My mom is a world class chef, at least in my eyes. She is capable of the most dangerous cooking crafts, ranging from southern to northern Chinese cuisine, spiced with some Western influences.
As her daughter, I felt it a responsibility to use this time living at home to learn a few family dishes. I grew up watching my mom spin in the kitchen and I dutifully ate all the remainders. It seemed that Chinese cuisine was full of flexible rules and the ways could be dangerous and thrilling. It's about time that I should stir(搅动) my appetite for cooking and not just for eating.
I was starting to cook at the not-so-tender age of 18. I could actually pull off a few Western dishes in fashion. But Chinese food was a whole new scene. I stepped into the new world with some great fear. Ahead of me was a war of massive mission- cutting, frying, chopping. HOT OIL. BURNING. But at least I figured I might find some cooking genes.
We began with a simple but hearty Chinese noodle dish: the egg and tomato noodle with green onion. With my mom's excited looks, I pulled over my apron(围裙). The beginning of the lesson started off smoothly enough. I washed the tomatoes with great expertise. I proceeded to wash the eggs.
It started getting heated when I was separating the egg yolks from the egg whites. It was quite depressing. It took a good 10 minutes before the mission was completed. The next step was beating the eggs with just a small amount of water. This wasn't too bad. Even cutting up the tomatoes wasn't too difficult.
The worst part was to come—the eggs frying in a pot. I'm deadly afraid of hot oil. I danced around nervously, waiting for the oil to get to the right temperature. "See if the oil is ready," my mom asked. I gave her a question mark. She sighed in despair, "Go put your hand over the oil."
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"You want me to dangerously drop my hand over the hot oil?" I repeated unbelievably.
Eventually, I placed my "masterpiece" on the table.
