A Chinatown Restaurant and My Personal Lower Manhattan

My close friend Bob and I went to our favorite Chinatown restaurant this evening.

It reopened after a brush with the New York Department of Health and Mental Hygiene. We laughed when we saw the ominous bureaucratic "Closed" signs on the joint some months ago. The restaurant, which I will only identify by its Bowery location, always had the knack of being on the frontiers of cleanliness. The cramped bathroom was graffiti-filled and offered a hint of human stink in what passed for air. The kitchen -- and I have walked through many restaurant kitchens as a food writer -- resembled an exaggerated image of a busy, sweaty facility not fully dedicated to sanitary practices. The glass tables were hurriedly wiped off with some sort of wet cloth.

Of course, Bob and I thrive there. We appreciated its funk. We could deal with the cramped tables. We got used to working the harried, grumpy waiters. Most importantly, we enjoyed the food, which were things we couldn't get at home and that would horrify just about anyone else we knew.

Nearly all the food we ordered -- and we get just about the same thing each time we dine there -- is amazingly unhealthy and we love it. Bob has a weakness for salt baked scallops. My taste runs toward shrimp in the shells getting the salt baked treatment, but I easily wolfed down the scallops. We both enjoyed the roast duck. The restaurant has a number of broken-necked creatures hanging on hooks in the window facing a side street. Half of one duck, with crispy skin and just enough fat to add flavor, is sacrificed for our benefit. We find our way to a somewhat spicy noodle dish. Our one concession to "healthy" dining is a dish of some green vegetable the home team appears to be eating that evening. It tastes good and we typically order it. We wash down this entire feast with Chinese beer.

The check arrives with some orange slices, and two hand towel packets. No fortune cookies, thankfully.

I look forward to these dinners for many reasons. One irresistible draw for me is that it gives me an excuse to connect with my personal history in New York. To reach Chinatown, I typically stroll from the ferry slips on the Hudson River across town. As a result, I often walk past the Municipal Building, where my grandfather worked. On the way to Chinatown is the city office where death certificates are issued. I went there many evenings as a high school student; my best friend, whose father was a mortician, needed the documents to conduct the family business. If I go a little out of my way, I can walk past my father's former office on Broadway and Wall Street. My dentist had his practice just a block uptown from where my dad worked. My first summer job, with a financial PR firm, was in the building next door. At the foot of Broadway is the Staten Island Ferry terminal where I said good-night for the first time to the woman to whom I'm now happily married.

Chinatown itself became my culinary home after college, and I've always felt comfortable with most Chinese food since that time. (I admit I avoid some of the more exotic, non-Western dishes.) I taught in Chinatown, and coincidentally took -- and passed -- my Series 7 exam in the same school building where I had conducted my classes.

A lot of good personal history there. Good food, too. All of that, and the opportunity to connect with a close, long-standing friend, makes the trip something I always enjoy.

Bordeaux Comes to China

According to a story in today's Financial Times, the People's Republic of China is now the world's leading importer of Bordeaux wines. The story notes that the Chinese are on something of a learning curve with wine appreciation. It also notes they are quick studies, although some of the food and wine pairings favored in China are nearly as bizarre as those Westerners make in New York's Asian restaurants.

The wine auction houses are following the money. Recently, the auctioneer's hammer has gone down in Hong Kong for exquisite French wines once the exclusive province of the Caucasian elite. Today's cost per case could pay for a year's tuition at an Ivy League institution.

Unfortunately, the story interviewed wine industry savants rather than the Chinese consumers who just have to have a bottle of Chateau Hooboy. What makes wine a beverage of choice in a society lacking any connection to the grape? Astringent Scotch or robust beer is closer to the yin-yang spirit of Chinese cooking's flavors and textures. Wine, at least in the Old World manner, served to harmonize food produced near the vineyards where the grapes grew. That perspective seems distant from the Chinese approach to cuisine.

Alcoholic beverages, however, have their cycles in which they're in or out of fashion. Subtle, sophisticated sherries, for instance, were out of favor for years, while primitive, potent grappas were lauded and consumed with equal parts enthusiasm and ignorance. Right now, Bordeaux is enjoying its place in the bright, blinding Chinese sun. I'm all for it: I say get that Chinese wealth into circulation. I'll even raise a toast to the thought -- with a beer brewed in Pennsylvania.

PS. The Bordeaux poster was created in 1937 by French Art Deco poster artist -- and Bordeaux resident -- Jean Dupasa. The ducks are timeless.