fried shrimp

Homesick. Really. It was the kind of longing that came suddenly, without warning.

It's not that I miss the scenery there, nor that I miss old friends. It's the taste buds. My tongue is protesting. I lived in Toronto for twelve years and was originally an authentic Guangzhou person. Winter here is as long as it can never end, and the air always smells of snow and de-icing salt. Last night, when I was swiping my phone, my finger slid mechanically and suddenly stopped. A video. Zhejiang cuisine. Fried shrimp. The sound, with a sizzling sound, the hot oil hit the wet shrimp shell, the white steam rose, and the soy sauce and sugar rolled wildly in the pot, turning into a deep red and translucent amber color. At that moment, my stomach seemed to be tugged hard by an invisible hand. It must be done. Now. Immediately.

I am an ordinary office worker. Do you usually cook? That is, fry the chicken breast, sprinkle some salt, and you're done. Fried shrimp? Sounds like playing with fire. But the impulse was too strong to be stopped.

Rush into the kitchen. rummaging through boxes and cabinets to find shrimp. There is also half a bag of prawns in the corner of the freezer, which is frozen hard. Thaw? Can't wait. Rinse it directly with warm water and hurriedly pull them into the basin. Shrimp line? It seems that the video says to pick it out. Forget it, it's too troublesome, and this shrimp looks quite clean, it should be fine, right? This kind of luck mentality is usually the beginning of disaster.

Remove from the pan. Pour oil. A lot of oil. The video says that there should be more oil, which can cover the shrimp body. ignition. Blue flames rushed up. I was a little panicked. Is the oil hot? How to judge? Take a chopstick and try it? The chopsticks were inserted, and small bubbles appeared around them. Well, now is it!

Wow.

The moment the shrimp is poured in, the marbling splashes. Like a miniature volcanic eruption. I jumped back in fright and almost stepped on a cat passing by behind. It "meowed" and ran away in disgust. Forget it. What about the shovel? Where's the shovel? Left? No, that's the lid. Right! found it. Crazy stir-frying. The shell of the shrimp begins to turn red, curl. Good-looking. It's so beautiful. The fragrance came out. It was the sweetness of the shrimp itself, mixed with the aroma of hot oil.

Next is the soul step. Adjust the juice. Alcohol, soy sauce, sugar. What is the ratio? The video is too fast to see clearly. Just by feeling. I am from Canton, and I should have a talent for sweetness. Pick up the sugar bowl and scoop two large spoons. No, it seems to be a little less? Another spoonful. The hand shook, and he added a little more. Forget it. Pour into a saucepan.

Zi——

The voice is wrong.

Not the pleasant sound of collecting juice. It was a dull, burnt sizzling sound. Smoke. How can there be smoke? And it tastes ...... Not true. Not caramel. It's bitter. There was also a strange salty smell that rushed straight to the head.

And so on.

Did I just take the sugar bowl?

The brain buzzed. It's over. It's completely over.

I glanced at the countertop. That white jar. It was labeled with my handwriting: "Sugar". But the crystal particles in the jar are a bit large, and the reflection is not right. I approached and smelled it. OMG. That's coarse salt. I put the jar of sugar and salt upside down! And I also poured three large spoons!

In the current pot, there is a burning, dead salty, shrimp smell of salt water bombs. The shrimp shells have begun to turn black because the fire is too big.

Panic. Pure panic. My heart was beating fast as if it were about to break my chest. What to do? Dump? This is my only dinner. And shrimp is not cheap. Do it again? There are no materials.

I just stood there, shovel in hand, like a fool. The snow outside the window was getting heavier and heavier, and a snowplow roared past, shaking the windows with a sound that shook. The refrigerator compressor suddenly started, humming, and it was particularly harsh in this dead kitchen.

Can't give up. Absolutely not.

The image of watching my mother cook when I was a child flashed in my mind. She said, what should I do if it's too salty? Add acid? Add sugar? But I don't have sugar now!" Wait, it seems that there is still half a bottle of Coke in the refrigerator. That was the rest of last week's friend gathering.

Crazy. It's really crazy. Use Coke to save oil and fried shrimp? If my meticulous mother knew about this, she could kick me out of the house.

Forget it. Make every possible effort.

Grabbed the Coke, unscrewed the lid, didn't care much, and poured it directly into it. The bubbles exploded instantly, and the brown liquid mixed with the black shrimp shells, making it look more like a disaster. But I took a gamble. There is sugar in Coke. There is also a caramel color. Maybe, just maybe, it can hide the damn salty taste and give the shrimp a color.

Fire. Keep burning.

A miracle happened.

As the water evaporates, the liquid in the pan begins to become viscous. The sugar in the cola reacted at high temperatures, and the burnt bitterness slowly faded, replaced by a complex sweetness with a faint caramel aroma. The salty taste is still there, but it is suppressed and becomes a fresh base. It's like walking a tightrope, salty hell on the left, sweet abyss on the right, and I barely stand in the middle.

Turn off the heat. Plate.

The shrimp shell is bright red and coated in thick juice. It seems ...... It's actually quite like that?

Pick up one. Hot. Blow it. Bite down.

Click. The shell is brittle. The meat is tender. Taste...... How to say it? It is definitely not authentic Zhejiang oil-fried shrimp. It's a bit weird. With a hint of cola's unique vanilla flavor, salty and sweet, and a little burnt aroma hidden in the sweetness. The shrimp line was not picked, and there was a hint of sand in the mouth, a little fishy, but it was covered up by the rich sauce.

Not bad. Even, a little special.

At that moment, I suddenly laughed. Laugh at your panic just now, laugh at the jar of salt that was turned upside down, and laugh at the life-saving bottle of Coke.

This experience taught me a few things:

• Don't trust your memory when you're in a hurry to cook, especially when it comes to the labels of spice jars.
• "Mistakes" in the kitchen are sometimes not the end, but the starting point of another flavor, as long as you dare to be open-minded.
• Authenticity is important, but it is even more important to eat happily and fullly, even if it is fried shrimp in oil made with cola.

The most fascinating thing about cooking is never the perfect replica of a recipe, but the unexpected reconciliation you reach with the ingredients in a hurry.

Now, looking at the few shrimp left on the plate, I have an idea. If you are like me, an ordinary person in a foreign country, occasionally homesick, occasionally want to toss, but always mess things up -

Don't be afraid to mess up.

Really. Go to the kitchen and take a look. Open the fridge and look for any strange drinks left, or misplaced seasonings. Try to make the "wrong" dish once. Don't look up tutorials, don't measure grams. Just by feeling. Even if the final thing is dark, it is a taste of your own.

By the way, the cat just now came back. It was staring at the shrimp tail on the plate. The eyes were full of doubt, but a little longing.

Do I want to feed it a bite?

Forget it, I'll eat it myself. This taste, although strange, is actually a bit addictive. The snow outside the window was still falling, and the sound of the snowplow was far away. All that remains in the kitchen is the crisp sound of chewing shrimp shells, and my own somewhat contented sigh.

Wait, did I forget to turn off that fire? There seems to be a little residual heat on the stove.

Forget it. Another one.