: you only learn what bad eggs look like if you’ve tasted them, and then you know smell, and then you know the look.
Even for preserving eggs – there’s a limit.
Otherwise, wait a thousand years.
They make great black soup, that way, and will be most fortunate in your blessing of strong ass food to eat. 😇 or ☠️ is the strength it takes. Otherwise, someone got a button-pulling-benched disability and imma you some respect ~Tiny~Elder. 😅🤣😄 ykiyk.
All that lard from the Pork Belly, Grapeseed and Sesame Oil has taken a nice turn and emulsified nicely. (Combined evenly with no chunks.)
Time for Soy 😎🤙🏼
Let’s persist. 👿 Grumpy, frowny face included. Grrrr.
So you can see we still gots some time on color. And Soy Sauce is required, bc well. It’s Fried Rice.
Now which soy sauce? Ah! Yes, that is debatable.
I’m Filipino and grew up on Lauriat and Silver Swan as our mains. Sometimes the Datu Puti soy if there’s a two-pack with the vinegar. Datu Puti brand Toyomansi always. And we like the pineapple-fermented one too when it’s around. (Another rare thing.) My mom’s and I speak different dialects but get most of each other in the languages I think or respond or translate/interpret for her through English and what I know of Tagalog, but I do be speaking Visayan.
A lot of people think of Visayan as Country-Bumpkin-Filipino and well, let me tell you. ::if I speaketh the lore of the Asian-Hillbilly and Mountain Folk, perhaps – I do be coming from the Mtns and I speak the Older-Language. The First One.
I didn’t go to school in the 70s in the Philippines like my Moms did when they rescheduled and nationalized education into a Regional curriculum per island chain Luzon, Visayan, Mindanao etc. I could correlate every other government structure like the Carolinas or France, England, and Canada in comparison to America, but to simplify: I be loving the fucking mountains and always loved by the coast; of course I be fucking breathing Cebu in these gawtdamn limbs. Iloilo Moms, married Illocano.
It couldn’t get more Native-Asian-Irish than this. Then ya add in the Scots, Welsh, British Isles, and French Huguenot with a lil Yemmessee; well my god. Now it’s dun..dun..fuuuHHHNNduHNnnn Asians + Hillbillies.
And somehow no one has a res.card. but lives… in the res town. Interesting.
And they still spew white shit at me and I can make soda bread into pandesal. Stfu and eat and you’ll be much kinder about it.
Everyone loves lumpia and you think my Gansu Rice is fake-asian.
Imma eat shit in site stats for this one. Show me yo flag!
So get the beat out clean your ears with q-tips after a sit-down from the stove.
We’re moving the ingredients.
Those crumbs will save your life later.
biiiitteeerrrr. 🫥. biter.
It’s like I’ve done photography and editing before. Sigh. Film Now. Storyline Later. I’ll think on it.
Don’t argue.
I’m not gonna show you how to chop broccoli.
For flat texture and char.
Just think of transformation lines and interior wrapping. Idk smart person shit. Be a Rick + Morty fan today.
Canapes.
A poem.
Anyways.
Oh look, Rice! From the transformative properties of: my mom made a fuck ton bc we got tired of running out. Left it in the fridge. And now I’m making fried rice bc I’m 24, married and living with my Mother, and my Husband only talks to my Mom when I’m asleep and on private celebrity FB pages bc well – Chaos Mathematic the celebrity name.
white-fluffy-ass dog dancing memes.
Nice taste, Mom.
And now I get a package “locally-taped+delivered” for new sheets.
Taupe, the imperial-irie color.
Mmm, beige.
Just like my Irish-Bastard of a Husband. Isn’t that
Lovely.
Back to Chinese Shit.
So, I’ll give you the lowdown. Keep the broccoli down char. Gives texture and surface area for the grains of rice. Rice Grains are small, way more surface area underneath and between the texture of the broccoli florets – for that rice grain to touch pan.
We want crispy, it may not stay crispy. More on that later.
Between my infurious earthquakes of trying to type this and a shitty data-connection I’m starting to blame on lousy employees trying their best and being lazy: I too get reminded of my husband that once killed a celebrity-life to come back home to his ailing wife and how my celebrity-crush was only deemed into “you’re attracted to men that look like they don’t drink water.” And “assholes.” Well he’s both of those, and cool-white-guy that repped Manhattan til the day he dies and called it “Home.” And the Lowe-East-side was “adventurous.” ended up being a yeehaw-undercover-inthe-city. What can ya do. I’m a Brooklyn Harrisburg Bitch, and now we’re in **** the other NY guy that claims is his shit. [pssstt* they’re both French and Russian-Jewish too. The Siberian Woman Laments. Pansies compared to my genetic/original-hometown.]
Crumbling aside bc I’m basically Dragon from Shrek rn and my partners are essentially all the dad from Nemo. Norman. Protect yo eggs, protect yo neck. We ain’t got chocolate. They deal with it.
Furthermore;
Not brown-rice, it’s browned. That’s right, somewhere in-between I poured tons of Grapeseed Oil on top of the rice. Mixed it up and let it cook + crisp. I revoked the picture of showing the oil-cascadence as – to a family of wedded Chefs + Home cooks; pouring oil on rice feels like watching paint swatches dry. Not a lot of my time and you’re wasting it to see the first stroke to act like it happened. We’ve built a lot of houses. I do flooring and tiles and electrician work and they do – well, painting and drywall. Roof, never again. (Leave that to the other two that just want to jump off the roof and see the sunset for fun. Bc it is! Yay! Lots o Sun 😎🤙🏼 +breeze!)
Fiberglass don’t hurt us nun’ 🎶🎶🎶👷🏻♀️🕵🏻♀️🥷🏻👩🏻🏫👩🏻🔧
Yah, yah.
Hitting ADHD bedrock as it’s been 3 hours since that screenshot and I’m still typing and hoping my fucking next block loads to type with all these pixels of pictures just to keep ”braking.dapage.
Woof
And dats aa huh crispy rice, where I’m from, my friend.
Now you fuck it up, and put the toppings back in.
window.
Ah North Carolina, I promised cool-cool Summer. And you treat with early September in Late July/August. What a blowout in temperance for accepting I’m in my mid-20s and getting old and making my age-gap relationship-partner husband of some sort – sad. Bc he’s mad old. But we married before my legal age changed and a coma and all that shit. What can ya do – The Church and WGA have our DNA. Bounded forever through time. Like his fucking snack seasoning that’s making me smell bad that keeps bothering me as I write this because I know he wants to shit out these 4 year old sheets for new sheets so I don’t use em and if I gotta change em quick, he’s a happy man frankly. Do I blame him no – do I grow tiresome from his native and natural ways I learned to love him for in every life and this and that and he’s done this twice since the last time he did this to me and Granddaddy, Father to all 3 + 2 if they came around smacking a radio to break it and go louder while we lay in incubation-coma bc the War went fucking tiresome and once we woke up we learned to love the brackets.
Some Medicine-People choose apple juice to wake up a coma victim, others choose -Straight-Annoyance like the 8th Circle of Hell.
Welp, I’m Italian and my Soul is Permafrost and Siberian Sludge. You frozen seems like a swift fall to me. Poouwa
Pow Church Joke.
Continuing.
All those grains are topped. In oil and otherwise, toppings.
Vehemously, swiftly, and furthermore.
In the middle. Little taller than the sides of flattened-rice+broccoli.
It’s like the perfect-pour of fried rice making.
Take your favorite mug.
Mine’s a -get-ur-shit-back thrifted Le Crueset Mint Applique Mug.
Put 3 ice cubes and whatever comes out the fridge door dispenser. If you don’t have a fridge door dispenser, well count to three and touch ice while you do it and somehow hope it reaches the mug. You’ll find this reputable, in working for you.
Ah, quoting my Husband’s complaints and I keep thinking about Cox telling JD don’t touch the fucking apple juice. Then Jordan appears after the Coma Victim wakes up that’s secretly a rumor: his Wife 🤯!!! I think that’s like 2003 lore from a 2001 release. I have no idea. I was a mere-child with Jordanian Heritage and Citizenship from that Freedom-fighting leg o’ Life.
Now I bitch at connection on my phone instead of lazy assholes that don’t know how to position a satellite! Oh wait! 🫢🤭🥱
I’m almost done.
This is the prettiest your fried rice is gonna look. Say goodbye.
Red Onions + Soy ; brown and purple. It’s gonna get muddy in there.
And suddenly, I don’t blame that Italian-Pompadoured Man. I still can’t remember. I think he’s Canadian or some shit or looks like the host in Canada.
Like an Off-brand Uncle Sil, but he looks like, kinda Cuban??
I have no idea. Chest Hair and 3 buttons with square shades on your leaflet square.. you’re the only Italian here besides the Grrrl on set I get it.
I thought you were Hebrew and Croatian my whole life until you spoke up or like a half Bela-Russian 8 year apart nephew of The Armenian that everyone thinks is white but isn’t Polish with a Z-last name.
I’ll never forget going Wedge Salad and you chose Iceberg you salty hall. Still better the scarole from the family’s across the water’s farm. Am-i-rite Digz?
Deep cut, at least your EP knows your well enough to mention and viewers don’t have to seem racist for asking. I’m ngl – been there bud. With you – in the kitchen. With your questions. As you navigate your 5286 ways of trying to comprehend a non-vulgar-nor-insulting way of trying to burglarize my spice blend by trying to hijack the notion of “where did you learn to cook?”
I respond “In America, where I was born.”
Arms thrown up in defiance as all the tuition-totelers defy my circumspect professionalism and home+catering-cookery. I didn’t have to go to school in Italy or France or Japan; I just visited my Family, In-Laws, or Forever-Friends.
Helped out with Dinner or made something my own for them. Then came back around the bend to homebase-stationed and missed the food and made it myself. A lot of 2nd Gen finally get the confidence after visiting the Motherland for the first time in their 20s usually to try cooking. Some servicemembers never find that confidence after loving a culture and exploring their cuisine and community-ways even while serving in a war or on tour.
Be Gracious; we’re all doing our Best. Love is always the Secret Ingredient ☺️.
And that’s why Chefs are racous assholes bc someone didn’t love them enough to feed them what they needed usually. Or they had to come up with it themselves and stared at the stove longingly, in fear + hope. Whether you come from a lazy family that doesn’t cook, a family that does cook, or a family of professional chefs + cooks or anyone that works long hours that aren’t suited to the public – like a baker or pastry chef and probably aren’t home to cook dinner ready-for-you at 6:30pm… you probably got hungry, starved, ate bullshit, then you start cooking, and then you start getting left with better ingredients.
Trail + Error + Failure = A Lifetime of Great Cooking.
Then you get refined, and start calling it a cuisine.
Then you cook many cuisines.
Instead of just.dishes. you make really well.
Don’t bullshit me otherwise, that you’ve had the ingredients to the tee in the measurement with those fucking scoop-brigades and cooked it perfect to the recipe in the exact same hardware, pan, stove, fuel line, let alone latitude and atmospheric base presence from sea level for altitude conversions.
I may sound like I’m preaching at 7Fires somehow; but I persist. Electric Stoves and Ovens have only been around as we’ve known it – about 70 years. It took 30 of those to hit 70% of every home in America. So 40 years we’ve been cooking on 4 burners. But Homo Sapiens have been around like 2.6 Million Years to off-the-top-of-my-head estimates from my studies+knowledge not a quick-google-search to confirm.
In my viewpoint; Humanity seems to have kept eating in all that time. The Neolithic Age was 10,000 years ago to start crops-foresting and harvest-farming. Topographic rice-farming go way back when rice was only used to make silk-linen for clothes. Silkworms are alive, and it got gross. So it was amplified, in a vegan cruelty-free way by the Buddhists of Tibet.
Well if I’m Gansu, then I’m Tibetan and Hmong and Cantonese by Business-Query en Family by most Chinese Standards.
I suppose a lot happened in-between them, the smokestack, barbecue, fish-jerky ice smoking preserving, the pan, the pot, them the tandoori, and the fuel log range. Maybe like a kettle, but that’s still the pot.
And that’s all we had til we got electric.
And I still treat the Air-fryer like a kettle.
Or Instapot like a Mochaksin (Siberian Underwater Pressure Cooker).
And layer my fairy trays like luaomo (Hawaiian, Filipino, Kiwi – we’re talking served-on Banana Leaves Feast either way you translate it.)
So here’s my shitty Fried Rice:
Pummeled the rice in with a soup ladle – oh God, I fucked up again being American and using a Slotted Spoon to get rid of excess moisture in the toppings and rice-frying process.
Served on a used defrosting Deli-Tray.
How every Chef gets buried.
It’s like I used very little ingredients, and wasted so little, and cleaned up as I went.
Fuck – it’s like I paid attention to the things I wanted to learn that could and would and will serve a daily purpose to a qualitative+nutritious life and I used those tools without going to school and now I know how to cook for myself, family, and/or a crowd.
O no.
Rick and Morty stress-induced Iced Coffee included.
Don’t forget the Bose.
It could have been cereal I brought back in that same bowl and half a glug of a gallon left. But you cooked, instead.
Served myself, at least.
A Shit Artist. You could say.
Well, it’s brighter. The Glimmer on the Plate of Shit.
Then I remember I found this plate Thrifted with a tag on in the bottom of the China Cabinet and feel even shittier bc this is the-nice-plate and I’m broke with no money bc of the ambitions I choose to pursue that are bigger than me in scope of the world and yet I’m still so poor that I gotta make Fried Rice to nourish how much my childhood still hurts me and I’m only 24.
That number could mean a lot to the people that cooking means a lot to them.
Time-Blindness and Severe ADHD in the one that doesn’t make a lot of sound in the kitchen – so everyone thinks they’re not cooking. But the professionals, would look up to that? Right?
Only Asian-Chef cooking Asian-Cuisine amongst 8 Chefs and I’m the asshole that dared-to-Win bc I cooked my culture authentically? But it’s not mentioned if I have to cook an Authentic-American Continental Breakfast and I win with Shakshuka bc I’m Morrocan too bc -that’s-not-all-there-is-to-me.. and I’m that too. And this is Breakfast amongst my Heritage, my Mixed-Heritage but you only view me as Asian bc that’s what you’re perceiving is my best-qualitive in Cuisine-Competition-Cookery. Feels sad, because people reject my cooking and most brick+mortar small-business that give it a shot have to rely on a community that won’t judge their way. Why? Because it’s home-cooking and we don’t have culinary-schools where we’re from. Maybe in the city sponsored by another country for diplomatic purposes? I mean, my cousins would relate if they wanna try what I’ve done. But I was born in America… I lusted after McDonald’s too after-school and otw home. And I ate boxed mac n cheese. And my dad is from SC, so it’s not like I grew up without American Culture. I’m still from here.
Then it just reminds me of being in foster care and being adopted and a repeat-orphan and my disability and all my disabilities and all my travels and why I’m still from here and I’m not authentic there but I am here. And somehow – I’m privileged for the food that kids said was smelly I brought for lunch. Then when it wasn’t my mom’s and it was my dad’s – “we don’t do that here!”
Mustard+TomatoPaste vs Vinegar.
And now it’s a regional-death-match for who has the best sauce a stateline and border away.
I don’t fit in anywhere. And my cooking doesn’t fit in here. Why do I keep cooking?
Beats me, Kid. It’s like ya gotta eat everyday.
Blooper!
My eyebrows, don’t worry. They retire for trimming until after the eggs bequeath their riotous shakes in to my tiresome cumber existence for the year of some goddamn groceries and soda and chocolate and crispy things
in my fucking house.
Bc oh yeah, I make my Culinary-School-Trained-Chef Husband insecure about my cooking.
And all the other Trained-Chefs of Fine-Dining-Cookery; heated.
Why? They all suck at cooking Asian unless it’s Illocano. Then they have the confidence to try, bc some of their heritage is in there.
In these moments I praise the Mixed-Generations. The Octoroonies of 14+ quarter-quarter-quarter Grandparents.
So much flavor, so much Good Eats
Someone always makes it better, at least everyone eats.
It’s like Fry-Bread and Hair/Color-tone School.
Don’t clean with bleach on my fucking metal counters.
That’s contamination, now.
I’ll show you how to do it safe, but you have to prep your own style.
Then it’s called: Finding Flavor.
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