Yesterday’s Dinner/Lady Iron Chef

To the astonishment of his family, The Guy abruptly announced after lunch yesterday, “we’ll cook dinner tonight.”

E: “We? Who are you referring to as ‘we’?”

The Guy: “Well, you of cos. & I’ll help you out.”

Not exactly the easy Sunday evening I had in mind.

Guy’s Mom quipped, ” That’s nice. Then I’ll get an idea of how you youngsters cook these days.”

Guy’s Bro injected, “The Guy cooking dinner? E, So long as you are also cooking, I’ll eat.”

Great, that’s dinner for 6 then. The Guy, His Mom, His Dad, His Bro, His Bro’s Darling & me.

E: “Eh…okay Guy, I’ll lend you a hand.”

I get mini bouts of anxiety.Almost all the time these days. Shallow breathing, tense muscles & some mild flutter of irritation and the general feeling of wanting to get away from it all.

In my the naggy corner of my mind, Cooking for The Guy’s family = Assessment of Prospective Maybe Family Member to be.

Back in The Guy’s room, I tried not to sulk. “What exactly are you planning to cook?”

He doesn’t know.

E (spoken): How about cooking my signature dish of minchi? (Beef mince with mini cubes of fried potato over rice & topped with a sunny side up egg.)

Guy: Sure.

E (Thought-bubble): Phew, at least I can turn out something decent… And hopefully not fall from grace for being a shoddy cook.

Guy: We’ll see what we can find in the kitchen too.

Over at the kitchen, Guy’s Mom is rinsing out a pot of live clams. There’s a bunch of choice romaine lettuce on the counter. Purple onions, rinsed & quartered. A pack of  frozen chicken wings & what? A frozen roast chicken? None of which are minchi ingredients.

I looked at The Guy sadly & sighed discreetly. The Guy tried to snuck the frozen chicken back into the freezer but failed to. Who cooks 2 chicken dishes in a family meal?

Could I Iron-Chef it all out?

It’s 6pm.

I chuck the defrosted wings into the a pot. Lugged some ketchup, soy sauce & chinese cooking wine over the pale wings. The Guy is peeling up garlic. “Please remove the roots, dear,” I bleated. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t boss me around.”

I leave the wings as they were and went to play Starcraft. 2 victorious battles later, I slunk to the kitchen again.

It’s 7.30pm. Really time to start cooking.

Back in the kitchen, the rice cooker is puffing with fragrant jasmine rice. The Guy had prepared the rice while I was battling little terrans.

I spot some left over thinly sliced pork belly in the freezer, lifted them out and sloshed some abalone sauce (no oyster sauce in the fridge) over them

I’m heating some oil up with the minced garlic. The sizzling starts and the aroma of browning garlic wafts up. The wings and marinate are slipped into the pan. When the wings turn white, I shove in the chopped onions, some tomatoes and a bit more ketchup.

As an afterthought, I asked The Guy if there were chillis in his home. He fishes out a couple of tight red padis, chops them and slides them into the pot.

We leave the wings to stew.

The clams get slaughtered next. Heated oil doused with garlic again, then I’m placing the live clams into the pot. I’m unsure of what to do next. I give the clams a stir.

“Didn’t you want to boil them?” asked The Guy.

Earlier in the afternoon, I told The Guy, “We’re going to cook the clams in a simple manner. Boil them in salted water, then serve them with melted butter.” The Guy loves butter and was satisfied with the proposal.

Now, he cast a perturbed eye on the clams, wondering about the dip-in- melted-butter part. He looks at me mournfully.

E: Well, maybe we could add some butter in now.

The Guy takes out all the butter in his fridge. He’s expecting to use a third of the 500g block. I oblige and cut most of it onto the clams. Melted butter on any food adds to his happiness quotient.

E: Do you happen to have any white wine? The cheap kind?

The Guy helpfully pull out an unopened bottle. “It’s cheap,” he intones.

“Great, then we can use it.”

Most of the clams have given up their little umami ghosts by then. We cast a wet blanket of Sauvignon over them and clamped the lid on.

I refrained from sprinkling coriander over the clams, because The Guy & Guy’s Bro hate the fragrant leaf.

It’s 7.50pm.

I taste the chicken wing stew. The padi sets off a slow burn. I let The Guy test some. “Did you deseed them?”

The Guy: Most of them, but I think my dad won’t be able to take the heat.”

E: “I’ll tone it down with some sugar before it’s served. The stew will burn if I add sugar now.”

There’s egg tofu & golden needle mushrooms in the fridge. The Guy wants them cook, just in case 3 dishes aren’t enough for 6 mouths. I thinking of cooking them in spicy bean sauce.

Round 3 of garlic sauteeing in hot oil before the marinated pork belly hits the fats. They turn cooked pork grey and we chuck the romaine lettuce and toss in more abalone sauce again. In a flash, the lettuce are ready to be served.

I have my mind set on chopping up the roast chicken and adding it to the chicken stew. No point having 2 separate chicken dishes in 1 dinner.

The Guy is incredulous. Without banning me from doing so, he huffily says,”Well, if you must.”

I’m stymied.

“And so how do you plan to serve it then?”

The Guy: “Just heat it thoroughly and serve it as it is.”

E: “I won’t. I am going to make a soup with it. A chicken soup with mushroom and tofu.”

The Guy doesn’t buy my suggestion.

E:”Okay, half of it then. You can serve the other half as it is.”

The Guy:”I don’t see how it is going to work out. Do as you please.”

Of course he meant, “Do whatever you feel like since I can’t stop you anyway.”

I pursed my lips and send the last scrapping of garlic onto oil for the last time this evening. Then the tofu cubes and the mushroom gets their turn in the pan. Knorr’s chicken cube cheats it way through. Everything is soon bubbling. Half of the chopped roasted chicken goes into the soup.

E:”I’m going to add milk to the soup and get watered down cream of chicken soup.”

The Guy is certain I am culinary sinner. He hands me the remaining milk in his fridge.

Guy’s Bro wanders into the kitchen and said,”I think you must be wanting this actually” and hands me an unopened tub of cream.

Guy’s Mom doesn’t trust the cream in her soup. She asks for a bowl for herself and Uncle without the cream.

The milk goes back to the fridge. The soup gets creamed.

I’m done with cooking & I’ve forgotten about adding sugar to the tomato chicken stew.

The stew, the clams, the veg & the chicken & the soup is served with steam rice.

It’s 8.20pm.

Everyone tucks in. There isn’t much conversation. The veg is the first dish to be finished. The soup needed replenishing. The clams deplete and the stewed tomatoes and soft onions are scooped up. The last 2 wings are dished to the guys. Compliments to the Chef & his Assistant are handed out.

Uncle is given a serve of soup with coriander. He gesticulates to the coriander in the soup and pronounces it tastier than the lettuce and wished he could have it with the clams. When he clears finishes his rice and his soup, he sets his bowls down, smiles with effort and says audibly in my direction, “good!”

Some where in the boiled cockles of my heart, his comment is an atonement for all the meals I haven’t cooked for others.

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