A Passageway to India

Privileged to be in Kitchener-Waterloo means being privileged enough to experience some rare and not so rare, but very much appreciated things. What do I mean, dear readers? Oh, y’know: ramps, morels (both by this point posthumously out of season), Chinese food dives- all of which I spend copious amounts of time remembering. I like to reminisce about the things I’ve eaten in the past; sometimes for overindulgent amounts of time. Memories are the paradise of the mind, after all. So says Zhuangzi- or a fortune cookie I read. I’m willing to bet it was the later, and no doubt from a Chinese place I was eating at. But please don’t misunderstand, my comrades in chow. Though I enjoy the frequency of my ambles through university plazas and the melancholic ballads of Cantonese pop singers that crash out of the surrounding convenient stores late at night, I am nothing if not serious about finding a place that caters to my own voluptuous yearnings and good eating experience. So, when I say this is going to be yet another review of yet another place of Chinese chow, don’t be discouraged. There is nothing to be discouraged about, especially at Tasty Home Kitchen. A new place open nary 4 months.

Now, I’m not one to visit a place as soon as it opens, because it’s my firm belief that every place of eating needs to gain some footing. However, Tasty Home Kitchen’s symptomatic Oriental English translation and idiomatic Chinese characters, I assume understood only by those who really understand the colloquialisms of the language or dare ask about them, dared me not to try and resist discovering just how much of a stone cold dive the place potentially was. And of course, it was no such thing. On the contrary, Tasty Home Kitchen, a seemingly cramped and small restaurant on the outside, but long-stretched hall on the inside equipped with some very personal nodes for more intimate diners proved itself to be very conventional, very cosmopolitan, very twenty-something Taipei. Its earth toned walls, treated wood panels (and chairs), dimmed lights and crisp dinnerware had the potential, if I tried really hard, to make me believe I was eating in ‘Some Big City, China.’ The prices weren’t bad either. They competed well with other fare in the city- the lunch menu especially.

I did my best to order something uncommon in regards to other places around and since it would have to be a quick lunch, I thought I would give the Hakka chili chicken a try. I expected, as the takeout menu had read, to have the option of having fried rice or noodles, soup or a spring roll with my meal. Sadly, I wasn’t even asked, though still met cheerily by the women who served me my meal, which began with a small bowl of sweet and sour soup and a plastic glass of water. Tea should usually the common courtesy. But that didn’t dampen my spirits. The upbeat Mando-pop that trilled down from the ceiling kept me in a very familiar and accustomed mood.

The pungent aroma of sweet chili made its way to my nose but was teased away by the spiciness of the soup as soon as it hit my tongue. I would have otherwise been disappointed, but with such a small portion, and with the expectation of such a culturally rich dish to come (the Hakka dish being the invention of Chinese that settled in India for a brief moment in history) it was hard to pay such a banal starter any mind.

At last, a plate of battered chicken, and chopped onion stir-fried in a dark, salty sauce on top of rice made its way to my table. I was a little ahead of myself, thinking that I’d choose something else on the menu to potentially fill me up if eating what just arrived wasn’t enough. Stir-fried chicken bones seemed a potentially good compliment. But sometimes my eyes are larger than my stomach. The arid crunchiness of the deep fried chicken acted as the perfect vessel for the thick sauce; however, whatever sweetness I expected from the onions to offput the plate’s overbearing saltiness was a wash. Even the spice of the dish couldn’t overcome its salty character. But if anything, I was full, and that was something, though I’ve come to the conclusion that a communal eating experience may have been a better choice, rather than simply opting for one lunch dish. Something as salty as Hakka chili chicken needs some balance, and I got a little of that by asking a table nearby if I could sample some of their pork intestine and starch rice noodles (chopped rice cakes) in hot sauce. It resembled a spicy pickled anti-pesto, strong in fermented currents of vinegar. The pork intestine was fatty, but with a unique floral redolence that lingered in the mouth as I chewed.

Maybe lunch was a bad idea for my roving palette and what I needed was some company instead of asking strangers for food- though I’m sure they would have liked to become friends. For what it was, my salty spicy mess was filling, but I urge you to save your pennies, comrades, and go elbow to elbow down the long corridor of Tasty Home Kitchen and get a lot of good things to eat.

Tasty Home Kitchen

247 King Street N
Waterloo, ON N2J 4V2

(519) 885-8880

All methods of payment accepted.

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