Jersey stir-fry

In a little more than three days, my girlfriend and I are skipping town for vacation. The one problem is that we ran low on food several days ago. Because of our recent busy schedules, neither of us had time to go to the grocery store (or, as my Philadelphia-based friend Buster says, "go food shopping") when it actually mattered. Much like the two-man crew on the International Space Station, we've had to subsist mostly on takeout from Moby Dick House of Kabob -- and make use of whatever odds and ends are lying around in the refrigerator and cupboards.

Before I leave town for an extended trip, I have but one grocery-oriented goal: use up whatever perishables are in the house. According to my friend Bob, a meal made from throwing together such eclectic items is called a "Jersey stir-fry." Similar to the concoctions that my classmates and I made in first grade from weird lunch foods in the school cafeteria, a Jersey stir-fry may contain anything and everything. The lone difference is that a Jersey stir-fry can and should be consumed in the absence of small-scale gambling, dares, and promises of "10 cartons of milk to wash down the hot sauce if you eat it." Jersey stir-fries are not limited to pre-vacation times; they may be eaten during busy periods when grocery-shopping is impossible; before moving (so as to get rid of perishable foods that you can't take with you); or for fun -- as when Kramer wanted to find out how far he could drive on gas fumes.

The origins of the term "Jersey stir-fry" date back to the Hundred Years War. In 1468, a Chinese adventurer named Jiang Lao approached King Edward IV in London with a proposition: he would help the king to take back the English Channel island of Jersey from the French in exchange for four acres of coastal land on the island for use as a small farm. Recognizing the strategic importance of Jersey in his ongoing battles with the French and the relatively low cost to the kingdom of ceding a measly four acres, the king agreed. He generously outfitted Jiang with a rowboat, a shield, and two weeks' worth of dried mutton and leeks. Jiang soon arrived on Jersey, but found it heavily guarded by French forces. He hid in a rocky crevice while he planned his next move. Unable to make headway after two weeks, Jiang used up all his provisions but one dried leek. The situation was dire. He netted a fish from the Channel and picked some wild dill growing near a northwest-facing beach. Starving, he built a fire and fashioned a makeshift pan from his shield. Jiang, a top chef back in China, expertly fileted the fish and stir-fried it with his dill and leek. The wonderful scent brought the French troops out of their camps, whereupon they discovered the heretofore hidden Jiang. Impressed by his culinary ingenuity with random ingredients, the French troops surrendered their weapons to Jiang, who immediately took Jersey for Edward IV and England. The Jersey stir-fry was born.

That was a big lie. The Jersey stir-fry actually derives from the same New Jersey-based line of humor that created the term "Newark tuxedo" to refer to a sleeveless undershirt -- or a "wifebeater," to use the parlance of our times. The comedic theory is that New Jersey is a trashy place whose citizens may view trashy things as luxurious. Bob himself is from New Jersey, so I don't feel too bad. Yesterday, I made a Jersey stir-fry consisting of couscous, cream of mushroom soup, diced fennel, and diced carrots. Today, I made two Jersey stir-fries: 1) a chicken salad sandwich using my emergency can of diced chicken, a spoonful of mayonnaise, Old Bay, and diced fennel (hey, I bought two bulbs on a whim last week, OK?); and 2) chocolate cookie malt frozen yogurt from soon-to-go-bad vanilla yogurt, Whoppers chocolate malt syrup I picked up in Hershey, and ground Moravian double chocolate cookies. Together, these "trashy" things were nothing short of phenomenal.

It's a lot like that old Food Network show Door-Knock Dinners, where famous chefs show up with Gordon Elliott at a random house and try to whip up a gourmet meal from whatever's in the kitchen. Often, the best meals are generated out of necessity. With virtually nothing in the cupboard, the world is my mock oyster.