Dear Kylie Kwong,
I don't give a rat's arse what you were like as a little girl, so I'm certainly not interested in watching you pay a little pig-tailed actress to impersonate you in foggy-focus flashbacks in your TV cooking show. So your uncle made noodles? Big freakin' deal. My uncle ate prawn heads, but you don't see me crowing about it.
I also don't need to waste valuable retinal cells watching you thumb through magazines or paint primary-school quality swirls on paper while you're waiting for your scallops to marinate. You think you're creative and artsy. We GET it. We just don't have a pathological desire to prove it to anyone.
Despite the fact that I haven't been to a professional culinary academy, I know which end of a lobster is the head, and from a very simple subsequent deduction, which end is the tail. Stop condescending to me, and just cook the bastard.
Most of your dwindling numbers of viewers also know that you're of Chinese parentage, specialising in cooking Chinese food. You can probably drop the constant and tedious habit of prefixing every ingredient with the word 'Chinese', then. If you say "rice wine", we're going to assume you don't mean "Yugoslavian rice wine". If you say "Chinese pickles", we're going to assume you don't mean Branston pickle, or the oft-flicked serrated gelatinous things plucked from a Quarter Pounder. And if you say "Chinese shallots", we're just going to use shallots.
And don't pretend I didn't see you in Macro, moving your own cookbooks to the front of the shelf.
I just know you were that annoying slap-magnet kid at school who almost gave yourself a hernia rocketing your hand up to answer every question.
We don't care about you, honey. Get on with it and make my dinner.
Best Chinese regards,
Jo.
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4 comments:
Confucius say :
"He who take pride in his pickle is a plough man."
My uncle ate prawn heads too! Uncanny.
Which uncle?
Uncle Graeme. We were quite shocked.
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