The Chinese Soul Food

I'm a little bummed- I saw the cherriest tea set at Bombay over the weekend, and before that a slammin' pair of gold rimmed shot glasses, with the illinist Chinese characters inscribed. I'm sure though whatever it read it referred to some Chinese hotel somewhere in the world, because it certainly didn't say Happy New Year- but then again, how would I know? It was in traditional Chinese, and I can't read traditional Chinese. Point being, I couldn't buy the junk- or, that is, I chose not to buy the junk because mommy wouldn't let me hear the end of it.
So I like novelty. So I like drinkware. So I like feeling like some badass Japanese kid with an uncle in the Yakuza who drinks green tea out of scotch glasses and bobs the tea bag up and down ever so tenderly while talking about my new ride and how it drifts better than animals covered in BP oil. Too soon?

Fantasy is a fun part of eating. I find it plays well to the Bourgeois ethos, and is good for a rainy day, especially when you're bummed and feel like experiencing the ambiance of a Wong Kar-wai flick (Not ANOTHER Wong Kar-wai reference, Weezee). Oh yes, another Wong Kar-wai reference. Because it fits snuggly into this post. And I've waited patiently for the opportunity.

A good requisite for the gastronomicist is at least one underrated, assumed to be overrated, sub-par dish, bought at the same place over and over again for a number of reasons. I know what you're thinkin'. Congee. It's got to be congee. A good guess. I'd expect that assumption, judging by this blog's history. But, contrarily, it has always been a personal dream of mine to find a seat somewhere in this town that serves a bowl of noodles I can run to every time I scrape my knee. Yes, like the lap of some woman, I can come to this particular place and, having bruised my soul, cry away my sorrows in the comfort of some doilied apron which smells an awful lot like a good bowl of noodles.This is what a bowl of noodles does for me. The ultimate comfort food. Perhaps the monolith of all comfort food. No, no. That's a huge claim, and I'm only one man. One lonely, noodle, Wong Kar-wai loving man. This is what comfort food- specifically every person's poster-child comfort food- should do for them. So much so that they need no one to share it with, or at least the most genuine friends. Not some stranger you've just met and started hanging out with; because they won't understand your character enough yet, nor your choice in food. And if food isn't a big part of their life, they definitely won't understand. These are the kinds of people that drink soup broth after a bowl of noodles unawares of the MSG content, and what's more, are so reserved that they have to drink said soup broth with a spoon, rather than putting the bowl's edge to their lips and chugging it, like a Vietnamese kid squatting and slurping in the street. Two strikes. But the third comes when these kinds of people can't appreciate the nuances of a bowl of noodles. They say, "It's not flavourful enough" or "it just tastes like soup", or they have the audacity to compare it to another kind of soup from another kind of place: "Pho's better." Please. Let's not compare apples and oranges, though I'm told they're similar after all. But if you can't appreciate the crispness of the stems of cucumber or the nutty aroma of chili peppers that were first dry roasted in a wok and then chopped and placed in the soup itself along with strips of seaweed and, of all things, whole peanuts, then maybe you're not meant to eat. Maybe you're just meant to not go hungry.

But I don't want to split hairs. Quite frankly, if you're that complacent I'd go so far as to liken you to a kid who spends his days in his grandparents' front yard knocking bird feeders around for pleasure, unaware of what it's like to starve and be greatful to have food. Damned kid. Poor birds. So, dear readers, be leery of these people. They may not be the best dinner company. They're best left to places where the menu wows them with flashy rhetoric and small exploitative, marked up portions featuring tuna prepared three different ways.

Chen's Restaurant (A.K.A. Chen's Oriental Cuisine, A.K.A Orange Restaurant if you want to talk semiotics and signage colour, not to mention the oppressive Saidian use of 'Oriental' and the owner's Asianness, but I'll save that type of analysis for school) isn't anything out of the ordinary, but it's good for a rainy day. Great for a bowl of noodles. My first venture there resulted in my running into a banker explaining to me how the owner (most likely named Chen) felt a need to make authentic Chinese. I was excited. Perusing the menu through the glass I saw the usual: mushroom fried rise, lemon chicken, blah blah blah, as I often say. If anything was authentic, it sure was redundant, and cooks who open up similar places in these parts need to be careful of what they offer, because it's easy to be out cooked, especially if everyone has the same generic things on the menu. Taste may be the only factor in winning a customer, or patriotism, but when Chen's is a new restaurant taking the place of a Mexican restaurant six months prior and a kebab place six months prior to that, patriotism is going to be something difficult to hold at arm's length. But that's just the food, right? The place plays well to the aesthetics of cheeky Chineseness in the West. TV screens on the walls, a buffet behind a sneeze guard glass, lantern hearts in the window, bright warm colours, and imperial tea cups paired with mismatched dinnerware. A novelty I always enjoy in quick fix Chinese food joints. That's one of the reasons I like going to them. The more impoverished and humble the dinnerware, the better I can pretend I'm a 24 year old cop in Hong Kong working the beat and looking for love. That's another Wong Kar-wai reference for ya...
But hey, it all contributes to the character of the space and my delicious bowl of noodles. As the old kung fu saying goes: strong foundation builds high beauty. Restaurants may have existed since the dawn of the city, but there's more to just eating when we go out to eat. For me, it's recreational identity. I like to pretend I know what I'm talking about when I'm eating.
And of course there's the bowl of noodles. Which is the entire point of this entry. If there's anything, in my limited experience of eating at the place, worth checking out Chen's for it's their 5 dollar bowl of noodles- 7 if you want it with meat (beef or pork) and a tea stained egg (which unfortunately, usually comes whole and cold in the centre, but I'm willing to let that slide). You can't miss it. There's a poorly printed photo of it on the window. You just go in and say, "gimme the soup." Learn how to say it in Chinese, impress your non-Chinese friends. This soup, as far as I'm concerned, is Chinese soul food; and maybe I say that because every time I get it I'm a little sad, stressed out, love-lorn (haha, yeah right!), but I've been there several times and haven't tried anything else, maybe because, as far as I'm concerned, there's nothing else worth eating, or nothing else I haven't already had somewhere else. And anyway, where else can I talk Chinese better than someone else- I speak of course about my conversations with the owner's 3 year old kid. He'll catch up, it's just a matter of time. Then I'll really have a reason for feeling sorry for myself, and crying into a big bowl of delicious Chinese noodles.

Chen's Restaurant 

117 University Plaza
Waterloo, Ontario, Canada
(519) 729-8226
Mon-Fri 11:00am-11:00pm
Sat 9:00am-11:00pm
Sun closed
 

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