So yesterday while Joey Chestnut downed 54 hot dogs in ten minutes at Nathan’s annual competition (and his arch rival Kobayashi got arrested in his efforts to compete) and while less prodigious eaters grilled up burgers and franks and steaks all to celebrate our great nation’s birth, I ate a staple of the Chinese soldier’s diet – egg and tomato.

I am not an anti-patriot — a barbecue just wasn’t happening for me this year — and as Elena Kagan joked during her confirmation hearings, when outside of the American mainstream holiday celebrations, Chinese food becomes the next best thing.

So I whipped up some Chinese tomato and eggs — a simple, but gloriously flavorful and satisfying dish that I fell in love with while traveling through China a few years ago — and listened to the sounds of fireworks in the distance. And after all, doesn’t being American mean the freedom to take off from hot dogs sometimes and to embrace ones’ inner Chinese soldier.? God bless the USA. Here’s the recipe.

Katie’s Fourth of July Chinese Eggs and Tomatoes

Ingredients

-two eggs

-seseame oil

-salt and pepper to taste

-olive oil or butter

-soy sauce

-three green onions (diced)

-one clove garlic (diced)

-one tomato (cut into small wedges)

-soy sauce

-fish sauce

Directions

-Beat eggs with a dash of sesame oil and salt and pepper.

-Heat olive oil or butter in pan. Add eggs, scramble as you would normally, adding a dash of soy sauce, and leaving the eggs pretty loose. When they reach a cooked but still runny consistency, turn eggs onto plate to keep from overcooking (you’ll cook them more soon.)

-In same pan, add more oil or butter. When heated, add green onion and garlic. After about a minute, add tomatoes, soy sauce, and about a half teaspoon of fish sauce (more if you’re like me and love the stuff.) Stir fry until the tomatoes have grown soft and let go some of their juices.

-Add eggs back into the pan and stir fry until combined. (At this point you can also add a few tablespoons of Chinese brown sauce if you like.)

Serve over rice. Delicious.

(Serves one. Easily doubled, etc.)

I don’t know about you fine folks, but as a kid, when I got home from school, the usual after school snack was some cookies and a glass of milk (or Dunkin’ Donuts on those extra special occasions when my dad had gone to the dentist and had picked  an assorted dozen or some Munchkins on his way home — I may be the only person who positively associates dentists and donuts…)

Apparently, in Korea, however, after school food treats tend more toward kimchi fried rice with cheese and ramen with Spam. Or at least that’s what School Food, the new Korean import in Los Angeles’ Koreatown would have us believe.

School Food Blooming Roll, which is the full name for the joint, purports to specialize in the kind of food that K-pop teenagers enjoy after a long hard day of school (and from what I gather the Korean school day is long and very exhausting, so these kids have worked up an appetite.)

In addition to an assortment of ramen, topokki (soup with rice cake), and fried rice dishes, many of which are topped with cheese (the only thing that could make ramen and fried rice even yummier,) School Food offers a wide range of kimbap, Korean-style sushi rolls.

I heart kimbap, so I stuck to that.

Thinking myself conservative, I ordered two rolls, both of which, it turns out, were massive and came with free soup. One would have been enough even for a person with an enormous appetite comme moi.

A great lover of teeny, tiny fish, I went for the hot pepper and anchovy roll-

These were whole, head-on baby anchovies, the sort you pop by the handful as free banchan appetizers in Korean restaurants. A little sweet and a little chewy, the fish were matched nicely by the tang of a pickled raddish and the unctuous bite of the spicy oil sauce.

My second behemoth roll was actually a mix, called the Special Roll II, which came with three offerings – -

At the top is smelt eggs with daikon sprout. A little oily from some sort of sauce, the smelt eggs themselves had a nice pop and the daikon a good crunch, so with the toothsome nori and rice, it was a veritable textural symphony.

Next up, the Spam roll, featuring a “special School Food Sauce.” Folks, spam gets a bad rap. While the way my great aunt in North Carolina served it on a white bread sandwich with mayo and wilted lettuce may not have been fine dining (but in retrospect, perhaps delicious), what Asian and Pacific Island cultures do with the canned wonder meat is pretty fantastic. From Hawaiian style Spam musubi to Samoan Spam and eggs with rice, the salty, texturally challenged blob does wonders when paired with some spicy sauce and rice. This was no exception.

Finally, at the bottom, with the black rice – squid ink rice with teriyaki squid. To my surprise, this was my least favorite of the bunch. The squid ink rice didn’t have the subtle briny flavor that squid ink pasta often does and the teriyaki squid was too chewy and cloyingly sweet. But I did find that when I popped out the squid and replaced it with Spam, somehow the black rice sang.

Spam it turns out is the answer to everything. Or at least to Korean after school specials.

This weekend, my dreams came true. I discovered sriracha packets at a Hawaiian BBQ joint in LA. I stuffed my pockets full of these little pouches of spicy loving, and I vow never to be without them again.

The deep satisfaction of vegan cuisine on the magic mountain of Koya-san seems to have stymied Mr. Henry’s urge to write. He feels spiritually cleansed. He feels gastro-intestinally cleansed. Ideas and aperçus about food in its many transmogrifications flit continuously through the Henry imagination, but fail to perch on solid outcrop. What is happening?

Mr. Henry is simply not very hungry.

The seasonal combination of warm weather, flowering trees, and a noticeable layer of winter fat round the waist together with a strange energy bounce from reverse jet lag left him without an appetite for anything more than good coffee, bananas, yogurt, pecan raisin bread and dark chocolate in the morning, and for salads, cheese and wine at night – all foods difficult to find in Japan, apart from good coffee, that is, which was uniformly excellent except at the one expensive hotel the Henry party visited, the Swissôtel in Osaka.

Mr. Henry is usually disappointed by restaurant coffee, particularly in fine dining establishments where management bumps up your bill an extra seven bucks for an acrid, watery, lukewarm espresso instead of charging an honest buck fifty for a hot cup of paper filter drip.

A recent New York Times article decried the nauseating coffee you get in Paris. Of all beautiful places where you most want to sit outside, drink a coffee, and watch impeccably dressed women swish-clicking past, Paris was once the first choice. But since the French all suffer from rotten-coffee stomach cramp, it’s no wonder they are so depressed.

People watching in Japan holds special merits. Thigh-high boots are de rigueur. Although this is a fashion mistake, and although women in Japan all seem to have misshapen knees from kneeling on tatami mats, and although high heels induce an awkward gait (apologies to The Manolo), when sitting gazing from behind your cup of rich, delicious coffee you need not wait very long for the happy chance to examine yet another youthful thigh.

Fashion trends no longer originate in Paris. Look to Tokyo for the next new thing in fashion as well as in food. Pickles and raw egg on rice for breakfast, anyone? Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.

For two weeks the Henry family has been traipsing across Japan, land of salty snacks and tepid green tea. Back home in New York they find that crunchy rice crackers (senbei with nori) inhabit each jacket pocket.

The trip’s one great discovery, found in the famous Kyoto covered food market street (Nishiki-koji), were dried umeboshi, the tart salt apricot-plum found in a bento box. Dried ones pack all the punch of fresh ones, but taste slightly sweeter, an amazing mouth experience that keeps the palate satisfied and amused long enough for the shinkansen to travel from Hiroshima to Osaka.

In case you go, be forewarned. In Japan there are very few internet connections, no iPhone service, and no trash cans, all the more remarkable because Japanese streets are immaculate. You could eat off the floor.

In the Ginza Mitsukoshi a fresh-faced young woman offered Mr. Henry a free chocolate truffle imported from Paris (over $1 each). Although excellent coffee is widely available ($5 per cup), fine dark chocolate is very scarce. After eating half, he passed the uneaten portion to his devoted consort who characteristically took no notice of him. The truffle dropped to the floor. Seeing no trash can nearby, confident in the cleanliness of Japanese floors, and unwilling to waste the precious truffle, Mr. Henry straightaway picked it up and popped it in his chocolate-deprived mouth. Her spine shivering, the Mitsukoshi woman squeaked in horror.

The one unforgettable meal took place in a 15th-century Buddhist mountaintop temple (Shojoin-in, Koya-san) partly converted for use as a ryokan. In a beautiful tatami room adorned with painted six-panel screen, a muscular monk with shaven pate served a vegan dinner comprising every conceivable fresh bean, mountain yam, and tofu preparation.

Koya-san signature fresh tofu had a toothsome custard-like texture and a slightly caramelized flavor. Cold boiled spinach had been quick-pickled in a light rice wine vinegar and seasoned with a sesame peanut sauce. Of the many pickled and preserved fruits and vegetables, the most unusual was the whole pickled kumquat. You eat the whole thing, seeds and all.

Men, if you think hair loss, knee pain, backache, a pot belly and manboobs will be the most fearful consequences of old age, add one more specter to the list: a fatty liver.

Mr. Henry has one. (The wags might say Mr. Henry is one.) The discovery of this ticklish condition, however, has led to a new diet breakthrough.

Mr. Henry’s surefire weight loss method. Lose ten pounds in ten weeks!

How? You ask how?

First, develop an undiagnosable digestive disorder preventing you from eating more than appetizer portions at one sitting. Coffee, cheese, or anything fatty gives you nausea and stomach cramp, so they’re off the menu until further notice. Because your liver has grown fatty, your gastroenterologist will advise you to limit alcohol consumption to one drink per day. (You can sneak another, but don’t tell Dr. Romeu.)

Second, when the child goes off to camp for three weeks, prepare nothing at home more ambitious than salad with something grilled tossed on top. If you go out to eat, order only the appetizer. (Refusing to be buffaloed by wait staff, Mrs. Henry has been doing this years.)

Third, make sure your air conditioner breaks on Saturday evening. New York City repairmen don’t retrieve messages until Monday, no matter how plaintive, and don’t begin to act until Tuesday or Wednesday. Furthermore, make the AC chiller unit shatter its drive shaft. (Replacement shafts are never in stock.) If you do this during the worst heat wave of the summer, you’re bound to lose nearly a pound per day. Mr. Henry offers his personal guarantee. When it’s this hot, the most anyone can hope to consume is popcorn and white wine.

Fourth, eat a diet inspired by French cures for la crise de foie, even though such a term is not accepted by medical science, even in France. Eat artichokes, salad, bitter greens, lemon, papaya, mint and ginger. (Ginger helps the stomach empty its contents into the duodenum. You had to ask.) Then eat more artichokes.

Here is a southeast Asian style salad dressing that transforms romaine lettuce, carrots, Thai basil, tomato and grilled chicken into princely fare:

1 teaspoon grated ginger
1 teaspoon peanut butter (or sunflower butter)
juice of half a lime
1 tablespoon rice wine vinegar
three dashes of Tabasco
2 tablespoons vegetable oil (olive oil is not the best, but it’s OK)
salt

On the Fourth of July pickles get to be serious business.

Fourth of July is the one day of the year when pickles are prominently featured among menu items, one day when pickles are not just eaten but lingered over, examined, discussed, and debated.

Is sugar appropriate in the brining liquid? Is garlic an obligation of faith or a detour from the true path? And what about pickled artichokes, cauliflower, onions, carrots, or odd Japanese vegetables like gobo (burdock root), lotus root, or seaweed?

Yesterday David reported confidently that the secret ingredient in Murray’s Sturgeon Shop’s tuna salad is a splash of pickle juice.

(Mr. Henry hopes he has not revealed one of Murray’s closely held proprietary secrets inadvertently landing himself in a legal pickle. Mr. Henry, you see, is not represented by counsel, nor does he wish to contest a court action from an injured party. The above was revealed in innocence, Murray, as part of a think piece about pickles and America on the Fourth of July. Have a heart, Murray, can’t you? It could all just be rumor, anyway.)

Like all true pickle eaters, Mrs. Henry holds strong opinions on the subject. At Recipe, a new restaurant on Amsterdam Avenue, Mrs. Henry thought the pickled artichoke had sat too long. Its crunch was gone.

When Mrs. Henry pickles, she pickles for a day or two, not more. Her pickled cabbage becomes a military exercise for mastication muscles and back molars as well as a sharp, crisp cleansing for the tongue.

Mr. Henry’s favorite pickling liquid is sushi vinegar, a sugared vinegar required for proper sushi rice. Every so often in a sauce pan over a mild flame she dissolves ¾ cup of sugar into a bottle of white vinegar. The apartment smells pickley for hours.

Although Mr. Henry has been instructed repeatedly to leave that bottle alone, he confesses to using its contents with regularity. Add a splash of cold sushi vinegar to freshly sliced salted cucumbers and instantly you get a pickle to rival any vegetable or condiment.

It may not be what Americans remember as traditional, but it’s better than those squishy green things in the bottle.

If like Mr. Henry you are partial to classifications, you could divide the world into three culinary groups: sweet-milk people, sour-milk people, and no-milk people.

Western Europeans and their descendants drink fresh milk and eat aged cheeses. Central Asians and Middle Easterners eat yogurt and fresh cheeses. Far Easterners can’t stand milk products of any kind.

Hosting a holiday dinner for native Wisconsinites Kate and Dan, the Henrys decided to surprise these dairy-staters with an exotic sour milk feast the Three Wise Men would enjoy, in case they happen to show up unannounced on the doorstep.

Those unpredictable Magi, they never call ahead. Like the British they come from the East bearing gifts, ever so tasteful and appropros, expecting you to reciprocate in kind.

Lacking confidence in his command of Persian cuisine, and lacking as well access to fresh pomegranate juice, za’atar, and other basic components of Middle Eastern food, Mr. & Mrs. Henry improvised a version of South Asian food that, while very spicy, was not so hot the kids would refuse it.

Interestingly, yogurt plays a central role in almost every dish from dahl to korma to naan, flat bread Mrs. Henry cooked on a hot dry skillet.

Lamb korma became the principal dish and was accompanied by red lentil dahl and aloo gobi, cauliflower in a spicy mix of potatoes, tomatoes, and peas.

For a gentle kid-friendly chutney Mr. Henry quickly stewed three diced mangoes with diced ginger, brown sugar, orange juice, and in lieu of vinegar a little verjuice, a sour grape juice. The result was mouth puckering and palate cleansing.

Then he prepared a simple raita with only four ingredients: cucumber, sheep’s yogurt, mint, and salt. Core the cucumbers and grate them coarsely. Mix with salt and let sit covered in the refrigerator for several hours. After this quick pickling, push out all the salty water and add chopped mint and yogurt, as much as you like. Mr. Henry likes a thick mix, mostly cucumber, less like a sauce than like a salad to lighten the meal and cleanse the palate.

For dessert, there was watermelon, clementines, mint ice cream, and the remainder of the pinot noir.