Chicken Lo Mein on a Budget

One of the many good indicators of a chef’s skill is the accent they have when they speak. If a chef has a French accent in English, you can probably rest assured that the food will be buttery. If the chef has an Italian accent, you’re probably about to eat some sort of delicious pasta (or a grilled cheese sandwich if you’re at a touristy restaurant in Italy itself). If the chef has an American accent, the food will probably be edible. But if the chef has a Chinese accent, you’ll most likely have something incredible from a wok, and then you’ll get canceled for imitating that accent.

The importance of ingredients. And accents

What do accents mean for food though, and is it possible to translate that accent into an actual ingredient, or technique? An accent usually means authenticity. That’s why it’s so important. And yes, the accent can definitely be translated into a technique. While I can imitate the French accent when making a tarte au citron, or gesticulate my hands while tossing a calzone crust into the air, I cannot imitate any sort of stereotypical Asian accent, because I’m white, and that is no longer acceptable today, even if I meant it only as a sign of respect and admiration for the food I’m trying to prepare. What I can do, however, is pronounce foreign food names with a strong American accent, and then make fun of my own ignorance for not speaking the language in question.

Low mane (or lo mein, depending on how offensive you want to be) has nothing to do with horses. Not even the meat used in preparing it. It’s all about the ingredients, and techniques, of which there are several depending on the region. In university I fell in love with a hole-in-the-wall, family-owned restaurant called China Hut whose head chef was an elderly lady from China. I often spoke with her, enjoying her beautiful accent, while she custom-cooked my weekly dish of chicken low mane. She told me many times what region of China she had grown up in, and where she learned to cook, but I never figured out the proper transliteration so I could look it up. And when I graduated and left town, that low mane became a casualty of academia. “Take a handful of pre-cooked and chilled noodles, and gently place them in a wok,” is the transliterated way, free of grammatical errors, that I remember her explaining how to do it. Oh, and she only used about four words in reality.

Lo Mein in Spain

Low mane, or roughly “stirred noodles” in one of the many original Cantonese meanings, is essentially stir-fried noodles with vegetables, and usually some sort of meat. Beef, chicken, pork, shrimp…you already know this. After years of trying, I’ve finally been able to loosely recreate this amazing China Hut low mane from long ago. I decided to try it here in Tenerife, to see what would happen.

First of all, I couldn’t find any ginger. While it’s not required, it’s a minor ingredient I do like to add. Eventually I did find it, but in a specialty import shop, after I’d already successfully cooked low mane. I went through about six larger grocery stores on the island, and even some local corner stores. Nada.

Wok the wok, talk the talk

Second of all, the rental we’re staying in does not have a wok. I consider myself a foodie, so in my own kitchen back home I have everything you can possibly think of. A challenge can often be enjoyable however, so I experimented with cooking low mane in a large frying pan. It’s better in a wok, but it worked!

Spaghetti or egg noodles?

I boiled 500 grams of regular spaghetti (hey, this is cooking on a budget, and imported egg noodles can be pricey) in salty, oily water, and after draining (but not rinsing!) it, I placed it in several smaller bowls based on portion size, and waited for it to reach room temperature. Once that happened, I placed all the bowls in the refrigerator until they were cold. This is an absolutely necessary step.

Meanwhile I took two eggs and scrambled them, then set them aside. Two chicken breasts were quickly diced, and fried just until white on the outside (but still undercooked on the inside). Put them in a bowl.

Next, I take thinly sliced and/or julienned garlic and ginger (well, I would normally use ginger), and fry it for half a minute or so to flavor the oil, and create a nice, overall pleasant aroma in the kitchen. That’s when I add the carrots, bell peppers, zucchini, onion, and cabbage, all thinly sliced (or julienned again if possible, like with the carrots and zukes). Tossing this heavenly mix in the pan while it fries for a couple minutes, I slowly add some soy sauce until it reaches the desired color. Just before the vegetables are ready, I add some sliced mushrooms as well for a minute or two. Then I add the chicken and scrambled eggs for another moment, to cook it all the way through. Place the vegetable mix in a large bowl.

The world’s best lo mein in our tiny village

“Take a handful of pre-cooked and chilled noodles, and gently place them in a wok,” is the next step. You should have hot oil of course, medium-high heat or high heat, depending on your skill. Continually stir them for about a minute in the oil, then add enough soy sauce (while continuing to stir) until the noodles reach a uniform, brownish hue.

Now for the fun part. I like a dash of sesame oil, a few drops of fish sauce, and a spoonful of oyster sauce in my stir fry. I found an “Asian” specialty shop near Adeje that had all three, for about five euros. Considering that these ingredients will last quite a while, I did not figure them into the cost for this one meal. I added them to the noodles, tossed them again for a moment, and then I was almost ready to serve.

Lo mein is all in the timing

But the vegetable and meat mix! Add enough while tossing it into the noodles to reach just the right proportion according to your liking. Then add it to a bowl, or whatever serving dish you have available. As I mentioned earlier, we’re currently in a rental, at the mercy of the owner’s small selection of all culinary tools and utensils, so we ate this delicious, homemade chicken low mane with European chopsticks, what we typically call “forks” in English.

In theory, you could prepare this entire feast all at once, but you run the risk of having way too much in the pan or wok at the same time. It’s too unmanageable. But the cooking part goes fast, so each individual portion should be prepared, well, individually, kind of like how a sweet elderly woman used to cook for me in a place called China Hut. Two European chopsticks up!

Chicken Lo Mein

Serves 4 or 6

spaghetti noodles (500 grams)

cabbage

onion

bell pepper

carrot

zucchini

garlic

ginger

2 eggs

soy sauce

fish sauce

oyster sauce

3 kg potatoes (kidding)