01/30: Getting a feel for it

There are alot I things I wished I had asked my grandma before she passed away.  How did she, for instance, transform herself from a somewhat privileged lady who mah-jonged and never really cooked or cleaned a majority of adult life to a pretty damn efficient housekeeper and kick-ass cook in her sixties?  I mean I’ve heard stories about her incredible journey told second hand by my aunt.  But nothing can live up to hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth and, more importantly, nothing beats learning how to do something from the master herself.

I was too young to really appreciate just how far my grandmother had traveled, how much she evolved both as a food lover and a cook in the span of just under a decade–from the time she and my grandfather decided to emigrate to the U.S. from Hong Kong to when they moved in with my family to basically oversee my daily care.  I don’t ever remember her not cooking, not experimenting with new dishes when I was a kid, but then I was probably only about three when my grandparents moved to San Francisco, leaving behind their old life of servants and lively social circles.  It never occurred to me until much later that grandma wasn’t exactly bred to do any of the things she eventually mastered–purely out of sheer determination to succeed.  I’m sure my older brother Sam, who along with my dad emigrated with my grandparents first, served as captive guinea pig to her early endeavors.  She must have learned fast because he doesn’t seem to have too many bad memories of her cooking.  I, luckily enough, never felt like a guinea pig because by the time I got arrived here she was well on her way to exceptional cookery.

So how the hell did she do it?  It’s not as if she took a class or watched alot of cooking shows on television–I mean this was 1968.  From what I gather from my aunt and from my own personal experience, grandma just asked alot of questions and went with her gut instincts.  She already knew what great food was supposed to be, both in terms of taste and texture.  She knew exactly what to look for in produce, meat and fish–apparently having paid attention to what the servants were doing.  And, because as a woman of a certain social class, she knew how to get the “good” stuff–the best dried mushrooms, dried scallops, shark’s fin, etc.  Grandma was just plain fearless in her quest to conquer the kitchen.  There may have been more than a few duds here and there, but she never caved in under the pressure–especially given my grandfather’s highly refined taste buds and predilection for brutal criticism. She bravely trusted her instincts and cooked by feel.

I remember asking her how she knew when the wheat starch dough for her steamed dumplings was ready to be used.  She simply replied, “When it starts to make loud popping sounds.”  That was the reason why she refused to use a mixer to knead the dough.  “You have to be able to feel it snap and pop as you knead it by hand,” she said.    She never gave me a recipe for the dough itself.  You just get a feel for how much boiling hot water to add to the wheat starch to form a dough.  According to her, it was all in the kneading.  Same goes for the filling.  She could give you a list of ingredients but, well, the seasoning you had to do by taste.

As a pastry chef, I do have to use recipes and adhere to certain rules.  But I do go with my gut quite often–which kind of goes against all that I’ve been taught at school (at least relating to baking and pastry).  Sometimes my experiments come out great and other times they fail miserably.  And when they do fall flat, I try to remember what my grandmother taught me.  No guts, no glory.

Now if only I can put that in the recipe.

Posted January 30th, 2010  |  Leave a Comment