Hahm Ji Bach (함지박)

This evening I joined Pete and his charming friend Youlim for a meal at Hahm Ji Bach (함지박), just a stone's throw from the Murray Hill LIRR station in Flushing. I'm glad I did; it's the best Korean meal I've had in a very long time – maybe ever.

Hahm Ji Bach specializes in meat dishes, barbecue in particular. So, following our waitress's excellent suggestions, we ordered four barbecue items, plus a pa jeon to start. Somehow, a seafood bibimbap got ordered, too...because we just didn't have quite enough food for the three of us, I'm sure.

A stunning array of banchan instantly appeared, all beautifully prepared (made in-house, of course). (Photos by Pete)


There were several kinds of kimchi, including a particularly nice one made with thin slices of the knobby stem of a mustard plant, the kind from which the Chinese make their preserved vegetable. Curiously absent was the normal fermented kimchi made with white cabbage...I didn't miss it one bit. There were a couple of seafood banchan, too, including chunks of crab in red pepper, and bits of deep-fried squid. The haemool pajeon (해물파전 – seafood pancake) was, for me the perfect combination of crisp on the outside and just chewy and moist enough on the inside – the best I've had in a long time. And the dipping sauce – indeed, all the dipping sauces here – was particularly delicious.

There is almost always something slightly disappointing to me about Korean barbecue. It never seems to quite satisfy, or live up to the hype, or something. Such was not the case here. Dol samgyupsal (돌삼겹살), thick slabs of unmarinated pork belly, is something of a house specialty.


It was delicious, as much for the meat itself, carefully tended by the amazingly attentive wait staff, as the wonderful condiments and side items. Hahm Ji Bach is one of the rare establishments that offers ultra-thin, circular slices of daikon radish to wrap and eat barbecued meats with, and it's the perfect way to eat samgyupsal. That is, with some of one of the excellent dipping sauces and some shredded scallion. Hyomit gui (혀밑구 이) – delicate, thin slices of beef tongue (also unmarinated) – was perfection when simply dipped in gireumjang (기름장), a sauce of sesame oil and salt. Galbi gui (or, more specifically, yang nyum galbi gui –양념갈비구이) is the best galbi I've had anywhere.


Aside from the usual sugar and soy sauce, I’m not sure what's in the marinade, but I suspect one of the ingredients is crack. The wait staff saw to it that the pieces were perfectly cooked, and the wonderful house-made ssamjang (쌈장 - spicy bean paste) is the perfect sauce for dipping, before wrapping it in a frilly lettuce leaf and popping it in ones mouth. (Bliss ensues.)

We saw ori rohsu gui (오리로스구이) – dark-ish discs of some meat of indeterminate origin – at a neighboring table and inquired as to what it was. Upon learning it was duck, we decided to order that, too.


An excellent decision. Although unmarinated, the meat was tender and flavorful, and a delightful change of pace. The only way any of it could have been improved would have been by grilling over wood embers instead of on gas grills. (Is there any Korean barbecue in Flushing that uses wood embers? Yanbian, yes, but I don't know of any Korean places.)

Somewhere amidst this avalanche of food, the haemul dolsot (해물돌솥 – seafood mixed with rice in a hot stone pot) surreptitiously appeared. It was fine, although a bit difficult to appreciate amidst all the barbecued meat. A simple, lovely beef and cabbage soup was also brought as something to sip between courses. To help wash this all down was a cucumber-infused soju. Quite mellow and smooth – my new favorite soju. And capping off this mammoth repast was a cup of pumpkin sikhye (식혜), a punch made with fermented rice. Not the kind of thing I normally like, but it was surprisingly light and refreshing. And at that point, we definitely needed some "refreshing"!

Satisfaction comes at a price, however. The barbecue dishes are on the expensive side. But - and I almost never feel this way about Korean barbecue - considering the high quality of the ingredients and marvelous attention to preparation, it's absolutely worth it. The prepared main dishes, on the other hand, are quite reasonably priced—in line with, or even a dollar or two less than, other Korean restaurants in Queens.

Hahm Ji Bach (함지박)
41-08 149 Pl., Flushing 11355
718-460-9289
(LIRR Port Washington branch to Murray Hill, or 7 train to Flushing-Main St., then the Q15 or Q15A bus to 150 St. (Murray Hill LIRR station). Then 1 block south on 149th Pl.)
website

Burma Restaurant

When Jose (my formerly frequent eating companion who has been out of town entirely too much of late) told me there was a Burmese restaurant in Washington, D.C., my curiosity was immediately piqued. So this evening I headed to D.C.’s Chinatown for dinner at Burma Restaurant.

As I have lamented before, the biggest drawback of traveling solo is having to try new restaurants alone, so I was only able to try two dishes. But they were both delicious... homey and satisfying. I started with a bowl of mohinga, the unofficial national dish of Burma. It is a rather thick fish soup, flavored with lemongrass, ngapi (fish paste), garlic, and banana tree stem, with some rice vermicelli, crispy onions, and toasted split chickpeas providing some textural contrast. The flavor is unusual but mellow, even comforting. You can spike it yourself with the provided condiments of ground red chilis, cilantro, lemon, and fish sauce (salty, as opposed to the sweeter Vietnamese and Thai versions). I do wish they had provided some of the other traditional accompaniments like boiled egg, fritters, or fish cake, but that’s quibbling. This was followed by a chicken curry with potatoes. More like a thick stew than traditional Thai or Indian curries, it was a big bowl of three or four pieces of falling-off-the-bone tender chicken that had been simmered a long time in a complex yellow curry gravy with pieces of potato. And since a Burmese meal revolves around rice, there was a big bowl of basmati rice, too. It felt and tasted like home cooking... good, honest food.

Even though I practically begged them not to tone anything down just because I was a Westerner, nothing was what I think of as spicy...at all. Some subsequent reading up on the subject suggests that Burmese food is not, in fact, particularly spicy in general. Prices are quite reasonable, and the portions are enormous. I wish I could try everything on the menu.

Burma Restaurant
740 6th St. NW, Washington, D.C. 20001
202-638-1280

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.)

Golden Corner Noodles, formerly Gourmet Noodle & Delicacies

(UPDATE Feb. 2016: This place has changed names, but their menu and quality are still the same.)

There's a very small storefront on College Point Blvd. that dishes up some pretty fantastic food, at equally fantastic prices. Golden Corner Noodles is owned and run by folks from the city of Wenzhou, an important economic and industrial city in Zhejiang province, which is next door to Fujian province.

Apart from greens-stuffed bing, pork and chive dumplings (which no one seems to order), and about a dozen breakfast items, the offerings here fall into two main groups: noodle soups and prepared cold dishes. In contrast to the northern Chinese noodles shops, the reigning noodle here is the rice noodle. And the soup that reigns supreme is the stewed sparerib rice noodle soup (紅燒排骨粉 – hóng shāo pái gǔ fěn). It’s possibly the most delicious noodle soup I've ever had. Each portion comes with its own mini 3-or-4-rib rack of baby spare ribs, some pickled mustard greens, a rich, complex pork broth, and rice noodles that are just tasty and chewy enough to be interesting on their own. A perfect, self-contained lunch. And if, for some unfathomable reason, you don’t want pork, there are 8 or 9 other options of fish, seafood, vegetable, and wontons to satisfy you. The Wenzhou-style wonton soup is particularly nice (温州餛飩湯 – wēn zhōu hún tún tāng), with ultra-delicate little wontons, similar to those of Fujian.

As stellar as that spare-rib soup is, the center-stage spotlight here is held by the prepared cold dishes. There is a steady stream of customers all day that don’t order anything at all to eat there, but just drop in to buy food to take home. There are at least four dozen dishes listed in their lǔ wèi xiǎo cài (滷味小菜) menu, and I haven’t tried one yet that wasn’t delicious. One of the nicest was the very first thing I sampled, something from the glass case that looked beautifully fresh, and turned out to be goose intestine with mustard greens (I never did find out the name of this dish, but it has something to do with jiè cài – 芥菜 – mustard greens, and é cháng – 鹅腸 – goose intestine), tossed with just a touch of vinegar and oil until they glisten.

Almost everyone who walks through the door ends up leaving with at least one braised pork shoulder (滷扎蹄 – lǔ zā tí)... try one and it’s easy to understand why. The bone is removed, then a roll is made with the shoulder meat wrapped in the skin-like fat, which is then tied up with string, brined, and braised. They slice it into thin half-moons for you - with the vinegar dipping sauce, it’s difficult to stop eating it.

The beef equivalent, lǔ niú ròu (滷牛肉), is similar in idea and execution, and every bit as deliciously addictive.

Their chopped-up boiled chicken is cooked perfectly (白斩鸡 – bái zhǎn jī) – plain chicken does not often taste this good. Gāo liáng ròu (高梁肉) – thin sheets of pork jerky cured with sorghum (which lends a subtle sweet flavor) cut into strips – makes a fun snack. And their fish jelly (魚膠凍 – yú jiāo dòng) is marvelous. I know it sounds weird... just give it a try. At these eminently reasonable prices, one can afford to try lots of things.

(Ed. There is a different English sign now - I cannot now remember what it is - but they serve the same excellent food as of Sept. 2013.)

Golden Corner Noodles
42-15 College Point Blvd., Flushing 11355
718-886-0123
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing, 5 blocks south on Main, then right on Sanford to College Point Blvd.)

Tian Fu (New World Mall)

Opened just a few days ago, Tian Fu (天府) is the new occupant of stall 24, in the southeast corner of the lower-level food court in the New World Mall, and it's my latest Flushing obsession. They do one thing, and they do it superbly. But inherent in that one thing are possibilities of infinite variation.

What they do is 麻辣香鍋 (má là xiāng guō), sometimes called 老车记麻辣香鍋 (lǎo chē jì má là xiāng guō). As near as I can tell, lǎo chē jì means something like "old-fashioned". Má là xiāng guō is essentially a mixed spicy pot: má là is spicy and tingly, xiāng guō is fragrant pot, referring here to a sort of "dry" hot pot. The concept is simple: choose the type and amount of your ingredients from a wide variety on display, plus the level of spiciness desired. The ingredients are weighed – you’re charged by weight – and sent back to the kitchen. A few minutes later they emerge in a large metal bowl, having been stir-fried, along with some liquid, in seasonings that will be familiar to anyone who has enjoyed Chongqing-style dishes at any of the good Sichuan restaurants around town: ginger, garlic, scallion, at least two kinds of hot dried red peppers, Sichuan peppercorn, sesame seeds, and a sprinkling of fresh cilantro. (photos courtesy of Pete Cuce)


As to the ingredients available, there’s something to satisfy everybody. A partial list: shaved beef, chicken wing, chicken breast, spam (you MUST get some spam – whatever your normal feelings about spam, it is utterly delicious this way), shrimp, tofu, fish tofu, fish ball, lotus root, seaweed, rice cake, tofu skin, Napa cabbage, bok choy leaves, enoki mushrooms, tree ear, spinach, potato, and a bunch of other vegetables I can’t remember because... well, I tend not to pay all that much attention to vegetables. I would actually advise against getting beef – there are far better ways to enjoy the flavor of beef, and it tends to come out a bit chewy. Likewise, skip the strips of chicken breast - they cook faster than the other ingredients and dry out. Go for the chicken wing bits instead. They take "spicy" seriously here – if you ask for very spicy, it will indeed be VERY spicy! And the spice balance tends to be a bit heavy on the tingly/numbing Sichuan peppercorn. I like it, but it’s not to everyone’s taste.
(And, a photo of my own:)

And the price is definitely right: you can gorge yourself for eight bucks a head, tops – probably less. (Edit:  That price was based on an introductory offer.  Make that $10-12 - still reasonable!)  And since you compose the meal yourself, the chances are good that it's going to be totally satisfying. Obviously, I love this place.

One of the guys behind the counter (the staff is young, energetic, and their English is generally good) told me this dish is from Chongqing, which certainly makes sense when comparing the flavors to other dishes labeled "Chongqing" I’ve had. And I got curious about the name Tian Fu, since this isn’t the first time I've encountered that name associated with Sichuan restaurants. A little research turned up a couple of tidbits of information – Tian Fu is the name of an important square in the center of Chengdu, the capital of Sichuan, and Sichuan province has the nickname tiān fǔ zhī guó (天府之国), a place blessed with abundant natural resources (tiān also means sky or heaven).

Tian Fu – New World Mall food court
Main & Roosevelt (enter on Roosevelt), Flushing 11354
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing)
New World Mall food court website

Yi Lan Halal Restaurant

In my previous post, I wanted to reference what I thought was an earlier post about Yi Lan (一蘭飯庄 – yī lán fàn zhuāng: 一蘭 – yī lán means “orchid”), but when I went to look for it, there was none. How could that be? It’s easily among my top 5 favorite restaurants in Flushing, yet... I think I kept putting off writing about it until I tried just a few more dishes, and then forgot that I had not actually done the writing I intended to do.

The chef/owner is a Muslim from Tianjin, so Yi Lan serves Halal northern Chinese food. As difficult as it may be to imagine Chinese food without at least a little pork (at least it was difficult for me), the food is great, and – I never thought I’d find myself saying this – I don’t miss the pork at all. The menu is huge and the prices VERY reasonable, especially considering the high quality of preparation. I’ve been here well over a dozen times, yet have only tried a tiny fraction of the menu, in large part because a few them are so good it’s almost impossible for me NOT to order them when I go. I think I’ll just list 'em off here, starting with a couple of favorites.

Lamb shu mai (羊肉燒麥 – yáng ròu shāo mài) - My favorite shu mai anywhere. Juicy, tasty, palpably hand-made – there are 10 to an order, and an order costs six bucks, so it’s a great deal, too. (Photos courtesy of Pete Cuce)



Sautéed sliced chicken home style (一蘭雞丁 – yī lán jī dīng) - The English translation does not even begin to suggest what this actually is: chunks of chicken (okay, that part, yes...) that have been stir-fried with diamond-shaped pieces of bing pancake (they crisp up beautifully so that the final effect is rather like hot, crispy pita chips), garlic, scallion, sesame seeds, dried red pepper, and thin slices of hot green pepper. It’s like the greatest snack mix on the planet – what Chex mix can only dream about being in its most secret fantasies.

"Hand-Teared" lamb hot pot (手抓羊肉 – shǒu zhuā yáng ròu) - Big chunks of lamb, carrot, and other vegetables in a wonderful broth. The dipping sauce they give you for the lamb is marvelous – I suspect it contains crack – and they happily refill the broth as you eat. Great cold-weather food.



Eight treasure tofu (八珍豆腐 – bā zhēn dòu fǔ) - Cubes of fried tofu covered in a thick sauce of a LOT of seafood and some chicken. Lovely, and a bargain at $12.95.



Beef & tripe with special peppery sauce (夫妻肺片 – fū qī fèi piàn) - The classic Sichuan ox-tongue-and-tripe cold dish, although the meat is prepared with much more care than just about any other version I’ve this I’ve tried.



Stir-fried cake (炒饼 – chǎo bǐng) - Noodle-like strips of bing pancake stir-fried with egg, carrot, and cabbage. A fun change of pace.



House special smoked chicken (一蘭熏雞 – yī lán xūn jī) - An appetizer plate of hacked-up pieces of chicken that has obviously been smoked in-house. Very nice.

Shredded chicken country style(天津拌大皮 – tiān jīn bàn dà pí) - I ordered this having no idea what to expect, so what arrived was a total surprise. Essentially a cold noodle dish, the noodles being those wide ones made of mung bean starch, with shredded chicken, some sort of green (it’s been so long I can’t remember now what it was), and a black vinegar sauce. Refreshing warm-weather food. I find the English "translation" of the name a bit odd – it bears no relation at all to the Chinese name, which means "Tianjin mixed big skin" (skin meaning the noodles here) – since the chicken is in a way the least important element of the dish.

Sliced potato with special sauce (熗土豆絲 – qiàng tǔ dòu sī) - Cold-appetizer version of the fairly standard shredded potatoes in vinegar and hot pepper sauce. Excellent.



Spicy potato Tianjin style (天津辣子土豆絲 – tiān jīn là zǐ tǔ dòu sī) - Do NOT confuse this with the dish above. Shreds of potato stir-fried with hot green peppers and soy sauce. A LOT of soy sauce. This dish was so salty I could barely eat it, and I like salt more than most people I know. The only real dud I’ve ever had here.

Sliced fish in hot pepper (水煮魚片 – shuǐ zhǔ yú piàn) - This turned out to be a house version of the Sichuan "water-cooked fish" (sometimes called "fish in soup base"). Nice, but not great. If you like Sichuan food, save ordering this dish for a real Sichuan restaurant.

There are 12 to 15 soups here, too, including several hiding in a different section of the menu. The tomato egg soup is very comforting – maybe too comforting. I could see it was made from tomato, but almost couldn’t taste the tomato, it was so very mild. They have several "gē dá" (疙瘩) soups, too – soups made with the little lumps of dough sometimes called "dumpling knots". The Geda Soup Home Style (家常疙瘩汤 – jiā cháng gē dá tāng) means fish and seafood here – it was too bland for me, really, but at least one of my friends liked it a lot. Still, not a serious challenger to the supremacy of Fu Run’s "home style blotch soup". Instead, try the “sour pepper soup” (醋椒汤 – cù jiāo tāng) – essentially hot and sour soup. This lovely version uses chicken stock and leaves out the pork.

Dessert (at least I assume they still do sweet dishes – they’re on my old take-out menu but not the newer one, and I simply can’t remember if they’re still on the in-restaurant menu) is the typical northern Chinese "things in caramelized sugar" (拔絲 – bá sī). "Yellow vegetable" (黃菜 – northern Chinese for "egg") is sheets of egg dough – sweet, crunchy fun. The also do the same with mountain yam (山藥 – shān yào), pineapple (菠羅 – bō luó), and longan fruit (龍眼 – lóng yǎn).



Yi Lan Halal Restaurant
42-79A Main St., Flushing 11355
718-886-3622
(7 train to Main St.-Flushing, then 8 blocks south on Main)