Classic Cantonese Barbecued Pork

let me tell you one thing: I can't cook at all. Really, not at all, so why make barbecued pork? It all started a month ago. Late one night, hungry again (as usual), I brushed the photo wall (Instagram) and accidentally brushed a short video of a Chinese restaurant in Chinatown-in front of the camera, the clerk was cutting the barbecued pork, the gravy was full and shiny, and the heat curled up from the plate. I swear, I could almost smell that scent through my phone screen. I had barbecued pork once before. It was a small restaurant that my colleague took me to. Since then, I have been thinking about it for a long time. It tastes sweet but not greasy, soft and tender with a little crispy, and tastes... well, it's like the kind of food that takes time and thought to make. This is very different from everything I usually do.

I sent a text message to my friend Lily. She is Chinese-American and can really cook. I asked her, "Hey, do you think I can cook barbecued pork at home?" She smiled back to tears and said, "Of course, but if it's burnt, don't come to me and cry." Challenge accepted! I printed out a copy of the recipe I found online (it said "newbie friendly"-spoiler: not friendly at all), made a shopping list, and went to the Asian supermarket in Queens. I'm telling you, walking into that supermarket is a big adventure. I wandered inside for 20 minutes, staring at various pork cuts, until a kind aunt noticed my blank face and asked if I needed help. When I told her I wanted to buy pork for barbecued pork, she pointed to the plum blossom meat and said, "That's it-it's medium fat and thin, it stays soft and tender, and it's not too greasy. Honey, don't buy pure lean meat, it will dry up like a bone." I thanked him, picked up the pork, and all the other ingredients (soy sauce, honey, Shaoxing wine-wait, what exactly is Shaoxing wine? I had to Google it in the middle of the shelf), and went home, feeling like a real cook. Spoiler number two: I'm not a real cook at all.

On the day of cooking, I got up early, put on the most comfortable sweatpants, and spread all the ingredients on my small kitchen countertop. First, I'll give you a picture of my apartment in Brooklyn. The kitchen is so small that I can hardly open the refrigerator and the oven at the same time. The countertop was only about two feet wide, so all the ingredients were piled together-garlic next to the soy sauce, ginger next to the honey, and the plastic box of plum blossom meat was there, staring at me as if I knew I had no idea what I was doing. I turned on the music (a mix of New Zealand indie and Chinese pop songs, don't laugh at me), rolled up my sleeves, and started working on it.

The first step: marinated pork. The recipe says to mix raw soy sauce, old soy sauce, honey, Shaoxing wine, garlic powder, ginger powder and a little spiced powder. It's pretty easy, right? I picked up a bowl, poured soy sauce in it, added honey... and suddenly froze. Wait, how much honey does the recipe say? I looked at the printout of the recipe -3 tablespoons. But where's my measuring spoon? Oh yeah, I lost it when I made pancakes last week. It doesn't matter, I thought to myself, I guess it will do. I poured about what I think is 3 tablespoons, stirred everything well, and poured it over the pork. I followed the recipe and massaged the marinade into the meat, wrapped it in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge. "Marinate for at least 2 hours," the recipe says. I set up a timer and sat on the sofa watching the play. I was quite proud. So far, so good. No baking, no spilling, no sinking into self-doubt. At least not yet.

Two hours later, the timer rang. I bounced to the kitchen to get the pork out of the fridge and preheat the oven to 180 degrees Celsius. I put the pork on a baking tray, cover it with tin foil and put it in the oven. The recipe says to bake for 30 minutes, then uncover the tin foil, brush with a layer of honey, and bake for another 10 minutes. It's pretty simple. I cleaned up the countertop (sort of-there's still sauce on the wall, but honestly, that's part of the process) and waited. I can't help opening the oven door to check. I know this is wrong, but I just can't help it. The scent has permeated the apartment-sweet, salty, and a little spiced spicy. I have begun to imagine taking the first bite, taking a photo and sending it to the photo wall (Instagram), and then saying to Lily, "I said I can".

30 minutes is up. I opened the oven, uncovered the tin foil, and... wait, this pork doesn't look right. It was pale in color, almost gray, and not shiny at all. It smells good, but it doesn't look like the barbecued pork I eat in a restaurant. Maybe this was the case before the last roast, I thought. I took the honey, brushed it evenly over the pork and put it back in the oven for another 10 minutes. I stood by the oven and stared at it, and that's when I noticed-little black spots starting to appear on the edges of the pork. Oh, no. I opened the oven door again, and sure enough, the edges were burnt. The rest is still pale, but the edges have turned black and crisp. I instantly panicked. I took the baking pan out and stared at it, thinking, "What did I do wrong?"

to tell you, I was completely flustered. I was standing there with a baking tray in my hand, sauce on my hand, the oven still on, almost crying. I spent hours on it-grocery shopping, pickling, waiting-and now it's burnt. I hurriedly texted Lily: "I burned the fork! The edge is burnt, the rest is still raw! Help me!" Two minutes later, she called me and laughed so hard that I could hardly hear her. "Calm down," she said. "First, have you checked the oven temperature? The ovens in the New York apartment are terrible-either too hot or too cold. Second, how much honey do you put in your marinade?" I told her I was guessing it, and she sighed. "That's the problem! The key to barbecued pork is balance-put too much honey and it's easy to burn; put too little and it's not sweet enough. Also, your oven may be too hot. Next time turn it to 160 degrees Celsius and wrap the edges in tin foil so it won't burn."

hung up the phone, I'm not so panicked, but still very depressed. I stared at the burnt pork and suddenly had an idea. Wouldn't it be better if I cut off the edges of the toast, put the rest back in the oven, turn down the temperature, and brush a little less honey? It's a desperate bet, but I have nothing to lose. I picked up the knife, carefully cut off the black parts (rest in peace, those burnt edges-they smell delicious, but they are too hard), wrapped the rest of the pork in tin foil, adjusted the oven temperature to 160 degrees Celsius, and put it back. I set a timer for 20 minutes. This time, I didn't dare to open the oven door once. I paced back and forth in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water, trying not to get cranky. What's more, I even wiped the sauce off the walls-desperation can really make people do strange things.

The timer rang and I took a deep breath and turned on the oven. My God, it looks perfect. The pork is dark red, wrapped in honey, shiny and oily, with no burnt edges, and the fragrance is stronger than before. I took it out, let it sit for 5 minutes (according to Lily-"Staying is important, don't be lazy"), and then sliced it. The knife cut in easily and the gravy flowed out-juicy, tender, exactly like the barbecued pork I had in the restaurant. I took a bite and, to be honest, almost cried. It is sweet and salty, with a little spice and spicy, and the taste is just right-soft and tender on the inside and a little crispy on the outside. I did it. I, a person who can't even make scrambled eggs, actually made barbecued pork. And it's delicious. Really, very tasty.

I put it together with the rice I made (don't worry, the rice is not burnt-little victory), took a photo and sent it to Lily. She returned a loving expression and said, "Just say you can do it. But next time, remember to use a measuring spoon." I smiled, took another bite, and sat at my small kitchen table, eating my own barbecued pork, full of pride. To be honest, it's not perfect-a few places are a little overbaked, and the marinade may be a little too sweet-but I made it. I made it with my own hands with a bunch of mistakes.

so, what have I learned from this experience? First of all, the measuring spoon is essential. Don't speculate about the seasoning, never. Secondly, the ovens are "liars"-especially the ovens in New York apartments. Be sure to check the temperature and don't be afraid to adjust it. Third, it's okay to make mistakes. I burnt the edges, miscalculated the amount of honey, and panicked-but it's all part of cooking. Cooking is not about perfection, but about trying, learning, and enjoying the process. Fourth, barbecued pork is worth the effort. It's not a quick and easy dish, but it's warm, healing, and it tastes like love. This may sound a bit tacky, but it's true.

I have also thought a lot about why I wanted to make this dish in the first place. Not just because it's delicious-but because it's a cultural symbol. I am a New Zealander living in New York, surrounded by a variety of foods and traditions, and making barbecued pork feels like a way to connect with it. It's a dish passed down from generation to generation that carries memories and brings people together. Although I am not Chinese, although I am only a novice culinary, at that moment, I seemed to become a part of it. No matter where you come from, no matter how good a cook you are-food can connect us.

To all the culinary novices like me: Don't be afraid to try new things. Don't be afraid to burn things up, screw things up, or need to call a friend for help. Cooking is for fun, not for perfection. If you also decide to make barbecued pork-remember to use a measuring spoon, check the oven temperature, and don't skip the rest time. Believe me, it's all worth it.

There is still a little barbecued pork left in the refrigerator. I plan to make barbecued pork fried rice tomorrow. Maybe I'll still mess up, but that's okay. I will accept with a smile, learn from it, and eat something good. That's all that matters.

Oh, and one more thing: Lily came to my house that night and tasted my barbecued pork, saying it was "better than some of the restaurants she went". I spent the rest of the week bragging about it. No regrets at all.

I picked up my cell phone, flipped through the photos I took of barbecued pork and smiled. Next time, I'm going to try making dumplings. Wish me luck. (If you have any skills, be sure to tell me-really, please.)