I told Kate that humans have survived because we are generalists.
“A panda needs bamboo,” I explained. “A polar bear needs ice. We can adapt to almost anything.”
“Good,” she said. “We’re making chicken chow mein.”
She had found a recipe by Chef Jean-Pierre. Tender chicken, crisp vegetables, savory noodles. In the photograph, everything looked happy to be there.
“I’ll supervise,” I said.
“You’ll chop.”
This is the difficulty with discussing human evolution with someone who has a knife for you.
I explained that a generalist sees the big picture, while a specialist concentrates on one small part of it. “An expert knows more and more about less and less until he knows everything about nothing.”
“Then start with the celery.”
Chef Jean-Pierre estimated twenty-five minutes of preparation.
We spent the first twenty-five minutes finding the cornstarch.
“I know where it ought to be,” I said.
Kate found it where it was.
This illustrates our different approaches. I develop systems. Kate locates objects within the existing civilization.
The recipe called for chicken sliced against the grain.
I examined a breast.
“Which way is the grain?”
Kate pointed.
“Are you certain?”
“Would you like to interview the chicken?”
I began slicing while explaining that early humans had survived by sharing responsibilities.
Kate gave me a carrot.
“Julienne that.”
I knew Julienne was either a way of cutting vegetables or someone I had met at a film festival. Neither possibility improved my knife work.
Kate inspected the results.
“Those are chunks.”
“Rustic julienne.”
“Make them smaller.”
A specialist can be very hard on a visionary.
Next came the scallions. Chef Jean-Pierre wanted the white portions separated from the green portions because they required different cooking times.
I had never realized how much administrative work went into dinner.
“Couldn’t we put them all in together?”
“We’re following the recipe.”
“I’m considering the broader possibilities.”
“Consider two bowls.”
Soon the counter held chicken, onions, celery, carrots, cabbage, scallion whites, scallion greens, bean sprouts, garlic, ginger, sauce, and noodles.
Chef Jean-Pierre calls this mise en place.
I call it using every dish we own before we’ve eaten anything.
Still, I could see the wisdom. Once the wok got hot, we would have to move quickly.
“I’ll handle the wok,” I announced.
Kate looked at the ingredients.
“I’ll hand you things.”
This suited our marriage perfectly. I would command the operation. Kate would ensure it had the slightest chance of success.
The chicken went in first.
“Don’t crowd the pan,” she said.
“There’s room for another piece.”
“You’re crowding it.”
“They’re social animals.”
“Take some out.”
Chef Jean-Pierre warned that overcrowding would make the chicken steam instead of brown. I removed several pieces, although I felt bad separating them after everything they’d been through.
Then we cooked the vegetables.
Kate supplied each ingredient at precisely the right moment. I stirred with the confidence of a man whose wife was preventing most of his mistakes.
“Garlic,” she said.
“In.”
“Ginger.”
“In.”
“Bean sprouts.”
“In.”
“Not the bowl.”
“Obviously.”
The noodles were waiting nearby, lightly coated in sesame oil.
I picked one up and tasted it.
“How are they?” Kate asked.
“Promising.”
“Leave enough for the chow mein.”
We added the noodles to the wok. Then came the sauce.
“Stir it first,” she said.
“I was going to.”
“The cornstarch settles.”
“I understand sediment.”
“Then disturb it.”
The sauce thickened. The noodles turned glossy. We returned the chicken and vegetables to the wok, and suddenly the whole enterprise began to resemble the photograph.
I was delighted.
“Look what happens when you combine a generalist and a specialist.”
Kate tasted a piece of chicken.
“Needs a little soy sauce.”
I added it with a flourish.
There it was: tender chicken, crisp vegetables, beautiful noodles. We had made an excellent dinner.
I carried our plates to the table.
“Chef Jean-Pierre provided the expertise,” I said. “You provided precision. I provided adaptability, leadership, and an understanding of the larger goal.”
Kate took a bite.
“This is very good.”
“Proof that our peculiarities complement each other.”
She nodded.
“Same arrangement for the dishes?”
“Of course.”
“Wonderful,” she said. “You wash up. I’ll see the big picture.”
Here is a link to how a great chief created his tasty dish: https://chefjeanpierre.com/recipes/chicken-chow-mein/
