Sticking Together Sichuan Pork Wontons

March 19, 2013

I’ve been electrocuted twice. Once when I stuck my finger down an electric candle as a kid and once 11 years later, after meeting my husband. The first time he held my hand, I felt sparks flying off my fingertips. It’s corny to say, but I’ve loved him ever since.

You wouldn’t know it now, 13 years later, because we’re standing in the middle of our kitchen fighting. But not just any kind of fighting. We’re fighting about fighting, and both of us are too maddeningly stubborn to admit how ridiculous this really is. This leads us in circles, like dogs chasing our tails. Twenty minutes later, after he storms upstairs, I reach for the wonton wrappers and pull out a pot.

Wonton1

I’ve never made wontons before. They’ve always seemed so fussy, so fragile, so capable of breaking. I continue on anyway, mixing ground pork in a big bowl with ginger and garlic – then rolling the mixture into little balls for wrapping inside the wontons. It’s awkward at first until it becomes easy. And then monotonous. 40 wontons later, they’re ready to be boiled.

What I expect is a pork explosion. A sloppy wonton mess. What I don’t expect is for the dumplings to stick together in such assaulting conditions. To my surprise, every last one of them bobs up and down in the bubbling water, in tact, puffing up and turning somersaults.

wonton3

By the time I call Dustin down for dinner, we’ve both evened our tempers.

“Sorry,” he says, as he scoops out a bite and flings it into his mouth.

“Sorry, too,” I say.

Funny how no one really prepares you for marriage. No one tells you how many times you’ll have to compromise. How many times it’ll come down to your natural ability to stick together when you least expect it.

wonton2

“These are good,” Dustin says. “Were they a lot of work?”

“They were a project,” I say, “but worth it.”

And then he holds out his bowl for more.

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