You Know You’re ‘Wonton’ Some

In celebration of Chinese New Year, I decided to make wonton. This idea, although seemingly simple, included A LOT of steps. 

Step 1: Call Mamabarbs for the recipe.

I’ve published a blog on making wonton in the past, but wanted to make sure I was remembering it right, as this was the first time I was making it on my own. 

My conversation with my mother went something like this: 

Me: So there’s ground pork, Spam, water chestnuts, shrimp, shiitake mushrooms, Chinese parsley and green onions for the filling? 

Mom: You don’t need Spam or the shrimp. Actually, you can just have one or the other.

Me: Wait, but do you usually put Spam? 

Mom: Yes, but you don’t need it. Or leave out the shrimp — whichever.

Me: But, you usually put both?

Mom: Not Spam.

Me: I feel like there’s Spam.

Mom: Maybe there’s Spam…but you don’t have to put it.

Me: -_____- I’m gonna put Spam AND shrimp.

Step 2: Scour New York City for ingredients (And receive forgotten instructions from Mamabarbs…)

After venturing to two grocery stores for ingredients, I get a text from my mom saying, “Don’t forget an egg to bind!” Luckily, I had an egg at home.

I think a lot of cooking, especially when using family recipes that have been passed down for generations, relies on something along the lines of "kitchen memory” and general feel. For instance, most moms can glance at a pot of ingredients and instantly tell if it needs more of this or that. I’ve also found that when you’re making a nostalgic dish, a magical sixth sense often kicks in and takes over, guiding you through the recipe. 

A lot of what I do in the kitchen, when preparing anything my mom cooks, involves mimicking what I’ve seen her do a million times before — her movements and methods are so vivid in my memory! I’m thankful that I paid attention. Still, the occasional call to confirm with her is always nice, too.

For wonton:

(Solid ingredients)

Wonton Pis

Ground Pork

Spam (diced)

Water Chestnuts (minced)

Shrimp (uncooked, diced)

Chinese Parsley & Green Onion (not shown)

• Also, 1 egg 

(Liquid ingredients/seasoning)

• Oyster Sauce ("The one with the lady in the boat.")
• Soy Sauce
• Salt
• Pepper

Step 3: Combine ingredients.

Step 4: Wrap! (This is the hard part.)

The most vibrant memory of making wonton is the actual wrapping/tucking/rolling part of it. All of us (including the keiki, or children) would gather around the dining table or kitchen counter and help wrap wonton. And, no, I did not steal this scene from “Crazy Rich Asians,” it actually happens this way in a lot of Chinese households. 

Fill the wonton pis with a spoonful of filling, but not too much, or it won’t seal properly. And not too little, or it won’t be juicy. Then, dip your finger in a bowl of water and line the edges before folding into a triangle. Push down on the flat side and pull the corners upward, twist and pinch the ends together tightly. 

I’ve realized that everyone wraps their wonton differently, but this is how we do it. 

Step 5: Fry or boil immediately.

I couldn’t tell you which method of cooking I like better, because I honestly love both. The fried wonton are crispy on the outside and juicy on the inside, while the boiled versions are delicate and supple in your mouth. In any form, you can enjoy for days afterward (although they’re definitely best fresh). Mom would sometimes throw the leftover boiled wonton into Litpon’s Noodle Soup, lovingly made from a neglected bright red box in our cupboard. 

What made this year’s wonton-making so special, was getting to share the process with JP. He learned how to wrap the wonton, and we sat around a much smaller version of my family’s large Chinese dining table, in our humble New York apartment, and created new memories from old ones. Another plus: He loved the wonton. He even asked if we could make wonton every month! (I don’t know about that one, Honey.) I want to say making it was more fulfilling than eating it, but that would be a lie. It’s basically a tie. 

KUNG HEI FAT CHOY, everyone!