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Asian cooking

The mysteries of the wok

How can a piece of thinly hammered metal make such a difference in the flavor of food? Author Grace Young sets off to China to find out.

By TED ANTHONY, Associated Press
Published February 16, 2005

NEW YORK - She remembers it vividly. Here would come the food steaming out of the restaurant kitchen, and there - seated right by the kitchen door, waiting intently - would be Grace Young's father. He wanted his dinner, he wanted it now, and for good reason: The food, he told her over and over, tastes best directly out of the wok.

"With my father, it was always "wok hay, wok hay, wok hay,' " Young says today.

"Wok hay," loosely translated from the Cantonese, means "the breath of a wok." And that's the title of the culinary chronicler's latest book, an engaging meditation on the history of China's most basic cooking tool and a tour through the country's culture in an effort to find out the secrets of Chinese food. (The Breath of a Wok by Grace Young and Alan Richardson, $35.)

"To me, it's a life force that runs through the food," Young says. "A lot of Chinese-Americans come up to me and say, "Oh, this is why my parents were always yelling at me to sit down the minute the food came out.' "

Is it crazy to think that a piece of thinly hammered metal can effect such a difference in what makes a cuisine unique? Has there ever been a culture in which so much food and philosophy is predicated, say, on a saucepan or a skillet?

Probably not. But then, Chinese food has always been a little different from everything else, filled with miniature improvisations and techniques left over from times when the people cooking it had to make do with what they had and turn lack of supplies into kitchen genius.

For Young, who travels with her own wok, the notion of "wok hay" is what gives stir-fried food that certain something: a combination of heat, crispy-crackliness, intense flavor and texture that can dissipate within minutes, even seconds, of removal from the fire. Who among us hasn't had a big takeout container of Chinese food that feels braised, parboiled and limp? That's not only lack of expertise and cheap ingredients, Young says, it's lack of wok hay, too.

The notion got under her skin, and she decided to check it out in the only place where she could find real, homespun wisdom about the wok and its lore: China itself.

There, she and photographer Alan Richardson, whose mood-soaked images of food and people shot on location give the book an intense, textured look, delved into what makes the wok tick. They visited big kitchens, small kitchens, street stalls and old ladies with unusual ideas. And there, too, Young found out what so many who investigate Chinese food quickly learn: that the stories behind the dishes and techniques are as fascinating as the recipes.

Watching Young cook - from about 10 feet away, which is probably the ideal distance for observing a Chinese chef in action - is an instructive (and eventually delicious) way to see the wok at work. Her apartment, in Manhattan's SoHo neighborhood, just north of Chinatown, is equipped with a well-stocked kitchen that nevertheless is not all that different from what you might have ("I don't want to have an advantage the reader doesn't," she says).

This day, she tries a dish from her book called Millie Chan's Chili Shrimp - simple but aromatic, an ideal little showcase of what a wok can do. Her hands glide expertly over the ingredients - shrimp, bean sauce, sugar, cooking wine, hot peppers and more - as she prepares what will be mere seconds of stir-frying over high heat.

To look at Young's wok is to realize where she has been and what she has done. Like a veteran hitter's Louisville Slugger or an old-time singer's Gibson guitar, it is scuffed and grooved with years of loving use, and pitch black from the "seasoning" that a good wok accumulates over time.

First the wok is heated over an open flame - always an open flame, for best results - until a single droplet of water, drizzled onto the metal, dissipates in a second or two. The wok must be hot enough to feel like a radiator in winter when you wave your hand over it.

Then the shrimp go in, right after a bit of oil, followed by a flurry of activity by Young's hands in which ingredients fly from waiting bowls into the wok, a controlled choreography that is as rewarding to watch as a precision ballet. What emerges four minutes later is an amazing dish that looks as if it should have taken far longer to prepare.

And the taste, right from the wok, crackles with something truly undefinable, as if the dish has achieved in its quick cooking an identity far beyond what its individual ingredients contributed.

"That," says Young, "is wok hay." She admonishes a guest: "Start eating it quickly, or the wok hay will be gone."

One worry plagues Young: that young Chinese-Americans and even Chinese themselves, lulled into stupor by fast food and microwaveable meals, will forget that there were once ways of creating dinner that didn't involve plastic trays and drive-through windows. She hopes her musings on food and history, seasoned with enough methodology to keep would-be cooks interested, can counteract this a bit.

She cites Exhibit A: her father, now 90, who doesn't even cook with a wok.

So while Young's latest effort may be a book, it's sort of a printed version of oral history, incongruous as that may seem - something to pass on to subsequent generations, be they Chinese or American, and tell them just what the old traditions can offer even as cultures and tastes and worldviews shift with the times.

"By the end, I felt like I could fuse both parts of my life together. Exploring the wok helped me figure out not only my family but me, as a Chinese-American," Young says. "It's really important that we pass along this information.

"We're getting to the point where we don't even know what we don't know."

1 tablespoon salt

1 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 teaspoon chili bean sauce

1/2 teaspoon sugar

3 tablespoons vegetable oil

2 tablespoons Shao Hsing rice wine or dry sherry

2 tablespoons minced ginger

2 tablespoons chopped scallions

1 tablespoon minced mild fresh chilies, seeded

Cilantro sprigs

In a large bowl, combine the salt with 3 cups cold water. Add the shrimp and let soak 1 hour. Drain the shrimp and set on several sheets of paper towels. With more paper towels, pat the shrimp dry. In a small bowl, combine the soy sauce, chili bean sauce and sugar.

Heat a 14-inch flat-bottomed wok over high heat until a bead of water vaporizes within 1 to 2 seconds of contact. Swirl in 2 tablespoons of the oil, add the shrimp and stir-fry 1 minute or until the shrimp begin to turn pink. Swirl in the rice wine and immediately remove the wok from the heat. Transfer to a plate. Swirl the remaining 1 tablespoon oil into the wok over high heat, add the ginger, scallions and chilies, and stir-fry 5 seconds. Stir the soy sauce mixture and swirl it into the wok. Return the shrimp to the wok and stir-fry 30 seconds to 1 minute or until the shrimp are just cooked. Garnish with the cilantro sprigs.

Serves four as part of a multicourse meal.

Source: "The Breath of a Wok" by Grace Young and Alan Richardson ($35).

1 tablespoon plus 1/4 teaspoon salt

1 pound large shrimp, peeled and deveined

1/3 cup chicken broth

2 teaspoons rice wine or dry sherry

11/2 teaspoons soy sauce

11/2 teaspoons cornstarch

3/4 teaspoon sugar

1/8 teaspoon ground white pepper

1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons vegetable oil

2 tablespoons minced garlic

1 teaspoon minced ginger

6 ounces snow peas, strings removed, washed and dried

1 scallion, chopped

Time: 30 minutes.

In a large bowl, combine 2 cups cold water and 1 tablespoon salt, stirring until salt is dissolved. Add shrimp and let stand five minutes. Rinse shrimp under cold running water and set to dry on paper towels. With more towels, pat shrimp dry. In a bowl, combine broth, wine, soy sauce, cornstarch, sugar and pepper.

Heat a wok over high heat. To test heat, flick a few drops of water into wok. When water vaporizes within 2 seconds, wok is hot. Swirl in 1 tablespoon oil around sides of wok. Add shrimp, spreading them in a single layer, so they have contact with hot metal. Stir-fry for 1 minute or just until pink, tossing them with a wok shovel or spatula. Add remaining 2 teaspoons oil, garlic and ginger and stir-fry 5 seconds. Add snow peas and remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt and stir-fry 1 minute more.

Stir cornstarch mixture, swirl it in around sides of wok and bring to a boil. Stir-fry just until shrimp are cooked through and sauce has thickened, about 30 seconds more. Stir in scallions and serve immediately.

Yield: two to four servings.

Source: Adapted from Grace Young.

1 pound shelled walnut halves

1 cup sugar

6 cups vegetable oil

Time: 30 minutes.

In a saucepan bring 1 quart water to a boil over high heat. Add walnuts and return to a boil. Drain in a colander and immediately return to pan. Add sugar, and mix constantly with a rubber spatula until sugar dissolves, about 2 minutes. Nuts will be shiny and coated in sugar.

Lay out about 2 feet of aluminum foil. In a wok or deep pot, heat oil to 375 degrees over medium-high heat. Carefully add walnuts, spreading them out in oil. Let them cook undisturbed for 2 minutes, then cook, stirring, 1 to 3 minutes more, until golden brown.

Turn off heat and quickly remove nuts with a slotted spoon, spreading them out on foil. Make sure nuts do not touch one another. When the nuts have cooled, transfer them to drain on paper towels, then into an airtight container.

Yield: 4 cups.

Source: Adapted from Grace Young.

[Last modified February 15, 2005, 11:39:04]