When Fried Rice Descended upon a French Kitchen

As the house-building adventure moves along, I have gradually stopped thinking only about what a house should look like and started imagining what actually happens inside it. The kitchen is an obvious candidate. Somewhere along the way I encountered one with sage-green cabinetry, neat iron handles, dark tiles and a black countertop—the sort of beautifully composed French-inspired kitchen that looks as though nothing messier than a croissant has ever been allowed through the door.

Naturally, I imagined myself cooking fried rice in it. I have always enjoyed both cooking and eating, and perhaps my Hong Kong beginnings have something to do with how often Chinese food finds its way onto the table. Fried rice is one of the regulars. There is something wonderfully chaotic about producing it in an elegant French kitchen, particularly since my future version will probably involve an induction hob rather than roaring gas flames and heroic wok tossing. I rather like the mismatch. A home should probably resemble the people living in it more than the photograph that inspired it.

My fried rice is deliberately imprecise. Cook the rice a little firmer than usual. Beat an egg with a pinch of salt. Find some forgotten protein in the refrigerator, chop whatever vegetables seem willing to participate, and add garlic and spring onion. Heat some oil, scramble the egg until it is mostly set, then add the rice and break it apart. Protein goes in, followed by the firmer vegetables and then the softer ones. Season with salt, run a little soy sauce around the edge of the pan for fragrance, throw in the green part of the spring onion, and you are done. No chicken-stock powder required. One turn of soy sauce is sensible. Two is a decision. Three may become tomorrow morning’s regret.

There are traditional ways to make fried rice, but there is no single correct fried rice. The ingredients, order, heat and mood of whoever happens to be cooking make every batch slightly different. Perhaps houses work the same way. A beautiful kitchen is not finished when the photographs are taken; it becomes yours when you make coffee there, turn leftovers into dinner, spill things, clean them up, and cook something that has absolutely no respect for the interior-design theme. French on the outside, fried rice on the inside. At the moment, that sounds about right.