Lao Dong Bei (老东北風味), pt. 2

Lao Dong Bei (老东北風味) has held its undisputed place as my favorite restaurant in Flushing for over 6 months now, and, after trying yet another stellar dish this evening, I realized it's time for a new post.

Another delightful little freebie made its appearance tonight:  green beans pickled with a bit of carrot and garlic, with what is essentially kimchi. A bit spicy, but only just enough to tickle the taste buds:

I always find it interesting to try to guess from the name of the dish whether it's going to be "dry" or in some sort of sauce. When I ordered Hot & Spicy Ribs (xiāng là xiǎo zhū pái - 香辣小猪排), I somehow just assumed it would be simmered in a sauce. So, I was a little surprised when this came out:

The surprise, however, was by no means an unpleasant one. Chunks of pork spareribs were fried until just crispy on the outside, moist and tender on the inside, with dried red chili peppers, ginger, scallion, and garlic (and, if I'm not imagining it, a hint of cumin). They were then tossed with whole roasted peanuts and cilantro stems. The result, as with any great dish, is more than the sum of its parts. I thought the dish was balanced perfectly: every time I wanted a contrast to the pork, I had a few peanuts, and the cilantro stems were the perfect aromatic counterpoint and just-different-enough kind of crunch to hold ones interest completely. The amounts of each at the end turned out to be exactly right.

On the menu, there is a misprint of one letter in the name "Fresh Fish in Hot Bean Pasta", but it’s an important difference: it should be "Hot Bean Paste" (dòu bàn huó zé yú - 豆瓣活鰂魚, the fish in question, 鰂魚, being tilapia). Most versions of this dish I've had come out red with chili... this one, as you can see, is all brown, and barely spicy.

No matter – it’s a rich, satisfying, earthy flavor. And the tilapia, naturally, is done perfectly.

If the gauge is "number of times ordered", my favorite dishes here are Baby Cabbage with Meatball Soup and the Chicken in Orange Flavor (chén pí jī - 陳皮雞). Chén pí (陳皮) is literally "dried tangerine peel" (often used medicinally in China), and that is exactly what is used. While the sauce is sweet, the bitterness of the dried tangerine peel - and the zing of the dried red pepper - perk up the flavor considerably, eliminating completely the danger if it becoming cloying. Although it's an overused word in food writing, "addictive" - it least when it comes to me - is the right word here.

There's another "orange" dish on the menu here, one of which the establishment is quite proud, Fried Pork in Orange Sauce (guō bāo ròu - 鍋包肉). This seems to be a classic northern Chinese dish (other northern Chinese restaurants in Flushing offer it, like Spicy Road), but its character is quite different from the above chicken dish. No tangerine peel, for one thing, and no hot peppers - the sweet, sticky sauce is similar, though, subtly flavored with orange and ginger. My Chinese vocabulary guru Audrey tells me that guō bāo means that the meat (ròu) has been marinated with rice wine, salt and chicken stock before deep-frying. Which seems entirely plausible. An excellent dish, however it's done.

Another northern classic, jiān jiāo gān dòu fǔ (尖椒乾豆腐 - Dry Bean Curd with Hot Pepper), is, I think, on the menu at every northern restaurant in Flushing. Lao Dong Bei's is as good as any version around:

Hóng shāo ròu (紅燒肉 - Braised Pork) is another pork dish with yet a completely different character. Hóng shāo refers to a dish that is simmered in soy sauce and sugar (there's usually some star anise in there, too) – it means, literally, "red-cooked". A classic preparation and a wonderful way to cook pork belly. It's divine comfort food. (Pardon the reflective glare... STILL getting the hang of the picture-taking thing.)

I've had a small spate of experiences lately where I have been made to feel like a rather unwelcome outsider at some Chinese restaurants around NYC (this is often a problem at Fujianese restaurants, but certainly not limited to them). So it delights me to be able to tell you that the charming hostess - the wife of the chef - appears, even though her English is quite limited, genuinely pleased that you are dining in their establishment. And the invariably excellent food makes you pleased you're dining there, as well.

Now open until midnight - a welcome development for someone of my nocturnal habits.

Lao Dong Bei (老东北風味)
44-09 Kissena Blvd., Flushing, NY 11355
718-539-4100
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing, south on Main St. to Kissena, veer left, then 6 more blocks)

Rural (興順逹)

Flushing sure has a lot of good Dongbei restaurants these days. Tonight I joined a small group of Chowhounders at Rural (興順逹) (the Chinese name seems to be one of those names chosen for its "good omen" quality and has nothing to do with the concept of anything rural). I thought I had eaten there before a while back, but when I walked in, I realized my memory had confused it with the restaurant next door. There is a reason I never blogged about the other one... Rural, on the other hand, is very good.

It's great to be able to try a lot of dishes, and, as is to be expected, there were some real hits as well as some near-misses. As anyone with a passing acquaintance with this blog will have gleaned by now, I am most definitely a carnivore, tending to be rather less interested in seafood. The scallion conch (葱油螺片 - cōng yóu luó piàn) is one of the better conch dishes I've tried, but I think I'm just not destined to be terribly fond of conch. Some pieces were tender, others fairly chewy... overall, probably the least rubbery conch preparation I've had, with a nice fresh, briny flavor.

Another near-miss was the "Leek with Urechis Unicinctus", or stir-fried sea intestine (sea worms) with chives (韭菜海肠 - jiǔ cài hǎi cháng). This is a dish from Quindao (the owners of Rural are, I believe, from Lianoning) and it was much better at the now-defunct M & T. Still, not bad - like chewy squid-flavored hollow tubes. The general consensus was that the chives were nicer than the sea intestine.

The "Sarony Cumin Flounder" (孜然龍利 - zī rán long lì), however, was fantastic (it has been suggested that "sarony" is a misspelled "savory"... I have no clue). A whole flounder is covered in a dry cumin spice mixture (reminiscent of a spicier version of Lao Dong Bei's Xinjiang lamb chops), then wok-fried. The fish, enchantingly, emerges in the shape of the wok. I would happily eat that spice mixture on almost anything.

Dry Bean Curd with Spicy Pepper (尖椒干豆腐 - jiān jiāo gān dòu fǔ) is a very good version of this typical northern Chinese dish, with the welcome addition of some ground pork.

The stir-fried garlic sprouts (蒜薹 - suàn tái) was one of my favorite dishes on the table. It's not on the menu, but the hostess is happy to recommend things they have that day, and I'm very glad this was on offer. The firm-yet-tender sprouts are stir-fried with bits of beef and some oyster sauce. Delicious.

The hóng shāo ròu dùn yún dòu (紅燒肉炖芸豆) was, predictably, my favorite dish of the evening. Cubes of pork belly stewed with runner beans, chunks of potato, garlic, and dà pí (大皮 - mung bean starch noodles) - it's marvelous, and, in the words of the hostess, very Dongbei-style. Not on the menu, but definitely worth asking for.

I want to eat this dish again, but I think I'll probably wait until winter to do it - it's very warming.

Cold appetizers were good, and an apparent specialty of the house. Crystal Pig Skin (pig skin in aspic - 水晶猪皮凍 - shuǐ jīng zhū pí dòng) was on every table but ours (in fact, one table had nothing but several of the cold appetizers). Preserved Egg with Tofu (皮蛋豆腐 - pí dàn dòu fǔ) was very mild and comforting:

Conversely, the Ox Tongue and Tripe with Spicy Pepper Sauce (夫妻肺片 - fū qī fèi piàn) was a bolder version than usual, heavy on the Sichuan peppercorn and soy sauce, and incorporating a wider variety of intestinal tract bits than what's normal for this dish (notice the honeycomb tripe):

Rounding out the feast was an assortment of excellent dumplings, a good deal at 6 bucks for 20:

I'd suggest going early or late - the restaurant is quite small - only 6 tables - and there seems to be a group of hardcore regulars. Partway through our meal, we were given the quite definite impression by an arriving group that we had taken "their" table.

All in all, an excellent meal. I'm not sure how often I'll get back here, though - the existence of the wonderful Lao Dong Bei means most of my northern Chinese cravings will be satisfied there first.

Rural (興順逹)
42-85 Main St., Flushing 11355
718-353-0086
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing, then 8 blocks south on Main St.)

Lao Dong Bei (老东北風味)

When I first tried it about six weeks ago, Lao Dong Bei immediately took its place among my top three favorite restaurants in Flushing. We were so enthusiastic that the chef came out to chat with us, and we learned a couple of things: that he is the former chef of Fu Run, and that he is from Harbin, one of the northernmost cities in China, quite near Siberia. Ever since I moved to New York City... um... the first time, I discovered that the then-famous Harbin Inn on the Upper West Side had recently closed, and I, geek that I am, had wanted to try Harbin-style food ever since (not that the Harbin Inn necessarily served any of it - I haven't been able to find that out). And sure enough, the fare here tends to be hearty and warming. LDB is the only culinary representative of Heilongjiang province in NYC that I know of (there may well be others - the more I find out about Flushing, the more I realize there is to learn). Lao Dong Bei is also one of the few Chinese restaurants in Flushing whose "English" name is, in fact, the same as the Chinese name: lǎo dōng běi fēng wèi (老东北風味), or "old Dongbei (Manchurian) flavor".

The percentage of dishes I've tried here that I would gladly order again is extraordinarily high. Tonight's meal, however, was the first for which I actually remembered to bring my camera... I was also solo, so I could only order a couple of things (I'll add other standout dishes later).  The meal started with a delightful little free dish of pickled radishes (luó bo - 蘿卜).

Pickled in vinegar, soy sauce, garlic and hot pepper, I can't remember ever enjoying a radish so much in my entire life.

The weather having just turned colder, I was craving something really warming. I certainly got it! The "Baby Cabbage with Meat Ball Soup" (xiǎo bái cài wán zǐ tāng - 小白菜丸子湯) is possibly the perfect winter soup: warming, satisfying, but not heavy in the least.

That large bowl is not just some meatballs floating in broth - it's practically solid with meatballs and cabbage. The pork meatballs are actually somewhat delicate, and the broth is enlivened by some minced scallion and ginger shreds. A bargain at $7.50 - it can easily feed 4.

I think "Beer Duck" (pí jiǔ yā - 啤酒鴨) is a truly great dish.

Chunks of duck (on the bone, making it a bit difficult to eat for the uninitiated) braised in beer, star anise, ginger, and more dried hot pepper than you think at first - I noticed my lips were tingling after eating three or four pieces!  It's a warming dish in every conceivable way.

Another recent find here is "House Pork Elbow" (bā zhǒu zǐ - 扒肘子):

Slices of pork shank (for some reason, pork shank gets translated as "pork elbow" much of the time) are braised in an ever-so-slightly sweet broth until almost unbelievably tender, surrounded by baby cabbage halves. A really lovely dish.

There are several good versions of zī rán yú piàn (孜然魚片, or "Crispy Sliced Fish w. Cumin") in Flushing, and Lao Dong Bei's holds it's own in the top two or three:

Slices of deep-fried flounder filets are tossed in a mixture of cumin, caraway, and dried hot pepper.

During a recent visit, a free plate of Pork Skin Jelly (ròu pí dòng - 肉皮凍) just appeared. Its appearance was a most welcome one - cubes of pork skin in a milky-white aspic jelly with a dipping sauce of black vinegar spiked with minced ginger and garlic on the side.

 (Cue my mother's question to me years ago, "What's an aspic?"  When I replied, "Well, it's bigger than a toothpick..." I thought she was going to slap me.)

The chef also has his famous "Muslim Lamb Chops" on the menu (here called "Lamb Chop in Xinjiang Style" - xīn jiāng yáng pái - 新疆羊排). They are every bit as spectacular as they were at Fu Run.

I don't miss Fu Run one little bit.

Lao Dong Bei (老东北風味)
44-09 Kissena Blvd., Flushing, NY 11355
718-539-4100
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing, south on Main St. to Kissena, veer left, then 6 more blocks)

New York Han Du (CLOSED)

Next door to my beloved Spicy Road is a space that is now home to its third restaurant in as many years. The short-lived Deyi Peking Duck House is now the much-more-satisfying-in-every-way New York Han Du.

New York Han Du is a Korean-style barbecue buffet run by northern Chinese. I haven't figured out, and forgot to ask, if it's a Yanbian establishment, but I suspect not. Their food, in any event, is excellent. A good selection of meats, seafood, chicken, and organ meat (sliced kidney, anyone?) is on hand, both marinated and fresh, spicy and non-spicy. The side offerings are minimal, but it hardly matters: the barbecue items hold center stage effortlessly.

And with the addition of the galbi (갈비):

Comparison with Picnic Garden, the best-known (only other?) Korean barbecue buffet in Flushing is inevitable: I find New York Han Du's quality a notch or two superior. And there is the added advantage here that the pleasant, attentive, and skilled wait staff tend your barbecue for you. For the time being, they are running a 20% off special at dinner - at the moment the price is $19.99 a person (regularly $24.99).

New York Han Du
43-18A Main St., Flushing 11355
718-539-3061
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing, then 9 blocks south on Main St.)

Jiang Li Restaurant (鴻意順) revisited

All the favorable qualities I wrote about in my previous post about Jiang Li (鴻意順 - hóng yì shun) I feel even more strongly about now. It has become my go-to restaurant when I've been in the mood for Dongbei food in recent months, and I've tried a few more dishes worth reporting on.

It has always been difficult for me to come here without ordering either the sliced braised pork with brown sauce (山東扣肉 - shān dōng kòu ròu) or the fresh hot pepper with dry bean curd (尖椒干豆腐 - jiān jiāo gān dòu fǔ), both written about previously. Usually I end up ordering both. Now another dish must be added to the list of addictions here: "chives pork with black bean sauce" (三鮮春餅 - sān xiān chūn bǐng). The Chinese name means literally "three fresh spring pancake", which, admittedly, doesn't seem to have much to do with its English translation. What you get is a plate of minced pork that has been sautéed with chives and black beans - the "three fresh (ingredients)" in question (sān xiān is often translated as "three treasure"). What goes unmentioned are the minced jalapeño peppers that are sautéed with it - this dish is not only rich and complex, but fairly seriously spicy! Alongside is a plate of the loveliest thin pancakes I've run across in a Chinese restaurant; fill them with the minced pork, a la "moo shu" dishes of strip-mall Chinese restaurant fame, and experience the desire to order a second plate after polishing off the first one.

The most delightful little snack lurks at the end the menu, which I never would have thought to order had I not seen some at a neighboring table - fried bun with chives and egg (韭菜盒子 - jiǔ cài hé zǐ). It's pretty much what the name says: a fried pastry-pocket filled with chives and scrambled egg, but more delicate than you're probably imagining, and utterly delicious. This post marks my debut as photographer here - I very recently acquired a camera that I'm still learning how to use, and unfortunately the pic of the pork, chives and black bean dish didn't turn out too well. This one is better:


Since Miss Audrey Lo loves her pig intestine, one dish containing it must be ordered whenever she is along, and this week's was a winner - sour cabbage with intestines (酸菜炒大腸 - suān cài chǎo dà cháng). Coarsely-chopped sour cabbage is sautéed with slices of pig intestine and, of course, some garlic. A surprisingly comforting dish.


Also worth noting: they have listed on the wall (Chinese only) 拔 絲 (bá sī) dessert dishes, the chunks of caramelized fruit you dip in cold water before eating to make the sugar coating crunchy. If I can ever muster a bit of self-control when ordering the main dishes, I plan to try one some day. But I fear that day will not be soon.

Jiang Li Restaurant
44-18 Kissena Blvd., Flushing 11355
718-321-1262
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing, south on Main St. to Kissena, veer left, then 6 more blocks)

Jiang Li Restaurant (鴻意順) (CLOSED)

There seem to be Dongbei restaurants everywhere in Flushing now, and one of the newer ones is Jiang Li (鴻意順 - hóng yì shun, which, near as I can tell, means something like "great wish come true") on Kissena Blvd. It’s been open in this location somewhat over a year – before that, it was Hong Yi Shun down on Main St. I hear the chef/owner is from Dalian (Liaoning province), in case you want to place its specific geographic provenance within the Dongbei region. And I also hear that Wayne, the very pleasant fellow with great English who runs the dining room (he'll cheerfully answer any questions you may have) is the chef's nephew.

Jiang Li makes me miss Northeast Taste even more. This is not to slight Jiang Li - in fact, it's a compliment, because the cooking reminds somewhat of Northeast Taste's. But Northeast Taste really was something extraordinary, and served some unusual dishes I don’t expect to see in Flushing again any time soon. It also inspires in me a greater appreciation for the (formerly, at least) deft execution of the dishes at Fu Run. While the dishes at Jiang Li may not have the slickly polished presentation of Fu Run's, there is something very homey about the cooking here that is perhaps more satisfying. And there's the added bonus it's not as expensive!

It seems it's difficult to go wrong with casseroles here – I’ve tried three so far, and they have all been excellent. The beef stew with turnip casserole (蘿卜炖牛腩 - luó bo dùn niú nǎn) is memorably delicious, with a surprisingly complex, rich broth/sauce. I’m not particularly fond of turnip, but the dish was so tasty, I didn't mind a bit. (photos courtesy of Pete Cuce)


The name of the dish "small Chinese cabbage with pork short ribs" casserole (小白菜炖排骨 - xiǎo bái cài dùn pái gǔ)is a bit of a misnomer – it's small spare ribs stewed with bok choy and cellophane noodles, in a stellar broth. Great on a cool fall evening.


Perhaps my favorite dish here goes incognito under the name "pork with special sauce" (山東扣肉 - shān dōng kòu ròu). Judging from the name, it appears to be a Sichuan dish (扣肉 - kòu ròu richly seasoned steamed pork) by way of the nearby province (to Lianoning, that is) of Shandong. Whatever its origins, it is fabulous: sliced steamed pork belly in a wonderful sauce.


"Chicken with pine mushrooms" (小雞炖磨菇 - xiǎo jī dùn mó gū) turned out to be our old friend "stupid chicken" (as it was called on Northeast Taste’s menu), of which there is a version at literally every Dongbei restaurant in Flushing: pieces of chicken stewed with wild mushrooms and clear noodles. Jiang Li's is my favorite version these days.


Fresh hot pepper with dry bean curd (尖椒干豆腐 - jiān jiāo gān dòu fǔ) is a standard northern Chinese dish, and Jiang Li's is especially tasty, adding some broth to the stir-fry of squares of dried tofu sheets and green hot peppers.


Like Fu Run, Jiang Li has a quite a few Sichuan dishes on the menu. Their version of shuǐ zhǔ yú piàn (水煑魚片 - water-cooked fish slices, here called "poached fish with hot chili oil") is all right, but I would still save ordering it for a good Sichuan restaurant.


Dumplings are something I’m not eager to order again soon simply because you get twice as many top-notch dumplings for almost exactly the same price directly across the street at M & T. Still, the order of 10 three-treasure (pork, shrimp and chive) dumplings was very good.


Maybe if I beg Wayne and his chef uncle they’ll make caramelized egg fritters one night for me for dessert.

Jiang Li Restaurant
44-18 Kissena Blvd., Flushing 11355
718-321-1262
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing, south on Main St. to Kissena, veer left, then 6 more blocks)

Sol Hyang Gee (솔향기)

After reading about it several weeks ago, I finally rounded up enough people this evening – or more accurately, Audrey Lo rounded up enough people – to make a trip to Sol Hyang Gee worthwhile. And worthwhile it definitely was.

Sol Hyang Gee is yet another Yanbian restaurant on the Flushing eating scene, but this one offers something special. If you’re reading this, you’re probably familiar with Korean barbecue. This place does table-top barbecuing of skewers over... wait for it... wood embers! The number of Korean barbecue restaurants that use wood embers has been steadily dwindling over the years (I can think of only a couple of others that still do). Most never had them in the first place, and the handful that did have been little by little changing over to the boring gas grills. Sol Hyang Gee sets itself apart from the rest right out of the gate.

Order from a huge selection of skewers – some 25 varieties, including lamb, mutton, pork, beef, various offal, fish, and seafood. Most arrive at the table raw, but some have been partially pre-cooked in the kitchen to be finished at the table. The surprise hit of the evening was mutton. We weren’t quite sure what to expect from what is essentially old lamb, but it grilled up tender and flavorful, perfectly complemented by the salt-and-pepper cumin mixture provided for dipping. The lamb arrived partially cooked, with a nice vinegar and honey glaze. The pork intestine was really lovely – small rounds that crisp up nicely with a bit of char, but stay meltingly tender. The only dud was, oddly, the short ribs. Also pre-cooked with a glaze, the miniscule pieces were as much cartilage as meat – annoying to eat, and, in the end, unsatisfying. And at twice the price of everything else we ordered, definitely not worth the cost. Also note that each variety of skewer lists "number of pieces": one piece equals one small skewer, not the number of chunks on one skewer. Most varieties work out to about $1.20 per skewer.

We also ordered the "house special sizzling bean curd" (鐵板豆腐 – tiě bǎn dòu fǔ, or iron slab tofu), and it was fantastic: squares of very lightly breaded tofu on a bed of sweet sliced onions on a sizzling iron plate, with a beautiful dipping sauce on the side. If you like tofu at all, get it.

Most of the Yanbian places I’ve been to in Flushing feel somehow more Chinese than Korean (and Yanbian is in China, after all), but Sol Hyang Gee feels more Korean. However, the delightful banchan are Yanbian all the way: bean sprout salad, a shredded daikon kimchi with the typical Yanbian flavor balance of a bit of spicy coupled with more than a bit of sweet and vinegary, bamboo shoots with jalapeño peppers (this was not nearly as flavorful as Feng Mao’s version), and boiled peanuts.

If you go, know that their awning says "Sol Hyang Lee". It’s a typo – you’ve found the right place!

Sol Hyang Gee (솔향기)
136-73 41st Ave., Flushing 11355
718-353-8160
(7 train to Flushing-Main St., walk 2 blocks south on Main, then left on 41st Ave.)

Feng Mao

Korean-Chinese restaurants – that is, restaurants serving cuisine of the Chinese immigrants in Korea – such as Hyo Dong Gak have been around New York for decades. I remember eating at one on Manhattan’s W. 32nd St. in the early ‘80’s… I wish I could remember the name of it (their jja jang myun was particularly hearty and comforting, with chunks of potato in addition to the usual ingredients - still perhaps my favorite version ever). But the Chinese-Korean restaurant (by which I mean food of Koreans living in China) is a relatively new phenomenon in New York. They started popping up in Flushing just a year or two ago, and now there are perhaps 5 or 6 of them, plus the stalls in the New World Mall food court. Two of them face each other on 41st Ave.: RiFu has been around a while, and Feng Mao (丰茂飯店 - fēng mào fàn diàn, or, roughly, "luxuriant abundance" restaurant) opened very recently in the space that used to be the late, lamented A Fan Ti. (There is a third just a door or two west of RiFu.)

Yanbian, the Korean autonomous prefecture in Jilin province of northeastern China, is the epicenter of this style of cooking. And it seems that there must be some sort of traditional association in that area with the phrase "fēng mào" (丰茂), as a Chowhound post reveals there is a restaurant in Los Angeles of the same name with proprietors from - you guessed it - Jilin province. It makes perfect sense that there are a lot of Koreans there – it shares a border with North Korea – and their cuisine has obvious characteristics of both countries. With Koreans, you always get banchan, those small dishes that precede and accompany the meal. Last night at Feng Mao, we were given four: salted roasted peanuts, a not-particularly-spicy kimchi of daikon radish shreds and red pepper, thin strips of seaweed with a bit of vinegar and red pepper, and a particularly nice combination of bamboo shoot and jalapeño pepper in a slightly sweet, vinegary sauce. (Photos courtesy of Pete Cuce)


We ordered entirely too much food for four people – six dishes in all (a seventh appeared halfway through the meal, compliments of the house) – and there was hardly an unsuccessful one among them, although the “cold noodles” (冷面 – lěng miàn, which turned out to be naeng myun, or buckwheat noodles in a cold spicy broth) were rather mushy.


“Lao gan ma spicy spare ribs” was a winner. Its name in Chinese is rather long –老干妈铁板香辣小排骨 (lǎo gān mā tiě bǎn xiāng là xiǎo pái gǔ) – and presents a bit of a puzzle for the non-native. Tiě bǎn means “iron plate”, and sure enough, it arrives sizzling on an iron plate. Xiǎo pái gǔ means “small spare ribs”, and small they are, hacked into bite-sized pieces. Là is “spicy”, xiāng, savory or fragrant... so far, so good. But lǎo gān mā? I’ve seen this translated as “old grandma” (although gān means “dry”, implying a shade of meaning I think I’d prefer not to contemplate for too long)... whose dried-up old grandma are these spare ribs named after, anyway? Then I read that Lao Gan Ma is a famous brand of chili paste in China – I’m guessing it’s one of the ingredients. At any rate, the dish is quite tasty, although working around the bone shards can get on ones nerves. (Ed. I've since learned, through the magic of Twitter, that gān mā refers to a sort of adoptive mother figure, rather like a godmother.)


Probably my favorite dish on the table goes by the unassuming name of “sautéed chicken” on the menu, although its Chinese name, nóng fū chǎo jī (农夫炒鸡), means farmer, or peasant, sautéed chicken, making it sound instantly much more like my kind of dish. What arrived was something of a cross between a stew and a stir-fry of small hacked-up pieces of chicken (with bone, so once again, watch out for shards), black mushrooms, green and red bell peppers, and large rounds of potato in a light brown sauce. Delicious, and at 12 bucks, it was the best deal on the table.


The most unusual thing we got was “fried popcorn in egg yolk sauce”(蛋黃玉米粒 – dàn huáng yù mǐ lì). Not quite correctly translated, since the “popcorn” turned out to be just “corn”, but it was still unusual: kernels of corn coated in egg yolk and stir-fried until dry and separate. But not too dry – the corn kernels still retained just enough of their juiciness, and the overall effect was oddly lovely. Definitely worth a try.


The rest of the dishes kept reminding me of others in the area. Their cumin beef (孜然牛肉 – zī rán niú ròu) is quite similar to M & T’s “Qingdao spicy meat”, with a spice combination veering a bit toward that of Fu Run’s muslim lamb chops. Very nice, but at 5 bucks cheaper, I think I’ll head to M & T when I get the craving, even if theirs is pork, not beef. (Click on the photo - the small version below does not do it justice.)


And the “dried tofu with seafood” (八珍豆腐 – bā zhēn dòu fǔ) turned out to be “eight treasure tofu”, just like at Yi Lan (they mean “fried” instead of “dried here). Cubes of fried tofu are covered in a brown sauce with chunks of squid, fish, shrimp, chicken, dried scallops, sea cucmber, and other goodies. Good, but Yi Lan’s is six bucks cheaper for a version that is every bit as good, or better.


The (complimentary on this occasion) rice cakes (打糕 – dá gāo) are just like RiFu’s across the street – dense, gooey chunks served with ground red beans for dipping. The slight sweetness of the red bean makes this dish very dessert-like.


As you’ve no doubt gathered by now, I do find this place rather expensive, especially when you consider what is available nearby. Prices are almost identical at RiFu for food of similar quality, although RiFu’s portions are ENORMOUS (and RiFu has the wonderful “slate tofu” – thick slices of palpably house-made tofu served on a hot stone plate, each with its own dollop of red pepper paste and some minced scallion). But it's a cuisine worth investigating, and if you'd like more information, head over to Joe DiStefano's World's Fare blog and read his piece on Minzhongle.

Feng Mao
136-80 41st Ave., Flushing 11355
718-353-0757
(7 train to Flushing-Main St., walk 2 blocks south on Main, then left on 41st Ave.)

Northeast Taste Chinese Food revisited (CLOSED)

(ed. 10/2010--walked past this evening and it is indeed, as I had read, gone. I also read it had been around since at least 2007... RIP Northeast Taste. I'll miss you.)

Finally managed a return trip to Northeast Taste Chinese Food this evening with adventurous-eater friends--of whom I don't get to see nearly enough--Michael (Pan of the Chowhound and eGullet boards) and Maggie. And another satisfying meal was had by all.

Big hits of the evening were a lovely fish stew with an extremely diverse bunch of vegetables (several root vegetables, a couple of types of mushroom, tofu, tomato) and lamb stir-fried with hot pepper and cumin, both from the supplemental picture-menu. I'm beginning to think one simply can't go wrong stir-frying lamb with hot pepper and cumin: every one of these northeast Chinese restaurants around Flushing has its own version, each one unique, and each one successful. More dumplings--this time, pork and chive. Not quite as spectacular as the pork and sour cabbage ones, but excellent nonetheless. And this time, we were determined not to indulge in the usual over-ordering and save room for dessert. It was worth the effort: "sliced fried egg pancake" is the only Chinese dessert I have ever eaten with unalloyed enjoyment (disclaimer: I'm not much of a dessert person, ESPECIALLY when it comes to Asian desserts). One hardly knew what to expect from its name, but what appeared was a platter of what resembled bits of eggy funnel cake, which had been coated in a sugar concoction (just like the apple/taro/sweet potato dessert at Fu Run) and fried. (Pictures courtesy of Jose--who else?)


And just like that dessert, one dips the pieces in cold water just before eating to harden the sugar coating. Deliciously addictive.



Northeast Taste Chinese Food
43-18 Main St., Flushing 11355
718-539-3061
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing, then 9 blocks south on Main St.)

Northeast Taste Chinese Food (CLOSED)

There has been some internet buzz of late among Chinese food aficionados about a new Dongbei-style restaurant in Flushing that sounded like just my kind of place. A couple of evenings ago, I was able to gather the faithful--Jose and Jennifer--and give it a try. I'm happy to report my instincts were correct... Northeast Taste Chinese Food is my kind of place!

Upon being seated, we were brought a complimentary plate of pickled cabbage that looked and tasted very much like a slightly sweet kimchi. Not surprising, since the area is literally just above Korea: Dongbei apparently refers to the three northeastern provinces of China--Liaoning, Jilin, and Heilongjiang. I felt compelled to order many of the dishes I had already read about, and they all lived up their hype. The "stupid chicken" was a hearty stew of pieces of what must be a freshly-killed free-range chicken (it certainly didn't taste like any chicken I've bought at the grocery store lately) with wild brown mushrooms and mung bean noodles in a broth seasoned with star anise. A lovely winter dish. Boiled dumplings filled with pork and sour cabbage were spectacular, and a huge hit with our trio. The fresh leek and pork pastry was delightful--hearty and delicate at the same time. "Stuffed minced mutton in fish" is a slightly misleading name for the dish that arrives at ones table: a whole fried fish, covered in a light brown sauce with chunks of mutton. I'm a big fan of fish preparations with meat (okay, I'm a big fan of almost anything prepared with meat!), but I have to say that tasty is it was, it's no match for Little Pepper's fish with spicy minced pork. Similarly, I would probably change the name of "sauteed pine nuts with corn" to "sauteed corn with pine nuts". Still, the dish was a delicious contrast to all the meat and fish.

But the most astonishing dish--and that is not too strong a word--was the "sauteed egg with egg". Egg is cooked slowly, while being stirred constantly, until thick--almost solid, but very creamy. The mound of egg presented on the platter retains the shape of the bottom of the wok, and is topped with a light brown sauce with shrimp. It is ambrosia.

Northeast Taste Chinese Food
43-18 Main St., Flushing 11355
718-539-3061
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing, then 9 blocks south on Main St.)