OYSTER SAUCE AND CLEAN-MINDEDNESS

When I awoke, I realized one thing: the Cantonese are driven by food.
The mental set-up that guided me to this stark conclusion was entirely hypothetical, and involved a lot of totally innocent nudity. Not actual nudity -- that could also have been innocent -- but the dreamed nudity of someone else.
So almost by definition frightfully innocent.


A quiet young lady is alone in the home on a beautiful summer day. She decides that she will have lunch, and sets to work in the kitchen. The sun is streaming in, illuminating everything, giving a warmth to the scene that a Dutch painter from the golden age would appreciate. But the person observing -- a neighbor in his study two floors up, peering through the blinds, is not a Dutch painter, but a Cantonese gentleman with a lot of books who probably lectures physics or chemistry at a local university.

His keen eyes follow her hands as they chop up some vegetables, avidly his orbs pursue her silhouette as she swirls water in the rice to rinse it before putting the pot on the stove. She inadvertently drenches her nightie, so she takes it off and puts on an apron. He approves; it is a very sensible thing to do, because if she is going to fry anything, hot fat may splatter. It would seriously torment that lovely lovely skin. He remembers the day he crisped bacon in his own kitchen while naked. He wishes he had worn an apron then. The butch masculinity of poncing around starkers in one's own home should have given way to the common sense practicality of at least wearing a frilly apron when cooking bacon.
He can still feel the sharp sting of the spitting pork.
It startled him, and changed his short-term plans.

It's a gorgeous scene, almost classical. A kitchen and a young lady bathed in sunlight. The contrasting hues of the smooth work surfaces, shiny cooking utensils, and that sheer velvety naked body awash with summery vibrance... oh, it makes him wish that he was younger, and actually knew her name!
Siu-jeh (miss) is somewhat impersonal, piu-mui (little cousin) feels so much better.
She looks both incredibly innocent and very adult at the same time.
A goddess from antiquity, a Greek statue, a demure Flemish bride, a pale Renaissance virgin, a maiden amid the leaves, lithographic fin du siecle bonbon box lids, and mme Marie Curie from a grammar school textbook he remembers reading long ago. Aaaah, that elfin slimness, that golden body, that silky, bouncy black hair, dark dark soft soft.
Exceptionally happy-making to behold.

She struggles with a large bottle of oyster sauce. Lee Kum Kee, an excellent brand. All Cantonese know of it, and keenly appreciate the briny saveur it gives to foods.

[Oyster sauce was invented by mr. Lee Kam-sheung (李錦裳) slightly over a century ago in Naamseui village (南水鎭), Guandong province, just south of Canton. Within a few years it had become such a beloved and essential part of their regional cuisine that most Cantonese-speakers cannot conceive of life, food, love, or philosophy without it.]

Finally the top comes off -- it had gooped a bit around the rim -- and she pours a gluggy dollop into a shallow bowl. Without her noticing, a rather large smear ends up on her bosom, on the left hand side, just above where a nipple hides behind the apron edge.

Our scholarly voyeur at this point is distracted by a yen for mustard greens. Yes, today he will definitely go across the hill to get a bunch of mustard greens on Stockton Street. It has been so long since he enjoyed their crisp snap and bitterness!
So good with oyster sauce, so very very good!
Nothing else goes better with Lee Kum Kee.

As he leaves his room with the view, he reviews what else would go well with the mustard greens. Perhaps some mussels stir-fried with black bean sauce and little red bellpepper bits? Ginger and scallion beef shreds? Or fatty pork chunks steamed with ginger and rice wine? But definitely mustard greens. He must have mustard greens.
That is essential.
No other crunchy stalk is quite so tasty with oyster sauce!

Oyster sauce is ALSO good with steak and eggs.
But truly divine with barely cooked vegetables.



APPENDIX

Oyster sauce is standardly written 蠔油 ('ho yau'), alternate forms are 蚝油 and 蚵油, which are pronounced the same. Lee Kum Kee (李錦記) is the brand most people know from home and childhood, but there are other makes available, of varying quality levels. It is best to stick with Lee Kum Kee, which my longtime associate and former girlfriend furiously denies. She fondly remembers Hop Sing Lung (合勝隆蠔油), and there is also Dragonfly Brand (蜻蜓牌), commonly available and liked by some.
I suspect that our strong preference for different condiment qualities and manufacturers may well have been a contributing factor in the dissolution of our affair. We are, of course, still very good friends.

Her present significant other is extraordinarily sensitive to salt, nebbech, and I am looking for a girl who likes Lee Kum Kee.

Lee Kum Kee is not only good on Mustard green (油菜 'yau choi'), but also Chinese Broccoli (芥蘭 'gai lan' or 蘭芯 'lan sam'), Cauliflower (花椰菜 'faa yeh choi'), little bokchoi (小白菜 'siu bak choi') as well as chingchoy (青菜), quick-cooked lettuce (生菜 'saang choi'; in Chinese restaurants ask for 蚝油生菜), asparagus (蘆筍 'lou seun' or 露筍 'lou seun'), and many other vegetables.
But only Lee Kum Kee.
It's fundamental.



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