I taught myself to cook from the Joyce Chen Cook Book

Before Joyce Chen, I was a nerdy engineering student for whom the pinnacle of culinary achievement was a can of tuna fish dumped into a pan of box macaroni and cheese. (My brilliant insight: drain the tuna fish first, don't assume the oil in the tuna can is a substitute for the butter the box calls for)

I attended college in Cambridge in the late seventies and (at the wise urging of a girl who I hoped to make my girlfriend), I taught myself to cook by trying a recipe from this cookbook, and then going to Joyce Chen's restaurant near MIT (and then later the one in Fresh Pond) to taste it done right the next day, and then heading to the Chinatown in Boston to get more ingredients the day after to try again.

Gradually, by following the recipes carefully, I learned how to prepare ingredients properly, use spices well, and most importantly, that fewer ingredients is often the correct path to a fabulous result.

Along the way, as is inevitable in most learning experiences, there were spectacular failures. In a notable incident, I had prepared a particular dish for friends and we were sitting on the floor eating. I had used a bit too much Szechwan peppercorns, and we were all having to set our bowl down to gulp a glass of water after nearly every bite. Gregor the cat came over to sniff at one of our plates to see if there was anything tasty to steal. Usually, we would let Gregor steal a bite or two (we were lowly college kids, and considered ourselves peers to the cat, or at least aspired to be the cat's peer). This time Gregor turned his back on the plate and began to scratch furiously at the hardwood floor, as if to say, "if this were a sandbox, I'd be burying that ... stuff ... right now."

By the time my college career was over, I was able to improvise not just edible Chinese food out of whatever I had in the kitchen, but dishes that were as tasty as most Chinese restaurants (although never as tasty as that at Joyce Chen's, darn). Even Gregor approved, most of the time.

A 1st edition of Joyce Chen's book and a 1st edition The Cuisines of Mexico by Diana Kennedy were my only two cookbooks for years and years. They're still the ones that I reach for first. They're still the only ones that I truly understand and trust. Personally, even the revered The Joy of Cooking feels fatuous and complicated.

Plus, I also lived one year in the dorm nicknamed "The Joyce Chen Small Living Place." (If you know which one, you know why too.)