This is half-pie.

This is my ancient Ken Hom wok, which my mother gave me over 20 years ago when I first went flatting. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My wok is my friend. I must master it as I must master my life. My wok, without me, is useless. Without my wok, I am useless. I must cook with my wok delicious stir fries. I must cook faster than the hunger that is causing my children to whine. I will.

My wok and myself know that what counts this evening is not the ingredients we use, the smell of our cooking, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is eating that counts. We will eat.

My wok is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its parts, its accessories, its base and its handle. I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage as I will ever guard my legs, my arms, my eyes and my heart against damage. I will keep my wok clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will.

Before Ken, I swear this creed. My wok and myself are the fee of my family. We are the masters of our enemy. We are the saviors of my life. So be it, until victory is ours and there is no enemy, but full stomachs!