I make really great fried rice. Before you silently judge me for this arrogance, know this: Behind this hubris lies the wisdom of my Chinese in-laws. When first dating my now-husband, I would fly to Seattle to visit his parents, and our family time would be spent with me taking copious notes on an iPad while they attempted to teach me to cook their family dishes. I was so taken with their food. I learned dumplings and stir-fries and five-spice braised beef. I learned how to make traditional dishes for winter’s solstice and dishes for health and good luck. Yet of everything I’ve learned, it’s their fried rice that has become my back-pocket dish.