Over The Telephone

No this restaurant does not sell sushi. No, we also don’t have a hibachi grill either. Well you see, sir/ma’am, we have neither of those things because this is a Chinese restaurant. That means we cook and serve Chinese food. Food whose recipes loosely originate from China. Therefore, we don’t have sushi or hibachi grills because—no, sir/ma’am, no miso soup either. Those are all culinary features of Japanese cuisine. From Japan. So they should be easily found in establishments that sell Japanese food—like a Japanese restaurant.

Why don’t we sell them too, you ask? Well because, sir/ma’am, this is a Chinese restaurant, not a Japanese restaurant. If we had things like sushi and miso soup, House of China’s original tagline “serving good Chinese food since 1989” would be replaced by “serving good Chinese food since 1989 only to have its culinary integrity trampled upon by ignorant consumers in need of some home training in 2008 and beyond.” I hope you understand then why we simply don’t have what you’re looking for? Oh, I beg to differ: Chinese and Japanese food are not, as you say, “the same thang anyhow.” What’s that? Alright then, gracious sir/ma’am, have a good day. You too, Goodbye.

Sweet Tooth

The food I serve you is not what I eat at home. Don’t look so surprised; did you really think we have something as tongue-numbingly sweet as Sweet & Sour Chicken for dinner? Chinese cuisine, since the dawn of Chinese cuisine, has never had a penchant for sugary dishes masquerading as appetizers and entrees. The only sweets we serve are either fruit for dessert or not that sweet at all—to the Western palate, anyway.

We aren’t completely devoid of delicious confections however. There are red beans with milk, seasonal moon cakes, the bird’s nest delicacy, rice cakes, dried melon strips, and even candied ginger. These are snacks to be tossed into one’s mouth on the road or on the go, not mainstays at the dining room table. It amazes me to watch, sometimes, as a customer calls for an order of Chinese donuts from our menu, convinced that he or she could get this at any other “authentic” Chinese restaurant. Whoever heard of frying biscuit dough, dusting powdered sugar on their golden tops, and slapping “Chinese” next to their names like a moniker? I want to tell them the truth, leaning close to the table with my head dipped low like I’m confessing an ages-long secret. Instead, I step back with my hands folded on my apron and let them think otherwise. As my mother likes to say, it wouldn’t do to burst bubbles.

No My Food is Not Weird-Looking

Long Beans with Egg

Mapo Tofu (non-vegetarian)

Steamed Pork Short Ribs

Potato Soup

Epic Mealtime Sweet Potato Soup

Chinese Vegetable Pancake

Bargain Priced

Ground spice makes everything nice. There is something inherently more satisfying about munching on a snack bought at a roadside stall than wining and dining in a four-star restaurant whose bill would rival the down payment you made on your car. More often than not, the roadside stall you’ve stopped at is a mom-and-pop joint, owned by a grandmotherly matriarch or cantankerous old man who has manned the store for longer than you have been alive. S/he has his or her hands on everything, from the recipes used to the cutlery served (or lack thereof) to which frying pan the cook is supposed to use. Most of the time, the owner is even there too, fixing his or her one good eye on you as s/he rings up your order.

You watch the entire cooking process from your rickety bench or stool. You see every ingredient the cook throws into the fire that will eventually appear in your meal, on your questionably washed plate. When you take that initial bite, you taste the road it was made on, the hands that have shaped it, the history of the dish’s conception. You taste an experience. You taste a life. 

The Horror, The Horror

Here are just a couple of examples of what I meant in my earlier posts with people screwing around with the food I serve them and wasteful behavior:

 This used to be wonton soup, which is a CLEAR SLIGHTLY YELLOW COLOR. Someone dumped all of the soy sauce in there. What is this madness?

Some teenagers decided they simply weren't hungry anymore and left. This. On. My. Table. For Christ's sake, at least take it home and feed it to your dog. 

I Thought I Wouldn't Do Rants Anymore

I believe in a food's structural integrity. When I serve you [insert dish], it is perfect as it is. All the seasoning needed has been cooked in there while the guy in the kitchen was tossing the wok around. Every vegetable present has contributed its unique flavor to the overall taste. The sauce is at the perfect consistency and texture, the rice fluffy but not too sticky. What makes the restaurant I work at a true mom-and-pop joint is that my mother makes all the cooking sauces for every stir-fried dish on the menu. Indirectly, my mother is in the food I place in front of you. It is delicious. There is love and dedication and attention in every bite you take.

So when you pour out half the contents of that sweet-and-sour sauce bottle into your rice or drown your soup in soy sauce, I suddenly get the urge to upend the table you're sitting at. Why would you ruin something that already tastes wonderful without your excessive add-ons? I know that is this is the way some people feel about adding A1 sauce to their BBQ or adding sprinkles on their ice cream. It is a legitimate concern/pet peeve of mine. The next time you go out to eat somewhere, instead of instantly slathering your food with something from the condiments station, try some of your pristine, untouched meal. Let the sauce sit in your mouth. Absorb the taste of those vegetables. You might be surprised.