Unable to focus, full of stress, and in need of a boost, I turn to one food: fried rice. Not that horribly westernized pork fried rice served at the local Chinese buffet; I turn to the one and only, homemade, traditional Chinese egg fried rice. A spoonful of this steaming, aromatic dish brings back the stress-free days of seemingly endless summers at my grandmother's house.
Every afternoon, the scent of frying food in the kitchen would spread throughout the house and creep into the nose of a small, curious, and hungry little boy. At that time, I could not yet distinguish between all of the different dishes as they all made my mouth water. Nonetheless, there was always an afternoon when I would know exactly what we were eating for lunch. That distinct smell of rice braised with oil, mixed with a hint of creamy eggs and fresh scallions, only pointed towards a smoking wok filled to the brim with fried rice. Nowhere else in the world is it possible to find such a beautiful medley of colors and ingredients made with my grandmother's love and care. As a small kid, I never really savored the taste of the food; when it came to fried rice, I was practically immersed in my own world, wolfing down bowl after bowl, without the slightest bit of care for the outside or anything else. Though years passed, that wok filled with rice remained just as warm and delicious as when I had my first spoonful.
However, as I grew older, so did my curiosity; I wanted to create a dish just as mesmerizing and fragrant as my grandmother's egg fried rice. Initially, my grandmother refused to teach me, claiming that I was still too young and would harm myself in the process of cooking. Nevertheless, burning with a desire to learn, I persisted in asking her, and in the end, my constant pestering paid off. My grandmother taught me the art of whisking eggs with chopsticks and finely chopping multiple scallions at the same time. Next, she showed me a technique of cooking the yellow mixture to perfection and adding it to sizzling rice. Finally, and most importantly, she told me to knead out the large clumps of rice and stir constantly. Despite a very basic and straightforward recipe, I was still awestruck by the shimmering pot of gold sprinkled rice. The moment that fried rice dropped into my mouth, it was unlike any other fried rice that had ever crossed my taste buds. Even though it was the same recipe, this time, I was the cook, I was the one sprinkling a little more salt and cooking the ingredients to perfection.
Now, as I cook yet another pot of fried rice, I experience that same sense of pride and satisfaction of creating my own food as I did when I was younger. I enjoy being able to make my own decisions of how long the rice should be cooked, how salty the dish should be, and even the ingredients that I want to add. The sizzling of the rice blocks out any surrounding noise, in my head and around the house, and there are no set guidelines or regulations that I must follow. Then, after I am calmed and relaxed by just cooking a personal meal, I can sit down, enjoy a piping hot bowl of fried rice, and go back to those days of no worries.