Velveted, then battered in something as light as a tempura batter but crustier and lightly fried until just crisp, tossed with toasted cashews and crispy-fried scallions in a hot wok for just a second, then sauced with a sauce that's lighter and less salty than people usually get from a restaurant.

Because the velveting means the chicken has been cooked gently in a way that makes it very moist and tender, and because the pieces are just fried long enough to set that light, crispy crust, the inside doesn't get so hot that it steams away the crispness.

It is a culinary artwork purely utilitarian and alien, an poem in fat and savor and salt that hits just the right spot and leaves you feeling light and joyful, not weighed down by too much of any one good thing.

The man who perfected that recipe knew his ingredients, was on a budget, and knew his American-Chinese cuisine well enough to know exactly what the this-shaped-hole in his menu needed.

Springfield-style Cashew Chicken.