By Kristin King Stapleton 
Special to The Irish American Post

My lust for travel has not — yet — gotten me as far as China. But by the time I was 24, I had trained in the Cordon Bleu style of cooking in London, and graduated there from Leith’s School of Food & Wine. I was immediately hired for a (disastrous) job as a cook/housekeeper in the fashionable Chelsea district. 

This turned out to be a modern day version of the PBS Victorian London production: an occupation "in service" is still "Upstairs, Downstairs," at its finest. Prior to this time, I had not understood that "Downstairs" was not just where a person lived and worked— it was one’s "station in life." I lasted six weeks at that job. 

I moved to the Republic of Ireland and lived outside of Dublin. Just over the Co. Wicklow border, I became the eggroll maker at "Danny’s Chinese Take-Away." I caught the double-decker bus to Bray, where my first task was to whip up three bowls of eggroll batter. 

I heated the crepe pan, wiped it with oil, and swirled ladle after ladle of batter around that small skillet. Nimbly lifting the thin pancakes, I flipped them over and slid them onto a plate— I quickly developed the asbestos-like fingers of any decent chef. Before I arrived, Danny prepared and chilled the filling. I know that the mixture contained ground meat, crisp bean sprouts, cabbage, and soy sauce. But I was never made privy to the exact components— spices and ingredient allotments for this seasoned mixture are still a mystery. 

Next, I began my personal assembly line. For this popular Asian treat, I had a trio of elements: my stack of Chinese-version crepes, the secret filling, and a small side-bowl of batter. This second batter acted as a form of "glue" for this project. Placing a pancake in front of me, I centered a spoonful of the filler on top. I dipped my index finger in the little batter bowl, swiped it around the edge of the thin pancake, and folded, overlapped, and rolled. Each day, I prepared sixty to one-hundred of these eggrolls for later frying— two per order. 

Born in Singapore, my boss was schooled in Ireland — "Fook" was the Chinese birth name that he had been given. His female instructor was kind enough to acclimatize the lad. She re-named him "Danny." His Irish nickname caused him a lot less trouble on the playground, and it was now the name hanging over his shop. I worked along side Danny’s Welsh assistant; he and I boned and shredded multiple chickens that had simmered for hours in a deep pot. Danny busied himself with the beef curry; this savory item required a slow-cooking method. By the time we were open for business, aromas of spring onions, garlic and ginger wafted down the lane. 

I loved Danny’s egg drop soup; it was not on the menu. Before we got busy with the dinner-time "rush," I watched him make this staff meal often enough to be able to duplicate it. This quick and simple dish is a good way to use-up hot, rich chicken broth. Chicken shreds, corn and a little bit of garlic are added. A raw beaten egg is stirred into the steaming mixture with chopsticks, just before serving. The egg "threads" cook instantly. Once a few spring onion slices are sprinkled on top, the fragrant bowl is complete. 

The Food Safety Authority of Ireland (FSAI) approximates that today there are 6,000 Chinese restaurants and takeaways in the Emerald Isle. While there, I heard tales surrounding suspicious activities— and the resulting "questionable" ingredients— at a now closed Chinese restaurant in the Dublin suburb of Dun Laoghaire. Details are too gruesome to repeat. But "Danny’s," in the next county, was wholesome and clean. It is estimated that each Irish household eats as least one Chinese meal per week, according to a recent analysis from Leatherhead Food International/Global Food Markets. 

Some of Danny’s Chinese dishes were made to-order. All evening long he leaned over the hot wok, and stir-fried vegetables of contrasting colors and varying textures: green peppers, crunchy celery, carrots, and onions, were all tossed with chicken and spices. I learned there that fried rice is a Caucasian treat. In China, fried rice is considered as "leftovers," as the recipe always begins with cold cooked rice. From yesterday. This side dish cannot be made with fresh hot rice; it is just too sticky. 

To further suit local tastes, Danny’s menu offered Batter Burger and Chips. Chips, of course, are the thick-cut french-fried potatoes. The batter burger is surprisingly tasty — in a greasy sort-of-way. It has no bun. My preparations were basic: retrieving a stiff ground beef patty from the freezer, I tossed it in flour. Then I dipped the floured burger in that third dish of eggroll batter, and dropped the object in the deep fat fryer. What better way to soak up a few pints from the pub, than a batter burger and chips! 

It began innocently enough for me, but this was one time when I used my female attributes to our mutual advantage — I worked with two men. Our food "prep" area was entirely visible from the order counter. Because working with food and grease ruins clothing, I limited my restaurant wardrobe to jeans and just a few standard blouses, worn over and over again. The nights when I wore my cherry red low-cut top— and the more I leaned over the counter in that shirt— the more food we sold. 

Open hours at "Danny’s" were 4:30 p.m. to 11 p.m. Or 11:30 p.m. Or midnight. Depending. If we were still cleaning up, and there was still food in the warmer, you could buy it. "Sorry, the fryers have been turned off for the night. But we do have some beef curry left in the pot." 
 
 

Kristin King Stapleton is a freelance writer, and an Information and Referral specialist based in Minneapolis. She can be reached at kingkks@juno.com