Woking the wok, tawking the tawk

My favorite wok is round-bottomed and made from carbon steel. However, we have moved from a home with a gas range to one with an electric stove. So my trustworthy old friend, first met in a Chinatown store in San Francisco, is--like me--being pensioned off. I have taken my principles in hand, and have begun thinking about a flat-bottomed wok.

Since I am not without loyalty, and since it seemed to coincide with the best chance for finding another carbon steel wok, I went to a large Chinese market. I found no woks on the shelves, so I went to the registers, where three employees were chatting.

"Can you suggest a good place to buy a steel wok?", I asked.

"Wok? What's a wok?" their spokesperson replied.

"To cook in!", I said. "You know, stir fry!"

Blank stare.

I pantomimed the shape of a wok, and its size, putting in imaginary oil, and vegetables, and some shreds of thigh meat from a chicken. I stirred the air over the wok I wanted, as if flipping food.

Nothing.

"Do you know where I can buy a wok?", I persisted. This time, using my best colonial skills, I spoke slowly, distinctly, and very loud, knowing that diction might overcome language differences. I even tried speaking from top-right. Nothing worked.

No woks. No idea what a wok was, or where one might be found.

I am building a fire ring on the tile floor of the kitchen, and will use the one I have.

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