Dine & Dish No. 5—Asian Persuasion

I didn't exactly blend growing up in the Jell-O belt. Among the amazonian Scandinavian descendants at Bonneville Junior High, I stuck out like one big California-transplanted thumb. "Mongolian eye-lids" and all. When the hormones kicked in and boys and girls started to take more notice of each other, I was hard pressed to find a fella who didn't laud me for my "exotic" looks. Don't give me credit, buddy. I wasn't even trying. The few Asians that were around periodically flocked together. And in disgust, we dubbed the exclusive attraction for us "exotic" ladies as the "Asian Persuasion."

A decade later, I'm happy to say that I've called out several dates on being fetishists with this two-word power term. And now, I can finally (happily) apply it to something not dating-related. Sometimes I like food more than men anyway.

I came across the call for Dine & Dish on Sarah's site the delicous life. The theme as you can gather is about Asian food in your 'hood.

And before you shake your head in doubt as to whether there is ethnic cuisine in my neck of the woods, I'll stop you. Because there is. I consider my family as part of the first big wave of the Great California migration. Drawn by low cost of living and safe neighborhoods, alot of folks, Asian and not, are moving to the blessed Beehive state. The air is clean (most of the year). There's still land to build gargantuan stucco monoliths for homes (sort of). And there's a whole mountain range to play on. Sure, it's pretty much a theocracy here. And pockets of SLC are quivering blue dots in a big red political sea. But I can make a living, buy a house, and travel without having to sell crack.

But, the food. Oh, the lack of food. This is the land of Chuck-a-Rama buffets, Diet Coke, and Jell-O salads. The new people found themselves in a strange beautiful land with more money than they ever dreamed, but nothing to eat. The result? A delicious invasion of mom-and-pop ethnic eateries catering to hungry ex-pats and people who crave something beyond the buffet line.

Something like salt and pepper calamari (pictured above). This is my mid-week crutch. Marine fauna-based therapy cut into morsels, battered, and deep-fried in a wok hugged by flames hotter than hell. Flavored with the most used seasonings in any pantry—salt and pepper—the texture is mind-boggling good. Light and crunchy with a trail of steam exhaling into your mouth with each bite. The confetti of diced raw bell pepper and julienned cabbage the only justifiable health factor.

Hong Kong Tea House was opened in a place no white business owner would've set up shop. On the fringes of what's affectionately known as the "warehouse district" it's a stone's throw from the homeless shelter and flanked by vacant buildings being slowly re-gentrified by the city in an effort to "enliven" the block. In its solitary way, the Tea House is all that's needed to invigorate this forgotten parcel of city. In the stucco shadow of a new glitzy So. Cal-esque mall, it beckons people away from the Panda Express drudgery in favor of plates cooked order and still sizzling at the table.

Everyday for lunch, folks can order from the dim sum menu. There aren't the ubiquitous carts rolling around. Rather, you check off what you want from a small carbon-paged menu and the waitress returns in shifts with plates and plates of food. At this point I almost prefer it this way. Seconds off the stove as opposed to lingering in cart purgatory.

Daily specials are written in Chinese and neat English. And strange-looking fish butt heads in the tank. People from every color of the rainbow, every corner of the city stop in here. Sure, there's the fried rice. The lo mein. Kung Pao (insert meat of choice here). But there are also feasts of tripe, chicken feet, and lotus leaf rice dumplings.

My friend Nick and I recently met up to vent over lunch. We crunched on al dente Chinese broccoli with oyster lamenting our desk lifestyles. We slurped shrimp dumpling soup, mulling the uncertainty of new careers. And knocked back pots of tea to cleanse salt and pepper calamari saturated palates. And by the end our table was an utter mess—splashes of broth, soy and oyster sauce, straggling grains of rice, and a dozen little plates between the two of us.

That distended belly feeling makes the next five hours not seem so hard. And at $19.43, a hell of a lot cheaper than therapist.

Comments

[Dwight]

Ahh...Hong Kong Tea House...the only chinese restauarant my family now eats at...always helps that my parents and grandparents know the cook, and my grandfather in his traditional chinese way, finds himself wandering back there sometimes, making sure that whatever we have is really, really fresh.

[Jaay]

Looks like a wonderful switch from jello salads & diet coke. I've SO been craving lo mein lately & your delicious photos just add to my craving.

Your blog is always so yummy =)

[vanessa]

Jaay-Thanks for the compliment! Thinking of the food there makes my mouth water. I really dig your blog, too. You are a certified diva. I would kill for that chocolate cake in the photo!

Dwight-When you finally leave London, we've gotta hit that place up. Your grandad sounds like my kind of fella :)

[sarah]

"Sometimes I like food more than men anyway."

only sometimes? LOL!

not me. i looove dinner dates, sans the date. ;)

thanks so much for participating! fun fun, the delicious dishing session will be up by the end of the week (i hope)

[mae]

Sounds like a place to go for a good chinese feast.