The name of this dish comes not from a cookbook, but from the chef who showed us how to prepare it. She was born and raised in Kowloon, off Hong Kong Harbor, and at the time of instruction spoke almost no English. So our education meant keeping up with her lightning-quick movements, while scribbling the details for a feature in a local newspaper.
Like nearly all great Chinese cuisines, the basic principles involve the cooking of individual components to a perfect (i.e., minimally softened) texture, then combining them—all in a wok and over extremely high heat (at least by Western standards). Once we’d mastered that, we were off to the races.
We've rarely varied the basic ingredients (but if you do, it doesn't matter):
Chicken, pork, ham, or shrimp—or two of them, or three, or all four.
Pork in this case usually, but not always, meaning the delicious barbecued char sui sold in the deli department of our Chinese grocery store. We also use their barbecued duck when we have a mind to.
Chinese sausage—the thin, sweet sausages from the refrigerated case.
Sweet corn and peas—fresh-shucked/shelled, or frozen.
Dried Chinese (shiitake) mushrooms and black fungus (and yes, they need a better name for that delicious tuber)—soaked in water and sliced.
Scallions and carrots—julienned small.
Garlic and ginger—sliced and minced.
Eggs—beaten smooth.
Everything gets chopped into roughly similar bite sizes, then quickly sautéed in peanut oil (no substitute!), in each case enough to fill a small bowl.
With another swig of peanut oil, we quickly sauté roughly twice as much cooked white Jasmine rice (no substitute here either!) in the wok. With the heat turned down, we then toss in the ingredients, tasting along the way until everything works together, and no one flavor dominates.
In this final tossing, we add:
Soy sauce—XO premium.
Sesame oil—light or dark—with discretion.
And sometimes, if we have them:
Tofu—medium consistency.
Pickled radish.
Preserved bean curd—one cube, mashed with a small swig of the juice.
Oyster sauce—a dollop or two.
The best part of the dish, besides the taste and texture—which are spectacular—is that the preparation requires a visit to our favorite Chinese grocery store. That enormous culinary madhouse operates, even with occasional governmental intervention, on a strict policy of caveat emptor. But as long as we know what we're doing, they serve up the best meat, seafood, and vegetables in town. Just don't expect much help from the employees, unless you speak passable Cantonese.
And if you can't find a store like ours, there's always Amazon for enough of the ingredients to wow your friends and family.
If you’re (understandably) nervous, here’s a basic recipe from The Food Network.
And here’s a serviceable wok from Joyce Chen at Amazon, although we prefer the flimsy metal scoops and spoons from our Chinese grocery store.