Thursday, February 14, 2008

Wokka wokka

I bought a new wok a fortnight ago and as my great-grandmother was often heard to remark, it's the fucking bomb altogether.

Myself and woks have, thus far, had an uneasy relationship you see. And let's be honest, if I burned your arse off at least twice a week and hadn't the decency to wipe you down afterwards, the sight of me coming through the door holding the pack of rashers would at least make you wary.

All in all, two 'normal' frying pans and five woks have passed through my kitchen in about four years. And every one of them should have been consigned to the bin alot earlier than they were. Basically, they were all fucked after about two weeks - battered, bruised and encrusted with an unspeakable gunk that defied all efforts at removal.
Now I never understood the whole non-stick frying concept, I have to admit. Out shopping, I'd look at the label and if it said 'non-stick pan' I'd go "ah great, sure I never eat sticks", and I'd skip contentedly off to the till. On this rock of ignorance did a few pans flounder, as I'd scoured the bejesus out of them with a brillo pad before realising I was wearing the protective coating off them. Ooops.

The other problem is that I always bought the cheapest wok I could find. Not out of tightness, just because I reasoned that if you wouldn't give a child the best china to play house with, then I could make do with any old iron with a handle on it. And the cycle thus continued - new wok, crusty wok, wok not working, I fucking hate cooking anyway, I'm buying a deep fat frier, fuck this wok anyway, wok gets thrown out. I had by this stage grasped the whole non-stick concept of course, and was by now trying to clean the things in a gentle but firm fashion. I actually tended those bastards lovingly. In fact, I didn't clean them, I buffed them timidly. I stroked them and caressed them with soft soapy cloths. And the non-stick stayed on, I'm pleased to report. Unfortunately however, so did all the sticky black burnt-on shite. So bye bye wok.

So I was out and about there a fortnight ago, searching through bargain woks, when my eye was taken by this lovely, shiny Ken Hom number. It was graceful, smooth, curvaceous and beautiful. I ran my hand around the inside of the bowl and it was like silk sliding under my skin. I nearly wanted to put it in a wind tunnel and watch satiny wisps of smoke glide across her aerodynimicalistic nicenesses. I could smell the sweet stir-fries we would make together. It was €75. I said what the hell, and I bought her.

It was only the best purchase I ever made. No more faffing about with cheap imitation woks for me. It's really non-stick and you can blacken the hole out of it and it all rinses off in a flash afterwards. Even if you leave it there festering for a few days after use which, as a man, it is my right to do. I do everything with the wok now, just a splash of olive oil and in with the mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, bagels, biscuits, ice-cream, teabags, bananas, the neighbour's hamster, the works. The Ken Hom wok takes it all, baby, and doesn't even blink. I'm going to fry some industrial-strength glue later on and I bet it rinses off with a dab of wash-up liquid and a wipe of a J-cloth.

Hell, sometimes I just heft the fridge up on its side and fry whatever falls out into the Ken Hom. My mother is well impressed with my new found culinary magnificence, she has used the expression "whizz in the kitchen" more than once.

Which one would do well not to interpret literally. Like, I fry almost everything in the Ken Hom, but I draw the line there.

11 moos and woofs:

Grandad said...

If yiz had written that a month or two ago, you could have got the Best Humorous Post Award.

As it is, I'll have to remember it for next year.

Terence McDanger said...

You mean if I'd bought the Ken Hom a month or two ago, I could have got the best most humourestest postest or whatever you calls it.

Ah well. I have ambitious hopes of being funny at least once between now and January 2009, so hopefully I'll carry off the laurels then...

nuttycow said...

You know you've become super dooper domesticated when you fork out a fortune on an iron. Then you've made it.

PS. Like the profile picture ;)

Adullamite said...

EH? I thought it was compulsory for woks to be covered in rust, so I gave up the Brillo and chucked mine away.
A large frying pan will do for me now.
The muck tastes the same anyway.....

BrentD said...

I think you can expect a visit from the health department. They seem to take a dim viw of kitchen whizzing.

Terence McDanger said...

Correct, upsidedown Brent. You sound like you're a man of experience in these matters, which is somewhat worrying, but all are welcome here.

Rosie said...

what grandad said.

Thriftcriminal said...

Very Tyler Durden, do you fart on the meringues as well as whizzing in the kitchen :-)

Susan said...

ah GOD, Jaysis and all the rest of the lot, TERENCE McDANGER has a 75 fecking-euro WOK and he COOKS with it and what have I got???!!!
WHAT?!!
AFTER ALL THE COOKING I DO FOR ...I mean, THIRTEEN unending years of..

(sorry there, just practicing for when Himself gets home)

*sigh*

Terence McDanger said...

Let him eat cake Susan, let him eat cake.

Susan said...

Nobody eats cake here when I'm on a diet. And I said nothing when he came in the door--

--because I'm going out tomorrow to buy me one of these wok-yokes, and if he says anything to me about it we'll see how it fits him.

heh heh...

Post a Comment