That Sichuan night that made the kitchen smoke: my "life-and-death struggle" with walnut kernel Kung Pao chicken

His throat tightened. Really. It felt like swallowing a big mouthful of mustard that had not melted, and the hot pain went straight to the heavenly spirit cover. This is not a taste experience in a fine dining restaurant, it is the scene of a small disaster that I, a former Italian who has lived in London for twelve years, created in my own kitchen. I want to make that dish. The legend from distant Sichuan - walnut kernel kung pao chicken. Those videos on social media are so deceptive. Smooth chicken, emerald green onions, golden and crispy walnuts, red oil is so bright that it makes you want to cry. The bloggers laughed lightly, shook their wrists, and got out of the pot perfectly. Can I do it too? Hah. Don't be funny. My hands are now covered in chili noodles, my eyes are swollen like goldfish, and my cat, the bastard called "Pizza," is squatting on top of the refrigerator and laughing at me.

It started last night. Swipe your phone and see that video. The sound of red dried chili peppers popping in the oil can shake my heart through the screen. I miss that taste. That complex, contradictory, numbing, spicy, sweet and sour taste. Italian food is good, tomato basil is beautiful, but sometimes, you need a little mess. A little bit of passionate chaos from the East. So I went to an Asian supermarket. I bought chicken thighs, raw walnuts - I heard that it is more fragrant when roasted, and there is a large bag of dried chili peppers and peppercorns that look scary. On the way home, I was quite excited, humming a song, thinking that I would conquer Sichuan cuisine tonight.

The meat was cut quite smoothly. Although the knife work is rotten as if it has been gnawed by a dog, it is still blocky. Marining, sizing, everything seems to be under control. Until that moment. That moment reminds me of the sweaty palms of my hands.

The recipe says: "Heat the pan with cold oil, add peppercorns and dried chili peppers and sauté until fragrant." ”

I did. The oil is hot. The pepper went down. With a sizzle, the aroma exploded instantly. Good smell. It's so fragrant. I reached for the sugar bowl next to me, ready to mix the key "lychee-flavored" bowl juice. Hands slipped. Or maybe it's a short circuit in the brain. I don't know. I only remember grabbing a small brown jar, which was the "special spice" my friend gave me last time, and the label had long since fallen. I took it for granted that it was allspice or something like that.

A large spoon. Pour directly into the pot.

And so on.

The taste is not right.

It's not incense. Yes...... Suffocation.

My nose lost consciousness in an instant. Immediately afterwards, the tongue begins to dance. It's not the kind of pleasant tango, it's the kind with stilts on it, or the kind with thorns. Hemp. Extreme numbness. Then it's spicy. The fire is spicy.

"Mistake. Big one. Oh god."

I panicked. I really panicked. I hurriedly went to turn off the fire, but my elbow knocked over the water glass next to me. Water spilled all over the floor. Wet floors, smoking pots, and my damn, unconscious tongue. I wanted to cough, but my throat felt like it was locked. The cat named "Pizza" finally jumped off the top of the refrigerator, barked at the red oil monster, and ran away. An ambulance happened to pass by outside the window, and the sound of whining seemed to accompany me.

What to do? Dump? No, the chicken hasn't been cooked yet. Wasting food is a sin, especially with such expensive chicken thighs.

I was going around the kitchen like a madman. Mobile! Yes, mobile phones. I grabbed my phone, my fingers slipped because of the chili oil just now, and the screen was full of mimeographs. I can't even unlock it. Rub it with your clothes, lick it with your tongue (don't ask, my mind was not awake at the time), and finally untied it. Search: "Kung Pao chicken is too hemp and too spicy, how to save it".

The search results are varied. Some say add sugar, some say add vinegar, and some say add potatoes to absorb the flavor.

"Add sugar?" I muttered, "I've already added ...... Wait, what did I just add? ”

I approached the brown jar and sniffed it. Not allspice. It is pure, high-concentration Sichuan peppercorn powder. And it is the most numb variety. The spoonful I just had just thrown was equivalent to throwing a pound of peppercorns directly into the pot.

Despair. Pure despair.

But hungry. Moreover, that strange fragrance, although devastating hemp, is still seductive.

"What about him." I thought, "Either become a god or a demon, or eat instant noodles tonight." ”

I took a deep breath (almost choking again) and decided to take a desperate gamble. Since hemp is the main tone, then fill the sweet and sour with strong contrast to suppress it, rather than eliminate it. That's the culinary gamble, isn't it?

I quickly cut a couple of lemons, squeezed the juice. Not ordinary vinegar, but lemon juice, fresher and sharper. Then, I added three times more sugar than I had planned. Not white sugar, but brown sugar, that sticky, caramel-flavored brown sugar. I also poured all the remaining walnut kernels into it, didn't roast it, and threw it in raw, thinking that I might be able to absorb some oil, and wrap those crazy peppercorn particles with nut fat.

Fire. Reheat.

Put the chicken in the pan. Zila.

This time, I didn't stand that close. I took two steps back, like a bomb disposal expert.

Stir-fry. The sauce coats on. The color becomes deep red and shiny, like some kind of dangerous gem. The smoke is still strong, but the flavor changes. No longer a single numbness, but a complex, progressive impact.

Turn off the heat. Plate.

I trembled and picked up a piece of chicken, blew on it, and put it in my mouth.

Waiting for the verdict.

Three seconds.

First second: sweet. Rich brown sugar sweetness.
Second second: acid. The freshness of the lemon pierces the oiliness.
Third second: hemp. It comes, but it ceases to be the protagonist, it becomes a background sound, an interesting aftertaste that makes the lips tremble slightly.

And walnuts. The raw walnuts are slightly softer in the hot oil, but still crispy. They absorb the sauce, bite into it, the juice overflows, and the nutty aroma neutralizes the final fire.

Sometimes, the mistake that ruins a dish is precisely the only way to create new flavors.

I sat on the floor, next to a puddle of water, holding the black, red, black and red "mutated" Kung Pao chicken in my hand. I was sweating profusely and my lips were swollen like sausages, but I couldn't stop. It's so strange. It's so much fun. This is definitely not the authentic taste of Sichuan, Sichuan friends may chase me three streets with kitchen knives. But this belongs to me. It belongs to this exotic night in London, in a hurry and embarrassment.

What did this experience teach me? Don't mess with unlabeled jars? Of course. But more importantly, cooking is not so sacred. It doesn't require precision like chemical experiments. It can be chaotic, it can be wrong, it can be full of surprises. As long as you dare to eat it, dare to face that result.

If you want to try it too, or if you messed up something too, listen to me:

• Don't rush to throw it away: unless it's really burned to charcoal, there's always a way to save it. Sour is not enough to add lemon, sweet is not sweet enough, too spicy to add dairy products (although I didn't add it this time, milk is an artifact to relieve spiciness).
• Trust your tongue, not the recipe: the recipe is dead, you are alive. If the taste is not right, taste it and adjust it again. Even if it is mixed into a dark dish, it is your dark dish.

Finally, a small suggestion (or FAQ) with a lesson in blood and tears:

Q: What should I do if I accidentally put too much peppercorns on my hands, causing my tongue to lose sensation completely? A: Don't drink water! The water will only allow the spiciness to spread. Drink whole milk, or take a bite of ice cream. If not, just like me, increase the ratio of sugar and acid and "trick" your brain with a strong taste shock. Also, label the spice bottle next time. Please.

Okay, I'm going to drink milk. A whole cup. My lips are still tangoing. The cat was back and staring at the walnut kernels on the plate.

"No food, pizza."

It meowed, as if to say, "What the hell are you doing? ”

I also want to know. But this ghost thing is really fragrant.

The fire on the stove doesn't seem to be closed yet? Forget it, I'll go later. Let me sandwich another piece of walnut first. Just one piece.