Home improvement

I look at a restaurant’s crowded menu and wonder what lies in the far (or deep) reaches of their freezer. Whatever it is, you can be sure it figures in the slowest moving dish in their lineup. That’s why dining experts advise sticking to the bestsellers; if you have no idea what those are, then look at what other customers are having.

There is another reason I am averse to Mr. Wok’s menu, and it has nothing to do with food. It's typeset in 18-point Comic Sans, which makes it hard to take seriously. Worse, the line spacing is tight in order to fit all their dishes into two pages. I felt a headache coming on and had my companions order.

Jenny decided on salt-and-pepper squid, and two more dishes we had yet to try. The squid arrived first. It did not lack for flavor, but it looked nothing like squid — fried cardboard came to mind. A Sichuanese would have been dismayed to see this signature dish of his region presented so poorly.

When I dine out and don’t take to a dish, I usually leave it at that. I don’t go around thinking that I can do better. But that squid, see, it was impeccably seasoned, and tender to boot. I realized that to insist on a sightlier golden-brown coating would have involved more frying that would turn the squid leathery, but surely there are other ways to skin this culinary feline, no?

First, the squid: gutted, skinned, washed, and patted dry. The body I sliced into triangles, with allowance for shrinkage. For seasoning, two passes of the saltshaker, granulated garlic, and cracked Sichuan pepper (dry roasted beforehand to release the lemony aroma).

Next, the batter. I reckoned that Mr. Wok’s was a combination of AP flour, cornstarch, and water. I made mine with equal parts flour and cornstarch, plus half a teaspoon of baking powder to speed up browning, then a dash of salt, garlic powder, and white pepper, combined and mixed with enough cold beer until the resulting batter was just on the watery side.

For the topping, I minced a few cloves of garlic and a small handful of green finger chilies (I left some of the seeds in for heat, or else the dish would not be properly Sichuan).

Now to cook! I started with garlic and a tablespoon of oil in a cold pan over low heat. Garlic burns easily, that’s why. I gave the pan an occasional shake to distribute the pieces evenly (using a spoon would have only made them stick to said spoon). When the garlic turned a shade golden, I stirred in the minced chilies and sautéed for 30 seconds, then removed everything to a plate lined with paper towel to cool down so that the garlic could crisp up.

I added about an inch of oil to the pan and turned the heat up to medium. To determine that the oil was hot enough, I used a bamboo skewer. Here’s how it works: if you dip the blunt edge of the stick into the oil and bubbles briskly form that just as quickly shoot outwards, you’re good to go. At this point, the oil’s temperature should be above 300°F (I used a thermometer, just so you know).

The slices of squid were each coated with batter, the excess batter allowed to drip off before frying. The resulting dish is the one in the topmost photo. For the dish in the photos following, I took the extra step of dredging the batter-coated slices in cornflour. I liked both versions. The important thing was that the squid was not overcooked; they spent from 2.5 to 3 minutes in the hot oil, depending on the thickness of the slice. I sprinkled them with a bit of fine sea salt as they rested on a paper-towel-lined plate to drain off excess oil, and served with the chili and crispy garlic on top. A spicy vinegar dip rounded out the dish.

Now we’re closer to Sichuan, Mr. Wok. Isn’t it beautiful?