Dish:

On the plate: From the menu: “Thin egg noodles with beef, garlic, and sweet chili sauce.” You’ll also notice bamboo shoots, onions, carrots, water chestnuts, celery, and green onions on the plate.

Supporting cast/What to do: You’ll find soy sauce and chili pepper sauce on your table, but you’ll likely need neither. The noodles are saucy and hearty, to the point where you might want to order something more. (See below.)

Noodling around: Lucky 8’s is a new restaurant that’s been open since the start of the year. The feel is both retro and contemporary, full of fun especially when kung fu movies play on the wall.

I tried both shrimp lo mein and chicken chow mein, but my main focus was the sweet and spicy beef noodles, which uses fresh lo mein noodles made in the International District and available at Hau Hau market. The noodles include a generous portion of tender beef, along with a good mix of vegetables. The sauce is made with Szechuan hot bean paste, vinegar, soy sauce, sesame oil, and rice wine–and is spiked with red chili flakes.

This hearty, “masculine” dish reminds me of zha jiang mian, which benefits from sliced cucumber to cut through the intensity. While celery serves that purpose in Lucky 8’s beef noodles, the dish is bold and powerful–perhaps too strong as an entrée for some diners. When my partner said she could envision a smaller portion with a bowl of rice, we learned that the chef sometimes serves just the meat and sauce over rice as a meal. I suspect the dish might be modified a bit during the warmer months ahead.

If you want more: There are some interesting options on the menu, particularly in the section of starters. My partner really liked the house-made, braised pork bao ($5.95 for 2).The relatively thin dough is not as bready as most (a good thing!), and the dip of bean sauce sports bold flavor. Meanwhile, I indulged in Szechuan spareribs ($5.95), a Flintstones-type of affair. The big ribs are slathered in a bright and spicy sauce of Szechuan hot bean paste, soy sauce, and vinegar–cashing in the chef’s North Carolina roots–and the accompanying house-made pickled vegetables bring balance to the dish.

Be aware/beware: Lucky 8’s exceeded my expectations. Critical of many of the new Asian restaurants in Capitol Hill (and beyond) that claim authenticity, I was worried that Lucky 8’s American-Chinese classics would disappoint me. But the goal seems to be to make recognizable dishes in a bold way, which I applaud. I didn’t get to try the apparently popular fried rice or General Lucky Tsao’s chicken, but aside from the spring rolls, which are never my favorite, the other items I tried were interesting and delicious.

That said, be sure to ask about what’s not on the menu.

Lucky 8’s often has some specials. If you’re lucky, you’ll find duck dumplings. Pan-fried like pot-stickers, they’re done in two different wrappers, making for a pretty presentation. The dipping sauce contains teriyaki sauce, soy sauce, and orange juice/zest.

Also not on the menu but a refreshing finale: a scoop of Bluebird chocolate ice cream dusted with matcha powder, topped with puffed rice, and boosted by a little Cointreau.

And how about this: Home delivery is available in proximity by bicycle.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on May 7, 2012.

A closer look at Lucky 8’s China House:

Lucky’s 8’s interior

Braised pork bao

Szechuan spareribs

Sweet and spicy beef noodles

Duck dumplings

Bluebird chocolate ice cream with matcha powder, puffed rice, and Cointreau

Turning to my computer, an email enticed me. Being solo, LivingSocial sounded like something I needed at the time. For just a dollar, I could enjoy a ten dollar meal via takeout or delivery from a number of restaurants. I decided to do takeout from Chen’s Village in Queen Anne, picking up “sliced pork Hunan sauce,” with broccoli, green pepper, baby corn, and carrot. I brought home my catch and slowly enjoyed the unboxing–just me and my Chen’s.

So what does Chen’s takeout teach us about sex?

It’s all about a night without intimacy and attachment.

That Hunan pork was my call girl of the evening, my escort. Doing takeout meant that I could be discreet; I didn’t have to get dressed up or put any real effort into the evening. (For even more discreetness, I could have done home delivery.) It’s like phone sex or Internet sex: fast, easy, and compulsive–though not a complete feeling, and in fact a bit unfulfilling. Similar to a stop by one of those bikini barista places, where you get a glimpse or a taste, but not the whole package. (Last week in Japan, I saw many maid cafes, which seem to serve the same function.) You get to know the outside, but not what’s inside.

So why do men use escort services? Some say they fill an emotional or physical void, validating a man if he feels insecure, or feeding his ego. There’s no sense of rejection. Escort services offer anonymity and no “after” issues, like questions of commitment or dealings with divorce. They offer convenience, as you can order by phone or Internet (perfect for a busy lifestyle), reading reviews and picking a time with precision. Perhaps best of all, you can peruse a menu and pick what you want, getting an order custom-made for a “have-it-your-way” preference: hair color, eye color, height, dress, language, “spice” level, etc. Each experience can be unique, offering variety, spontaneity, eye candy, and guilty pleasure.

As for my night with Chen’s, I felt little pleasure. The food looked good in the box, but was lifeless once unboxed. (And, and in this case, you don’t really want to get to know the inside of Chen’s. The tables were scattered and littered, with stuffed animals strewn about some. The carpet was dirty, and the fish tank looked frightening. I didn’t dare peek into the kitchen.)

And I’m a New York Jew, or at least was born that way. As such, I love Chinese food. (There’s the old joke that you always see Jewish people in Chinese restaurants, but never Chinese people in bagel shops.) Growing up, I enjoyed crab rangoon, shrimp with lobster sauce, sweet-and-sour pork, and egg foo young, though I soon learned that most people in China wouldn’t recognize some of what we call Chinese food.

While Chinese restaurants in Seattle are better and more “authentic” than in most other parts of the country, I’m disenchanted with the Chinese food scene here. And after meeting my Japanese partner in Tokyo and spending considerable time there, I’m similarly critical of much of the Japanese food in Seattle. I’m sure my criticism would likely extend to all the Asian cuisines if I traveled to the respective countries. (Actually, I’ve been to several.) After all, I’m the type of guy who scoffs at Seattle’s bagels and pizza, saying they’re better back in New York.

And, yes, I’m the guy who answers the “Where’s the best dim sum in Seattle?” question with the obnoxious reply of “100-something miles to the north, in Richmond.” It’s where they do Cantonese food right. And Hunanese. And Shanghainese. (I can point you to several places preparing xiao long bao, a.k.a. soup dumplings, far superior to what’s available locally. Just compare the tell-tale droop of soup in the dumplings of the homey Long’s Noodle House in Vancouver, above left, versus what you get at the sleek Din Tai Fung in Bellevue, above right.) We do have some decent Sichuanese and Taiwanese restaurants, but they’re better across the border. The same for sushi, and ramen, and izakaya fare—all are better in Vancouver.

So why are Seattle’s Chinese and Japanese restaurants giving me the blues?

Much as I disdain blueberries in bagels as being inauthentic and dumbing down the cuisine, I don’t want blueberries in my sushi. At Momiji in Capitol Hill, there’s a tropical paradise roll (pictured, top of the article) described as “mango, strawberry, tobiko, cucumber & avocado topped with tuna, salmon & spicy blueberry sauce.” It’s…frightening. Given Momiji’s use of cream cheese in other rolls, I’m surprised it’s not in this one; sadly, as with a bad bagel, I can picture blueberried starch topped with cream cheese and salmon.

Momiji’s regular menu reveals forty different rolls. Turning to my food-writing colleagues, Seattle Weekly’s Hanna Raskin describes the rolls as a mayo-fest (in addition to being filled with fruit, sometimes they’re fried, or fiery from jalapenos), while The Stranger’s Bethany Jean Clement calls Momiji a “sushi circus,” adding, “If a clown went out for sushi…these rolls are what the clown would order.”

Rolls simply aren’t authentic. They’re now the new cupcake, with the quality of the base (the block of rice) ignored and the tops increasingly sparkly with swirls and sweets and sprinkles. No wonder Yelpers celebrate this sushi as “the best” and “freakin delicious,” setting the quality bar quite low.

This is not to pick exclusively on Momiji. Wasabi Bistro and Umi Sake House in Belltown, Shiku and Moshi Moshi in Ballard, and Japonessa downtown are similar—all enclaves of cocktail-clutching hipsters. (Note the recent outcry when Bastille lured bartender Erik Carlson away from Moshi Moshi.)

What saddens me is Momiji’s unrealized potential. A lot of money went into the restaurant, and it shows. Lights, furniture, and overall feel are beautiful. You imagine you’ve escaped to Kyoto once you get beyond the bar area and see the zen garden in the courtyard. I want to place a chair out there to relax and eat a kaiseki meal. Momiji’s been promising an actual coursed kaiseki menu, but that’s yet to surface. I’m pessimistic it will ever happen, though I hope they prove me wrong.

But even if they do it, I fear it won’t be the true kaiseki experience. Instead of experiencing zen and peacefully contemplating the colors, textures, and flavors of the food, diners will be distracted by the chatter of noisy neighbors drinking crazy cocktails and filling up on crazy rolls.

Make money on drinks, with food the secondary focus, often dumbed down. Maybe that’s a winning business model, a secret of success overcoming the need for critical acclaim. I fear that if food is an afterthought, there’s a risk it becomes bland, bastardized, or just plain bad.

At the other end of Capitol Hill’s commercial core, Hanna Raskin points out a similar situation at Bako, which she calls a “China doll” where “blandness is a recurring issue.” Seattle Magazine’s Allison Austin Scheff concurs, expressing her disappointment by explaining “there’s potential, but inconsistencies rule.” For her, the food was “midline,” often suffering from a lack of seasoning. But it’s a gorgeous space (see photo below, next to Bako’s Singapore noodles), a place where people afraid of the grittiness of the International District feel comfortable and pay a premium for safe Asian food to accompany their fancy drinks.

Now I know it’s fruitless to expect people to be as gung ho for authenticity as I am. But I can hope. At the same time, I can try to check my expectations. I’m forewarned that Capitol Hill’s new Regent Bakery and Cafe offers a Hong Kong-style bakery with a mix of Eastern and Westernized pastries and cakes, and meals that are American Chinese. (Think almond chicken, honey-walnut prawns, and fried wontons.) Portion sizes are good, the food tastes fresh, and prices are more affordable than the higher-end places in the area. (Yes, I can even have a cocktail if I don’t want bubble tea.)

And I can accept the fusion focus of a place like Chino’s, the new Mexican slash Chinese joint not far from Regent. The chef is self-taught, and my first bite there, pig-ear salad, made me smile. The preview menu showed promise, teasing Chinese menudo (offal stew with misua noodles) and a “Blood and Guts” concoction of pig blood cake and tripe. Unfortunately, neither materialized. The buzz has shifted to the bartender, and in defense of a Yelp attack on the food, the chef replied, “We are primarily a bar.” Still, I hope that the apparent passion of the chef will someday play out with the appearance of offal dishes.

So, where is the authentic stuff in Seattle? What do I recommend? For Japanese food, I miss the grittiness and goodness of both Koraku and Takohachi, but Tsukushinbo and Maneki remain. With history as home-style restaurants, both temporarily transport me to Japan. Kisaku and Sushi Kappo Tamura are neighborhood places where many Japanese people prefer to eat sushi. They’re my two favorites in town. And in a nod to fusion, I adore Katsu Burger for its fried pork and traditional fixings on a bun.

Recommendations for Chinese food are tougher, as my favorites tend to be on the Eastside (Bellevue’s Bamboo Garden is the first place that comes to mind, as I love the unusual dishes on the “Walk on the Wild Side” menu.) For dim sum, I maintain that one must travel north to Richmond for the finest quality. While there are many excellent options, Jade Seafood Restaurant is one of my top picks. The har gow (shrimp dumplings, the bellwether of quality dim sum) are great, the steamed mushroom dumplings are even better, and the baked BBQ pork buns are melt-in-your-mouth delicious. I can never get enough of the pickled ginger with century egg and prawn roll. And you can end your meal with an unconventional dessert: blueberry glutinous balls. Inside the soft skin of these chilled balls are fresh whipped cream and—would you believe?—blueberries.

Far (but not so far) from Seattle, I’ve found an Asian restaurant that gives me some blues I’m happy to have.

Originally published by Seattle Dining. Blueberry glutinous ball photo courtesy of Mijune Pak, Follow Me Foodie.

Dish:

On the plate: Two types of noodles, which require a close inspection to see. Onions, green onions, carrots, bean sprouts. Shrimp, which are presumably not the intended salted fish, with the chicken missing in action.

Supporting cast/What to do: There’s soy sauce and chili sauce around if you need it. But there might not be a server around if you need one. And you’ll likely need one.

Noodling around: I originally placed my order for “needle noodles,” as these rat’s tail-like rice noodles are relatively hard to find in Seattle. The server was very excited, saying they’re a house specialty, but just as the first dishes were about to arrive, she said they were unavailable.

The vermicelli and rice sticker combination was therefore my second choice, even though I didn’t know what “rice sticker” was. The server said it’s similar to vermicelli, but thicker. Or did she say sticker? Or stickier? Even after repeating, I was still unsure. Nevertheless, two types of noodles in one dish appealed to me.

As did salted fish.

When the dish arrived, it looks like a mass of vermicelli noodles. Only after closer inspection did I notice a somewhat clearer noodle intertwined with the rice ones. They looked almost like thin glass noodles, though the server had said something about tapioca starch. Both noodles were delicate, with a very mild soy sauce flavor. The noodle action was interrupted by occasional bits of carrot, yellow and green onion, and bean sprouts.

But, sadly, no salted fish or chicken. Just shrimp. At that point in the meal, we had stopped questioning, and just kept eating. Plus, our server had disappeared.

If she had been around, we would have asked her what filling was inside the pot stickers. It was impossible to discern whether the meat was chicken or pork. Regardless, the pot stickers were poorly constructed and cooked. In the words of one of my dining companions, “These are the worst pot stickers I’ve ever had.”

In fact, the whole meal was bland. Hong Kong-style is typically Cantonese, though with other influences–including other types of Chinese, and Western. I often find Cantonese food bland, but LA Café’s was exceedingly so. You might want to scour the menu and roll the dice on something different. Club sandwich, anyone?

If you want more: Given the state of the pot stickers, I’m not sure what else I’d recommend. Maybe try for the French fries ($2.99) or the French toast ($3.49).

Be aware/beware: LA Café in inside the Pacific Rim Center, a destination that has always felt a bit depressing. If you want some stimulation, though, I’ve heard good things about the foot massage place. No needles there, either, but reasonable rates and strong service.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on April 23, 2012.

Dish:

On the plate: Per the menu: “pan-fried thin noodles with mixed vegetables, sausage, and chicken.” That description will warrant further explanation.

Supporting cast/What to do: Dig in. There’s no option for spice level when ordering. You’ll find chili sauce on the table, but as much as I like heat, I don’t see this as a dish that needs to be made spicy. Enjoy the noodles as they are, getting some “meat” and/or vegetables in each chopstick pull.

Noodling around: Much like Christmas, I find Easter to be an ideal day to go to a Chinese restaurant. And since it was also Passover weekend (and I’d just written about Japanese food and kosher sex), I was intrigued by the idea of a Chinese restaurant that keeps kosher–certified by Va’ad HaRabanim of Greater Seattle. A place where “only the fortune cookies contain eggs.”

This is how I found myself for the first time at Bamboo Garden, just down the hill from my home in Queen Anne. As a meat-lover, I’d long-avoided this vegetarian restaurant, but given the good experience I described in last week’s write-up of Araya’s Vegetarian Place, I thought I’d give it a try.

Bamboo Garden shares a gentle evangelism with Araya’s. The first thing I noticed was a sign that read, “If animals could speak we would all be vegetarians.”

The sausage and chicken in my noodle dish? Vegetable protein products. (Basically soy, the server said.) With the oil being 100% vegetable, the menu claims that the dishes have no cholesterol.

I must say that I missed the textures of real meat, especially the lesser-loved cuts like tripe and intestines. (I’ll get to that next week when I report on the area’s other Bamboo Garden.) But while the chicken was bland and the sausage had just some seasoning to it, I really liked the dish overall. In comparison to the ten ingredient sautéed rice thread noodles which bored me at the nearby Uptown China, these noodles were bursting with flavor.

Contributing well were the vegetables: onion, carrot, bean sprouts, snow peas, celery, and napa cabbage. Good balance, with nothing dominating.

The dish reminded me of the take-out lo mein of my younger days–though that had the bright red roast pork that I’d much prefer over any of these fake meats. And lo mein it is. I’m not sure why they call it chow mein; chow means fried, with the noodles cooked crispy and usually topped with choice of ingredients and sauce. Lo means tossed or mixed. The thin wheat noodles (usually fresh, and usually containing egg–which means there might be eggs in more than just the fortune cookies at Bamboo Garden) are parboiled and then stir-fried in a wok with the other ingredients. They develop a pleasing texture and absorb the sauce, in this case adding soy sauce flavor.

My dining companion and I also tried pan-fried rice noodles with mixed vegetables in hot spicy Szechwan sauce (chow fun). We decided to skip the fake meat with hope of getting a larger quantity of real vegetables. We also wanted to enjoy wide rice noodles, which really soak up the starchy sauce (speckled with fake ground beef–or was that pork?), and to see if Bamboo Garden would deliver on heat–which it did when we requested five on the 1-5 spice scale.

If you want more: The appetizers are virtually all fried (the only exception: you can opt to have your potstickers steamed), so I’d look to the soup menu, perhaps trying the deluxe kernel corn soup ($3.95 for a pint) or the creamy corn chowder (an additional nickel at $4.00 for a pint) for something different.

Be aware/beware: Again, this is a vegetarian restaurant, so keep that in mind. The shark fin is not shark fin, and the eel is not eel–which may be good things, given sustainable seafood issues. On the other hand, I would hesitate to try something like General Tso’s chicken (or one of the more authentic chicken dishes), as I just can’t imagine a pleasing texture.

A couple of pluses: There’s a dedicated room for private dining, perfect for a party of 10. And as a bonus in busy lower Queen Anne, Bamboo Garden has its own private parking lot. The restaurant actually runs cameras on the lot and monitors activity at the cashier stand.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on April 9, 2012.

So when I saw the low prices at the International District’s Dim Sum King, I had to do a reconnaissance mission. That was easy, as they’re open daily from seven to seven. With various baked buns at sixty cents, and steamed dumplings and shumai (and chicken feet) at fifty cents, I figured this might be a fair price for ma-ma (so-so) dim sum. As I was about to buy up a couple of egg tarts for afternoon tea, I spotted some sponge cake. I got a massive amount for just one dollar. The cake was light and airy, and like many Asian desserts, not overly sweet.

So what does Dim Sum King’s sponge cake teach us about sex?

It’s about the right to affordable and accessible sponges (and other pleasure-enabling devices).

When the Today contraceptive sponge was pulled off the market in 1994, women in America (including the fictional Elaine Benes in Seinfeld) stocked up on remaining supplies, in many cases hoarding them obsessively. Oh, if that was our only birth control crisis today.

I find it fascinating that so much of the recent political debate has focused on contraception. Look at all the hoopla. Congressman Darrell Issa took us back fifty years, holding a hearing with an all-male panel, lamenting that insurance companies must provide contraceptive coverage. He disallowed even one woman, Georgetown Law Center student Sandra Fluke, from testifying.

When Nancy Pelosi held a separate hearing to give Fluke her opportunity, Rush Limbaugh chastised Fluke as a “slut” and a “prostitute,” adding, “So, Ms. Fluke and the rest of you feminazis, here’s the deal. If we are going to pay for your contraceptives, and thus pay for you to have sex, we want something for it. And I’ll tell you what it is. We want you to post the videos online so we can all watch.” Limbaugh, famous for a Viagra scandal, has been married four times and has no children, prompting comments that he has no problem using birth control–or is sterile or impotent.

The Republican presidential candidates refused to speak out again Limbaugh, reinforcing their anti-birth control stances. Recall that Rick Santorum’s sugar daddy, Foster Friess, suggested that women just put an aspirin between their knees. Meanwhile, Santorum is on record saying that birth control shouldn’t be legal–even for married couples.

These people see sex as for procreation, not recreation. The battle over birth control–including abortion–has always been about something deeper. It’s about sex, and about controlling women’s lives.

How to make these men understand their role in the war on women’s health? Some women are proposing legislation to regulate men’s health. Earlier this week, Ohio state Senator Nita Turner introduced a bill requiring men seeking Viagra or other erectile dysfunction drugs to see a sex therapist, receive a cardiac stress test, and get a notarized affidavit signed by a sexual partner affirming impotency.

But why stop there? If men say sex is for procreation only, I suggest that women simply stop having sex with them. I have a feeling a lot of men will change their minds about this issue quickly.

Like the old saying goes, if men could get pregnant, abortion would be a sacrament. And, I’d add, birth control would come free in cereal boxes.

The simple fact is that birth control saves taxpayers money. Birth control should be affordable and accessible. Protected, we can enjoy the sexual pleasure most of us desire and deserve. We are all sponge-worthy.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on March 15, 2012.

Dish:

On the plate: Per the menu: “Wild prawns, honey roasted (char siu) pork, bean sprouts, curry, rice noodles.” Note that the dish also includes red bell peppers, carrots, and egg, with corner garnishes of carrot and green onion, as well as pieces of cilantro (which you might want to steer into the noodles).

Supporting cast/What to do: If you want to spike the spice level, ask for some chili sauce, which will come plated with one of the cutest little spoons you’ll ever see.

Noodling around: In last week’s episode of Top Chef, Beverly Kim made it back to the competition, and then advanced to the finals with her Gulf shrimp and BBQ pork over curried Singapore Noodles. (You can see her recipe here.) Perhaps influenced by her success (and certainly surprised and impressed by her courage, as last-minute cooking in a wok has its risks), I was eager to try Bako’s Singapore noodles the day after viewing Bev’s version.

Like many Asian dishes found in America, Singapore noodles don’t originate from the East. They’re a Western creation that you won’t likely find in Singapore.

Made with rice vermicelli noodles, Bako uses a “Vietnamese version of Madras curry” with good spice level–resulting in a dish considerably stronger than most of the rest of the food served in the restaurant. The shrimp had good snap to them, the char siu contributed some welcomed fattiness, and the cilantro offered its fresh flavoring.

Bako has one other noodle dish on the menu: ginger-scallion noodles ($8). As the name indicates, these noodles (egg-based) come with green onions and ginger, along with aged soy sauce. If you’re looking for protein, you can add shrimp ($6) or chicken ($8).

If you want more: Gua bao (”Chinese burgers,” typically made with braised pork belly) are the rage in restaurants these days, and you might feel tempted to pick up a couple of Bako’s nod to these: man tou buns with char siu pork, pickled daikon, and cilantro ($9, or $5 during happy hour). Seeking greater contrast with Singapore noodles, I recommend a little cherry tomato and ginger salad with mâche and citrus soy ($3 during happy hour, with an option to add salt and pepper prawns for $3 more) as a counterpoint.

Be aware/beware: Bako is one of many new, upscale, wining-and-dining destinations in Capitol Hill, with prices predictably higher than you’ll find in most other Chinese restaurants. Many come for the cocktails, with the bar counter a friendly place if you’re flying solo. Be attentive to your needs and desires. Service can be a little slack, so give explicit instructions if you have special needs or special requests for the sequence and timing of your dishes.

Dish:

On the plate: The menu doesn’t offer any further description of the dish, but you’re getting rice noodles with beef, red and green bell peppers, onions, and fermented black bean sauce.

Supporting cast/What to do: Same as with most of these dishes: Ask for chili sauce if you want more spice, and otherwise just dig in. These slippery, flat noodles provide a test of your chopstick skills.

Noodling around: Chow means stir-fry and fun are rice noodles. I love wide noodles, which always draws me to this dish. At Regent, you can choose from several types of beef chow fun. For dry beef chow fun ($8.95), the noodles are stir-fried with a little soy sauce, but otherwise cooked “dry” to bring out the wok hei smokiness. Beef chow fun with sauce ($9.95) is wet-fried, so it comes with more of a gravy. A fan of fermented black beans, I went with the black bean sauce beef chow fun as it would offer the stronger flavor. (For a non-beef option, you can get spicy sauce shrimp and BBQ pork chow fun for $8.95.)

This noodle dish has pungent appeal from the black beans, the sauce coating the noodles in slippery fashion. They’re soft with the slightest chew, the bell peppers offering a contrast in textures. There’s a generous amount of beef on the plate, and I detected underlying flavors of garlic, ginger, and I’d guess sesame oil (traditional ingredients for chow fun).

As Regent is an American-style Chinese restaurant, you’ll find other “American” dishes in the noodle section of the menu (Singapore rice noodles and chow mein), as well as in the non-noodle sections (including, yes, General Tso’s chicken).

If you want more: There are predictable appetizers like crispy spring rolls (three for $4.95) and Chinese potstickers (six for $5.95), as well as a selection of meat or vegetable skewers ($1.75 each), but why not take advantage of being in a bakery? Select from a wide variety of cake slices, like the luscious chestnut ($3.85). It’s spongy with layers of light cream and chestnut, and not nearly as heavy as many Western desserts.

Be aware/beware: Regent Bakery and Cafe just opened its Seattle location (there’s also one in Redmond) on Wednesday, and was already drawing good crowds over the weekend. If you don’t want a full meal, you can come for a slice of cake (or a whole cake!) with coffee or tea (including bubble tea), or perhaps a pick of Chinese pastries–which are also great to go. Look for hot dog buns, pineapple buns, a variety of croissants, and much more. While you order your cake at the counter, the pastries are self-service. Grab tongs and a tray to collect what you want, then proceed to the cashier.

Dish:

In the bowl: Your choice of soup base, noodles, and toppings (including vegetables)

Supporting cast/What to do: Your server will give you a form (in Chinese and English) and a pen. If you’re having a noodle bowl, you’ll need to build it yourself from the ingredient list, filling out the form and turning it in to your server. You can also order appetizers and other items on this form.

Noodling around: There’s work to do if you come for a noodle bowl. You can spend an agonizing amount of time deliberating your decision. A friend suggested that they do recommendations, like “house specials.” But remember that at King Noodle, you’re in control, which is part of the fun.

First, there’s an interesting assortment of six soup bases: chicken broth, original fish soup, hot spicy, Szechuan spicy, sour & hot, and Thai tom yum goong. Next six noodle choices: (rice) vermicelli, flat rice noodles, QQ noodles, udon, instant noodles (!), and wonton noodles. Then a choice of two out of four vegetable “garnish” toppings: bean sprouts, cabbage, leeks (Chinese chives), and mushrooms. Finally, there are 16 regular toppings. Most are proteins, from BBQ duck to cuttlefish balls, but there are also vegetarian options like seaweed and pumpkin. “Fungus trip” and “Luncheon” remain mysteries for now.

I wanted something spicy, and knew that Szechuan spicy would mean the ma la numbing effect that I love, so I chose that broth. (The hot spicy was similar, without Szechuan peppercorn; both could have been spicier for my taste, but they’ll certainly be spicy enough for most people.) Curious about QQ noodles, my server said they’re Taiwanese and made with wheat and eggs, but white in color. Bigger than wonton noodles (similar in size to fettucine), I was happy with that choice. My “garnishes” were leek and mushroom (unfortunately, they were button mushrooms instead of shiitake, which would be much better), and as I can’t resist offal, I had numerous choices and went with beef tripe and pork kidney. The tripe portion was skimpy, but the pork kidney was fine.

Overall, it was a satisfying bowl of soup, and staring at the menu, I kept considering what the other combinations would be like.

If you want more: The appetizer list is full of fun options for offal lovers, from Szechuan-style pork stomach to marinated pork intestines. If you get offal in your noodle bowl, I’d recommend the pork and vegetable dumplings, pan-fried instead of steamed ($3.60 for 6, or $7.50 for 12, which will certainly make you wonder why there’s an upcharge for more!). These plump dumplings are house-made, and served with soy sauce. (Note that if you’re especially hungry, you can also add more toppings to your noodle bowl at $1.50 per item.)

Be aware/beware: While I was disappointed with the button mushrooms as one of my garnish toppings, if you choose mushrooms as a regular topping, you’ll get a generous portion of enoki mushrooms. The flat rice noodles are cut shorter than usual, so they “break” easily and were harder to eat with chopsticks than the longer cuts. The chicken broth was pretty good, and seeing free-range chicken as a topping on the menu was refreshing. Lastly, the rice stone pots looked tempting, and also offer item choices.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on January 16, 2012.

Dish:

On the plate: Hand-shaved noodles with your choice of pork, chicken, beef, vegetables, tofu, or prawns. Pictured is pork. It’s just noodles and meat, along with some cabbage and green onions, plus chili pepper to your desired level of spice.

Supporting cast/What to do: This one is pretty straightforward. It’s a WYSIWYG plate. Just dig in. If it’s not spicy enough, you can ask for chili oil to raise the heat level.

Noodling around: There are a lot of variations of chow mein. The main draw of Spicy Talk’s version is that it’s made with hand-shaved noodles. From a big ball of dough (made of wheat flour and water), the chef skillfully flicks a special tool to shave a pile of noodles for stir-frying. The noodles will have similar thickness, but with enough variation and irregularity to know that they are indeed hand-shaven. The joy of these noodles is that their thickness and freshness yield fabulous texture. Stir-fried, they’re almost al dente (atypical for Chinese dishes, as noodles are usually very soft) with a bit of chew to them.

Spicy Talk is a Szechuan restaurant, so spice levels can soar. I asked for these noodles ma la, which means both numbing (from Szechuan peppercorn) and spicy (from chili peppers). Below the spice, I could still taste soy sauce, which is the foundation of the seasoning. This chow mein is a simple dish that’s satisfying.

If you want more: There are many interesting possibilities on the menu, but I recommend chili with beef tripe ($5.25) as a great starter. If you don’t want your noodles spicy, this dish will provide nice contrast in heat. And you’ll have a second plate with plenty of texture to talk about and enjoy.

Be aware/beware: “Spicy Talk” sounds like it would be the subject for Sexy Feast, but it’s just a Chinese restaurant. Unlike Bellevue’s Bamboo Garden (which I believe is slightly better in quality), it’s not next to an adult toy store. Yes, Redmond is far from Seattle, and more costly now that there are tolls on the 520, but Szechuan food in Seattle falls short of Eastside quality. In fact, Spicy Talk’s chef Cheng Biao Yang was formerly at Seven Stars Pepper, but he sold it, and the quality has been in free-fall of late. (Between Seven Stars and Spicy Talk, he was at Szechuan Chef in Bellevue, which remains popular.)

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on January 9, 2012.