If you’ve ever wondered, “If China makes all of our stuff, then who makes China’s stuff?” the answer might be found in Wong Lo Kat herbal tea at Szechuan Noodle Bowl, a new authentic Chinese restaurant on King Street East at John. The tea, tracing it’s origins back to the Qing Dynasty, the last imperial dynasty of China spanning nearly three hundred years, from 1644-1912, and succeeded by the Republic of China, also has one foot in the modern sugary drink industry. As would be the case for modern industry, the tea is, in fact, made in Malaysia, not China, or the province of Szechuan where the style of cuisine reigns.
Szechuan is a province far removed from the imperial thrones of Eastern China. It’s a barren land comprised mostly of the Tibetan plateau that produces china’s trendiest spice, the Szechuan peppercorn. (Chinese 5-spice is good, but times and tastes have changed over here is the West.) And the peppercorn is more than spicy.
Biting into a Szechuan peppercorn sends the tongue on a dizzying ride, first passing a biting chilli punch and on to a resonating menthol-like cooling numbness, like holding a piece of dry ice in your mouth. But instead of blowing out smoke, the peppercorn usual accompanies sucking and slurping, like in the signature bowl Hot Special Sliced Noodle.
It’s a deeply flavoured broth with a slick, lustrous layer of mahogany-red, lip-smearing fat. To a traditionally trained potager the fat would bring to mind the horrors of the Exxon Valdez oil spill, but it’s absolutely preferred in Szechuan. The broth below is an opaque, pale brown and that’s where the flavour resides; the beefiest soup or stew from a soup shop around town would pale in comparison to the meaty flavour it carries. In it is the signature flat noodles that taper at the sides, offering both the softness of overcooked noodles and a toothsome al dente in the middle along side unidentifiable offcuts of beef and crispy, refreshing baby bok choy.
There are other signature soups, like the Special Hand-Made Spinach Noodle, with long, skinny, scraggly spinach noodles, and the Machine-Made Noodle soup, with blonde, tender, doll hair-smooth noodles. And it doesn’t end there.
Slippery is the most defining characteristic across the board – soup or otherwise. Even for intermediate chopsticks users, the long plastic sticks available put risky manoeuvres to the test, along with Friday Night’s shirt. For instance, some of the other “signature foods”, like boiled dumplings with chilli oil – tender, thin dough with loosely packed ground pork and chives dipped in a mildly fiery sesame oil with toasted sesame seeds floating on top – are amusingly difficult. Same goes for the coriander-scented, oil-slicked and nearly melted braised egg plant.
The slip-and-slide meal continues into dessert, with the traditional Chinese jelly. Gelatinized water is seasoned with brown sugar, raisins and chopped peanuts for a strikingly familiar dessert, especially on the weekend of American Thanksgiving. It’s served with a spoon, but is no less fidgety to corral. It’s a perfect rendition of challenging food spiked with familiarity.
.mike 