I tend to approach cooking the same way I approach religion; take the parts that work for me, and move on, being careful not to get caught up in all the dogma that follows in its wake. Just as there is no single religion that fills all my spiritual needs, no one cooking style can fill my spiritual need of food. Food to me is a religion. It is a renewable celebration of life, a time to sit with loved ones and share a table strewn with food we make for ourselves. Food that nourishes not only our bodies, but our psyches. Picture your favorite holiday; you walk into a friend's, or loved one's house, and get hit by an incredible aroma that tells you, yes, this holiday is here; or, the smell of the first barbecue of summer (unless you are like me, and barbecue year-round). Tell me that is not an incredible burst of life. My point is, food is the great restorer, instilling not only much needed calories, but a joy of anticipation so sorely lacking in this "civilized" world.

As you can see I am not trying to be fancy about it, I simply call it food. Those who attempt to mystify cooking with French terms, and talk of "classical training", on the whole, bore me to no end. And the use of the word chef, turns me off as quickly as doctors that want, no, need to be called doctors; as if they need to remind you, or them, of their perceived status. Don't get me wrong, I don't completely disregard the French school of cooking; like any other style, I take what I need and leave the rest to those who believe it is the "only way to learn". Cooking was born of the people, and to attempt to make it seem unattainable with the use of meat glazes (heavily reduced meat stock), and other over blown ingredients, takes away the spirit of the communal table. Therefore, I don't prepare cuisine, I cook food. I'm not a chef, I'm a cook. I try to cook the food of the generations, not the trend food of today, that will be so yesterday tomorrow. There is a reason that our predecessors ate they way they did. First, they ate what was at hand; second, they knew, through generations of trying, what was good to eat in a greater sense. They found that certain foods and spices can combat various symptoms and ailments (i.e. the combining of "gas"-relieving, caraway seed, with cabbage), and I think there is much to learn from the food of our ancestors. Yes, I agree it would get boring eating the same dozen or so dishes, every year, but try to keep in touch with the old, and the tried and true. With that in mind, view this cookbook as a soul-food primer, not interested in latest fad everyone gloms onto (only to replace it when the new model comes around); but foods you go back to time and again, as you would an old friend; for support and comfort...you don't learn that in culinary school.

I grew up in a household that didn't differentiate between "men's work", and "women's work". My father helped with the family chores (not just "manly roles), my sister didn't take the traditional "women's role" seriously, and my mother supported us all. My interest in cooking started early (there's a picture of me , when I was about seven, helping my mother make stuffed cabbage leaves, with one of them on head), and continued throughout my life ... until I moved in with my wife. I had a stationary target, a captive audience that I could experiment on; and as much as I tested her boundaries with new ingredients, she tested mine with her restrictions (substitution!). We shared a house with her sister, and before you knew it, I was cooking for "the family". Let me tell you, I have never played to such a good audience, and their rave reviews inflated my confidence to where I was trying bolder, and more challenging dishes. My confidence was also bolstered by the fact that through sheer repetition, I had become more comfortable at the cutting board. The tedium of chopping ingredients was gone; as my skill increased, so did my speed. The chicken that once took me 45 min. to bone whole, now took just 15 minutes to do. What created both of those boosters, was the beginning of my study of Chinese cooking.

The home-cook of years gone-by would go to the local markets, bringing home the best, and freshest they had to offer. How many of us make that our goal in the store? We are like the hunter-gatherers of old; happy to come home with anything that is edible. While so many people decry the loss of "family values" (which had never been talked about, until they were supposedly gone), they move farther away from the family meal. What has supplanted family values, lies beneath the plastic wrap; cheap, innocuous, ready-to-eat, food. I would be lying if I told you that I never ate fast-food; it has its time. But the chance to create a to-die-for meal, that will have your family and friends throwing much deserved compliments your way, is much more satisfying than a trip to a restaurant. This cookbook, hopefully, represents the chance to gain some confidence, as I did, and see yourself as more than just a pedestrian in the kitchen.

In the places I had grown up, I had no access to good Chinese food. When I moved to California I had my first taste of what it could be like, at a palatable, yet pedestrian small chain restaurant in the San Francisco Bay area. It wasn't until a half-a-year later, when I went Henry Chung's Hunan Restaurant in S.F., that I realized what authentic home-style Chinese was like; as rib-sticking, and soul-satisfying as any other ethnic style could offer. And it wasn't until years later that I started getting serious about cooking real Chinese food; going to Chinatown to get the genuine spices; starting to figure out what in their markets is seasonal, and when it is; and best of all, jostling back at the old Chinese women who would push me out of the way, as if they were saying "Get off my turf". It used to bother me until I realized, that is their way of shopping; their motivation being - "If I don't get there first, someone else will get the freshest item". For the Chinese freshness is everything. In most instances they would prefer to buy their meat live and kill it themselves, so the sweetness of the flavor is preserved. Most "civilized" Westerners have a hard time with this, but I believe that it helps teach respect for the animal that is giving its life for your meal; not to take its existence lightly, not to take it for granted. I remember the first time I brought home a live crab to make Crab with Black Bean Sauce, my wife saw it in a box, took pity on it, and thought she would sprinkle water on it every so often, to keep it happy. She then decided she had married a monster, and swore she would have no part of the meal...until she tried it, and decided it was the most succulent crab she had ever tasted. I would like to think that it was my brilliant interpretation of the dish that wowed her, but I think it was the freshness of the crab that did it... oh well.