Switching Things Up

In Asian culture, everyone's Mom's fried rice is the best they've ever had — it's just a fact.

I know that my mom's fried rice is the best, and I'm sure, as you're reading this, you're probably shaking your head and thinking: NO, MY MOM'S IS THE BEST. As it should be.

Starting over again in a new place, far away from your mother's pantry, which is always stocked with mysterious bottles of Asian sauces and spices, can be tough. It's been a challenge for me, especially in New York City. Luckily, I've found a convenient-enough Asian market a few blocks from my home, and I've ventured there with my Asian-lady cart and tried my best to get the "good stuff."

What is the good stuff, you ask? Well, Mamabarbs would insist that you need oyster sauce, but "Only the one with the lady in the boat." You also need harm ha, or Chinese fermented shrimp paste (yum). Coincidentally, these two ingredients are what you need to make Mamabarbs's fried rice (aka the BEST fried rice).

So, one day, I was craving fried rice, and checked the fridge for supplies. I had old rice, close-to-going-bad green beans, leeks and eggs. This was a great start, but not ideal. Firstly, the old rice — which HAS to be old, according to all Chinese mothers and grandmothers — but it was jasmine rice, not short-grain rice like my mom uses. (My boyfriend loves jasmine rice, so that's all we eat.) Secondly, my mother always uses green onions, which I didn't have, but I thought leeks would do the job. Thirdly, I didn't have butter — another important ingredient — or harm ha. Still, I was determined.

I put a little bit of olive oil and sesame oil (instead of butter) down into the pan, then threw in Spam for that salty component the dish needs. (My mother likes to use bacon, but we currently have a whole cabinet full of Spam, so I thought, what the heck.) Once the mystery meat had crisped up, I tossed in the leeks and beans — everything sizzled. Next, I added in the rice and made sure there were no hard-rice clumps left. I seasoned accordingly with Kikkoman (always) shoyu and "Lady in the Boat" oyster sauce to taste — well, it's really more of a feeling. Lastly, I cleared a hole in the middle of the rice pile and added some more sesame oil, then cracked an egg and scrambled it up. (You don't want to crack the egg on top of the rice, or else it makes everything mushy. Cook the egg separately and then disperse.)

I let the fried rice cook over low heat for a while to dry out the rice further and to crisp up the bottom a bit.

Although I didn't have all the ingredients my mom would use, it still tasted amazing, and each bite seemed to lovingly transport me back home. I wouldn't say my fried rice is better than my mom's, because that's unheard of, but it is different — it's my own rendition. And that's really what authenticity is about, right? It's about drawing inspiration from the OG's, the innovators who started it all, and making it your own.

So, thanks, Mom!