The heartbreaking tragedy of my Wednesday-night dinner began with a simple message from my wife: She was on her way to an appointment and was defrosting a package of shrimp.
Great, I thought. I’ll make shrimp fried rice. Everybody loves fried rice. And although I think I had only made it once or twice before in my life, it will undoubtedly be fast and easy to make. I even found a terrific-looking recipe called Easy Fried Rice.
What could go wrong?
I decided to double the recipe so I could get two or three meals out of it, and besides, I was working with a full pound of shrimp. I stopped off at a grocery store on my way home and picked up a large onion, a thumb of ginger (not in the recipe, but I thought it would add something), a jar of oyster sauce (also not in the recipe), a bunch of scallions and a bag of jasmine rice.
When I came home, I measured the rice and rinsed it several times. I put it in a pot with a large pinch of salt and the right amount of water — letting it soak for a half-hour makes the rice fluffier — and then went to a different store to buy the frozen peas I forgot to get the first time.