“What’s for dinner?”
“Stir-fry.”
“Oh, no.”
“I thought you liked my stir-fry.”
“Well, sometimes. But...Hey, what is that? You’re not going to put rhubarb in there, are you?”
“I’ll have you know that rhubarb is the definitive ingredient in the matchless stir-fries of the Basic tribe of northeastern Cathistan.”
“Oh, sure. Now you’re a master of authentic ethnic cooking. But tell me—do those folks use picante sauce in their stir-fries?”
“Who said anything about picante sauce?”
“I tasted it in one of your concoctions, just last week.”
“Yeah, and you went back for seconds. It was good, wasn’t it?”
“Well, not as bad as I expected. But it wasn’t really stir-fry. Not with corn and avocados. Hey! Put that Worcestershire back where you got it.”
“Who’s doing the cooking here?”
“I don’t get it. You’ve got three brands of Chinese stir-fry sauce and one of Korean, two kinds of soy sauce, three kinds of teriyaki, Thai peanut and fish sauces, God knows what else from the Philippines and Malaysia, and that’s not even mentioning your Indian spices. You’ve got enough without visiting other continents.”
“I just don’t want my cooking to get predictable.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that.”
You shouldn’t worry about this chapter being predictable, either. It’s just your Basic, everyday stir-fry. I’ve thrown in all the vegetables, sauces, and algorithms that don’t fit anywhere else. It’s not as bad as you think; quite tasty, actually.