I eat my Chinese food just like any other American: with chopsticks, one grain of rice at a time.
After my successful stab at wonton soup, I went back to the Asian well, with another one of my favorites: chicken lo mein.
As is my perverse wont, I made the noodles from scratch. The key: slice them as thinly as possible, and keep dusting them with flour to keep them from sticking together. (One of these days, I’ll delve into my newfound love affair with all-purpose flour – a staple of every recipe I’ve made thus far. It has more range than The Rock. A five-tool player.)
The finished product. Hours to make, seconds to wolf it down. (I’m slightly ashamed to admit I used a fork. Forgive me, but when I use chopsticks, it looks like I’m trying to knit the noodles. Plus, it feels kinda racist that people only use chopsticks to eat Asian food. How come never for pancakes?)
Thanks, Beijing. You’ve been great.
