Choko

I remember my classroom when I was six. At the back there was a fishtank with a bright light where our two class chicks cheeped away while we learnt maths and reading. And next to the fishtank was a choko, sprouting away.

“Choko, ewww!” we said. I don’t know how I knew I was supposed to dislike choko but I can’t remember a time that I didn’t think of it as a gross food for people who couldn’t afford anything better, and what McDonald’s was sneaking into the apple pies.

And now I’m going to cook it of my own free will. Weird how your life turns out!

It’s light green and a bit larger than my hand. Sprouting a bit at the top because I’ve let it sit on the benchtop a few days. Ooops. Smooth, waxy-skinned, mid-weight, no smell.

Everything online says it has sticky white sap that can irritate the hands; better dig out some plastic gloves. Rummaging under the sink. Only one single glove left. Oh well, better than none.

Holding the choko in the gloved hand, peeling it with my right, under a constant stream of tap water. Grr, hate peeling vegetables. Much prefer when I can just point out all the fibre is in the skin and leave it be. Can’t get at the skin in the crevices. Gah, this is so annoying, it’ll peel a bit then get stuck.

No sign of this much-warned white sap. Feels very un-Australian to have the tap on this long.

Right, that’ll do! Over to the chopping board. It quarters easily. I thought it’d have a round seed like an avocado, but the seed just appears to be a different textured piece of flesh: lighter speckled tan surrounded by the edible pearl white. Chop the ends away. Slicing it thinly. It looks like green apple: cuts like potato.

All sliced. Find a frying pan. Nothing too big, don’t want much washing up. Here. Heat. Olive oil. More olive oil. Er… too much olive oil. Oh well.

Garlic paste into the hot oil, spluttering. And in goes the choko!

Stirring. I wonder how I know when it’s done? When it tastes okay, I guess. I sliced it so thin that it’ll be hard to know when it goes tender.

Let it fry still, sticking my head into the fridge for continental parsley. Quick stir, then chopping parsley. In it goes! Mmm, frying parsley smells yum.

Fork in hand, hunting down a bit. Blow to cool. Taste.

It tastes… like crunch. Oily crunch. Not bad, quite good, in a greasy way. Too much oil. Can’t taste the garlic at all: maybe there’s something wrong with this new brand I’m trying.

Seems done though. All out!

Taste some more. Yes, it’s surprisingly, very surprisingly, good! Crunchy, oiled, light parsley taste. A bit of garlic, somewhere. Reminds me oddly of my mother’s crumbed veal, one of my favourite meals before I went vego. Perhaps it’s the oil and parsley.

The suggestion I read online was balsamic vinegar. Drip just a little onto one piece to see how it goes.

Mm, even better! The acid cuts through the grease. Though let’s face it, I love balsamic vinegar, can’t think of anything that wouldn’t be made better by it.

Crunching my way through the slippery bowl. I could slip this into a stir-fry and I don’t think The Husband would even notice.

Blah, bit of skin, really chewy and tough. Back onto the plate. Hmm, yes, where I haven’t peeled it well it really can’t be bitten through.

Okay, so if I prepared it properly then he wouldn’t notice.

Can’t believe I would actually cook it again! Shows how much a six year old knows.

Rating:

Specifics: Choko bought from an Asian grocery in Liverpool