Some people thrive on recessions. No I don't mean in the sense that their business only comes about when other people are suffering (pawnbrokers, undertakers, drug companies, etc) I mean something a bit more subtle. During a recession, to put it perhaps a bit too bluntly, people stop posing and start thinking.
Who here remembers the 1980s boom? Yuppies barking into mobile phones the size of bricks, flashy cars doing stupid things, people talking about their house price and nothing else, and Walkmans introducing us to the delightful concept of not really being able to talk to anybody anyway. People went about with bank accounts instead of brains. They watched Dallas. Good grief it was boring. Lunchista's job paid less, per month, than the typical monthly rise in sale price of the humblest studio flat. So I did the logical thing: I packed it in, and went off with my savings (the ones that couldn't buy a fraction of a flat) to study something interesting. I emerged from my studies to find a recession in full swing.
All of a sudden everything was cheap. I shared a house with two Chinese lads, it cost less than half what I was paying for a similar place with posher decor during the boom. The place had no heating, next-to-no carpets, and a clothesline on the landing. The decor in my room was just plain white walls with carefully-handwritten nuggets of cryptic wisdom such as:
"Never trust a man in a trenchcoat. Never drive a car when you're dead"
and:
"It's memory that I'm stealing, but your moment when you dream"
It was near an entire street full of curry-houses, the Chinese shop and the Market. The landlord even paid our poll tax for us. In short, it was perfect. We threw parties. Not the sort where you present perfect dishes on perfect tables and talk as politely as you can (backed by your perfect decor) about house-prices and the perils of too much immigration. I mean the sort of parties that spontaneously materialise when you've been helping someone with a spot of decorating/proof-reading/physics, and either beer and curry materialise at theirs, or you ask if they'd like to bring a few bottles round to yours later on and you'll knock up a massive stir-fry.
Because it was in that house that Lunchista learned the black art of stir-fry. And how to clean up afterwards.
Now, any real aficionados will have noticed the "deliberate mistake" in the illustration for this post: Lunchista's present cooker is electric and not gas. But the cooker in our old house was gas-fired and it went like a rocket. And we had a purpose-built rice-cooker, which I am going to assume is absent from your kitchen arsenel, dear reader, but do at least run out and buy a good old-fashioned, indestructible Wok. Smear a bit of sunflower oil over the inside surface and set it on a ring til it just begins to smoke, then take it off. Perfect.
For rice, use one large mug per 4 people who are eating: rinse it in hot water, then put in a pan with 2 mugs cold water for every 4 people. Cover then bring it to the boil, then turn it right down and simmer very slowly while the real fun starts.
Slice up very finely 3-4 oz meat (pork, chicken or turkey are best) per person and put it in a dish where you can cover it with ShaoHsing wine (the stuff in the bottle with the red label. Warning: do not attempt to drink this wine, when raw it tastes disgusting! In fact an unwanted guest helped himself to some once and I like to think that was its own punishment. Better to get someone to pour you a glass of Red, or a beer). If the Chinese shop is closed and you can't get your ShaoHsing, you can slum it with cheap sherry instead. Then pour on lots of soy sauce: dark "mushroom" soy is best. If you're the type who likes to plan ahead, you can do the meat bit the day before and leave it to marinade overnight.
For vegetables, you can use any of: chinese leaves, any veggies from the Chinese shop, broccoli, carrots, bamboo-shoots, water-chestnuts... best to include some things with dark or strong colours. Chop them up finely, also chop up some mushrooms, ginger and spring-onions. The total weight of veggies per person should be 8-9 oz.
Light the gas as hot as it will go. Put the empty wok on it (you might have to get someone to turn off the fire alarm at this point). After a few seconds it should be good and hot. Put in a small amount of sunflower oil and swirl it round. Lift the meat from its marinade and put it in to fry: start stirring after a few seconds. If it flames briefly, don't panic: this means it's good and hot! When all the meat surfaces are fried, lift it out but leave the oil in: it will have some fat from the meat, which will prevent it from getting hot enough to do the veggies, so pour it away safely (these days I carry it out into the garden).
Find the marinade, stir in a teaspoon or so of cornflour.
Pour fresh oil into the wok, heat it up, and add all veggies except the mushrooms and onions. Add a sprinkling of sugar. Again, fry as hot as you can. Add the mushrooms, and when they look done, stir in the marinade. As it boils it will thicken and change colour: add some water if it gets too thick. Make sure it boils.
Put the fried meat back in, add the spring-onions last.
Pour a little water over the rice. It should be slightly sticky, so it can be picked up with chopsticks. Turn the fire-alarm back on. Chow-time!
Now, all this fun and games can make a real mess of a rented kitchen, especially for us because there wasn't anything as fancy as a cooker-hood. So the lads brought in Soda Crystals (not to be confused with the more mild-mannered Bicarbonate of Soda), which they used for cleaning at the Chinese restaurant where they worked.
Looking back, I think the thing that really lit up life at the time was culture, in all its forms. None of it cost any money, which was just as well because the Lunchista income (from a bit of Physics in a professional capacity, for two hours a week) just covered the rent, and I qualified for no benefits. I got involved in singing opera, and I learned a bit of Chinese (and ended up with a Shanghai accent, which I'm told is the equivalent of sounding like a Scouser). For once I had time to read classics (picked up second-hand) like Tess and The Woman In White. We all became avid followers of England's fortunes in the 1990 World Cup and discussed endlessly what made a good match/team/country. Someone found me an ancient bike which I did up. I still have it, and it still goes.
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