Between a Wok and a Hard Place
For those of you who’ve never suffered from insomnia, I’m here to tell you it’s a dangerous thing. If you have insomnia, you run the risk of experiencing fatigue, impaired cognition, mood disturbances, chronic diseases, weakened immune systems, accidents and injuries, reduced productivity, relationship problems, and increased risk of mortality. Worst of all, if you suffer from insomnia, you’re likely to be subject to late-night TV infomercials. I know whereof I speak … uh … write.
In the early ‘90s, during a bout of insomnia, I happened to see an infomercial for what was billed as an authentic, hand-hammered Chinese wok. Had I been a little more awake, I wouldn’t have ordered one of the damn things. But I wasn’t. So, I did.
The first red flag I missed was the absurdity of an authentic hand-hammered Chinese wok being pitched by a bald British dude named Wally.
The second red flag I missed was Wally’s cheeky glibness. Here’s a sample:
Don’t rush out and buy the most expensive cuts of meat like filet minion. You will find the cheaper cuts of meat have usually got the better flavor and that’s why stingy people like woks. Now my boss is stingy, as well, and that’s why you don’t get much meat. Now you may have noticed there’s a big trend towards Chinese cooking at this time. I think the only people not following that trend are my Chinese friends, and they’re all eating in McDonald’s and Burger King.
I can be forgiven for that, I think, because I was in a Sleep-deprived stupor.
The third red flag I missed was Wally bringing in his host, Arnold, to shill for the product and the price. So, I had to sit through Wally’s review of the fire ring, the authentic hand-hammered Chinese wok, the time dome (cover), the chan (spatula), the ladle, the brass strainer, the bamboo brush (the Chinese Brillo pad), and the cookbook, which contains 40 recipes with ingredients and cooking instructions.
I Should Have Taken a Nap
Ignoring the red flags, I grabbed my credit card and called the number on my screen. Then I waited.
At the time, I lived in a condo, the lower level of which was the equivalent of a walkout basement. Mail was delivered to the upper level because that’s where all the mailboxes were. Packages were typically left in the foyer in which the mailboxes were located. I hoofed up the stairs every day for three or four weeks to get my mail but never found my wok. At that point, I figured I’d been fleeced. And I reasoned the only thing more stupid than being fleeced for an authentic hand-hammered Chinese wok by a wise-cracking, bald British dude named Wally would be calling the toll-free number to bitch about it.
Because I was on the lower level of the condo, the living area of my unit opened, through a sliding glass door, onto a small concrete deck, enclosed on three sides by a short brick wall. Since it was winter and got dark early, I hadn’t looked out there after returning from work for quite a while. Then one day, probably six weeks or more after ordering the wok, I happened to stick my head out there. I noticed a box. It didn’t look anything like the box Wally had shown in the wok infomercial. So, I didn’t connect the dots … until I opened it.
The weather, of course, had been inclement on occasion since it was, after all, winter. And while there wasn’t much snow on my deck (it was sheltered somewhat by the wooden deck on the unit above mine), it had rained considerably and been fairly consistently damp. When I opened the box, I found myself to be the proud owner of an authentic, hand-hammered Chinese bowl of rust.
Not wanting to call the toll-free number or UPS to complain, I decided to man up. I took the bowl of rust into the kitchen and scrubbed it for all I was worth with steel wool. After I’d gotten the rust bowl back down to the original low-carbon-steel sheen of the wok, I failed miserably at innumerable attempts to season the damn thing. But I kept it for years, cooking many memorable stir-fry dishes for my sons, who were too young to know any better.
The Morals of the Story
There are several lessons to be derived from this story. Here’s the shortlist:
- Don’t buy anything you see on late-night infomercials.
- Don’t buy anything from a bald British dude named Wally.
- Don’t buy anything billed as an authentic, hand-hammered Chinese wok.
- If you ignore #1, #2, and #3, check diligently around your residence for strange boxes.
- If you’re Irish, don’t buy any kind of wok.
- If you ignore #5, don’t cook for anyone over the age of seven.
- If you ignore all of the above, don’t blame me.
If you contract insomnia, watch a late-night infomercial, and are tempted to buy whatever the hell they’re pitching, call my toll-free hotline at 1-800-NOT-THAT. I’ll be happy to talk you off the ledge.
Sweet dreams.
Originally Published on https://www.bizcatalyst360.com/category/lifecolumns/notes-to-self/
