Dish:

In the bowl: You’ll see slightly yellowish egg noodles topped with little bits of ground pork and thin slices of green onion. The chili sauce is at the bottom of the bowl.

Supporting cast/What to do: It’s all there, in the bowl. What’s important is to mix as soon and thoroughly as possible before the noodles harden and congeal, as the sauce will have settled to the bottom of the bowl. And I do mean thorough. There’s not a lot of meat and sauce, so you’ll want to go for good distribution.

Noodling around: There are many recipes for dan dan noodles. Even Fuchsia Dunlop’s Sichuanese cookbook, Land of Plenty, has two versions–one made with pork, the other with beef. I much prefer pork, just as Bamboo Garden serves the noodles.

But unlike Dunlop’s, Bamboo Garden’s dan dan noodles are rather simple. The server explained that the only ingredients are the noodles, pork, green onions, and chili oil. I suspect there might be a little more to the chili sauce, and thought I detected a slightly gritty texture to the noodles (which made me wonder if there was perhaps a little sesame paste), but the sauce wasn’t terribly complex, and I didn’t find any preserved vegetables, peanuts, or other typical ingredients to the dish.

The noodles themselves were good, with good taste and texture. Dan dan is a dish I make frequently at home, and I’m always trying them with different types of noodles, including egg.

What you can always count on at Bamboo Garden is heat, and this dish has it. Lots of la, or spice, but in this case no ma, which is the numbness that comes from Sichuan peppercorns.

If you want more: Go for one of the cold appetizers, like the sour and spicy jellyfish ($6.95), rabbit chunks in chili oil ($8.95) if you’re seeking more meat, or fava beans in chili oil ($5.95). Note, yes, that they all are spicy, as most of the cold appetizers have chili oil or chili sauce. If that’s too much heat, then maybe get a watermelon smoothie ($3.25) to cool down your mouth.

Be aware/beware: Do not get this place mixed up with Bamboo Garden in Queen Anne. The Queen Anne restaurant is vegetarian, and while I did enjoy my noodle dish there last week and my vegetarian experience at Araya’s the week before, my heart is with restaurants that serve things like, well, heart. Bellevue’s Bamboo Garden has a “Take a Walk on Wild Side” menu that contains a lot of the dishes–the good stuff–that you’d normally find only on the Chinese menu. I like that Bamboo Garden encourages diners to experiment and try a new dish or two as part of the dining experience. On this menu, you’ll find some of my favorites, like Swimming Fire Fish, Sliced Pork Kidneys in a Tangy Broth, and The Other Parts of a Pig.

In case you’re working, dan is Chinese for a bamboo shoulder pole. Dan dan noodles was once the classic street food of Chengdu, with workers essentially carrying their kitchens on the poles while calling out “dan dan mian” to attract customers.

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

It’s been about five months since I wrote up my top five Asian restaurants in Seattle. Since I’ll soon be changing my writing focus here, I thought I’d revisit that list and offer some additional thoughts. Let’s break this down by the following categories:

Chinese: The best is on the Eastside, and it tends to be Szechuan. Bamboo Garden continues to be my favorite, just edging out Szechuan Chef. In Seattle, there’s decent Szechuan food at Seven Stars Peppers and Sichuanese Cuisine, but they’re not as good as what’s in Bellevue. Seems Seattle’s settling for sub-par Chinese food. I’d like to take everyone on a field trip to Richmond, B.C., to experience what real dim sum should be. And forget about finding good xiao long bao. But I remain hopeful that someone will start offering increased variety, and increased quality, when it comes to Chinese food in Seattle.

Vietnamese: In contrast to Chinese, this is the what we get right in the Seattle area. Green Leaf and Tamarind Tree both have their strengths, and I recommend both. (I’m interested to see how Long, Tamarind Tree’s “relative,” will do in the old Qube space.) I’m also liking what the Banhs are doing at both Monsoon and Monsoon East. Thoa’s offers a different twist, and I’ll be reporting on that soon. The Vietnamese delis near 12th and Jackson offer great value; I especially like Saigon Vietnam Deli for banh mi and rice boxes. For pho, Vietnam Restaurant recently won my affections.

Malaysian: For years, Malay Satay Hut has been one of my favorite restaurants (inclusive of all cuisines) in the city. It’s still great, but there have been some signs of slippage here as well. Last time in, the cute little baby squids were gone, replaced by squid slices. Temporary? Or a permanent change catered more to Caucasian preferences?

Japanese: We can debate the best sushi places forever, and new ones keep opening, especially in Ballard. I’m a purist, though, so no rolls for me. Kisaku remains my favorite, and I consistently hear the same from friends in the Japanese community. In the non-sushi arena, I’m glad to see new offerings like Kushibar, but I’d like to have some lower-cost, home-cooking options like Takohachi offered. And while Samurai Noodle has been popular, I’d like to see more shoyu ramen in the city. Tsukushinbo offers a limited number of bowls for Friday lunch service, but we need more!

Korean: Is there a rule that the good Korean places have to be at the city’s outer limits? I’ve had some good dishes both toward the Shoreline border, and south toward Federal Way (where I also ate some strange pupa). And while such excursions make it more convenient to visit the great H Mart supermarkets, I’d like to see some spicy stuff closer to home. Luckily, Joule is creating great Korean-influenced dishes in Wallingford. Tasty, reasonably priced, and even adventurous (mmm…chocolate liver mousse popsicles); Joule may be my favorite restaurant in the entire Seattle area. (The photo shows prawns at Joule.)

Okay, there’s an update with some challenges thrown in for good measure. I’ve just scratched the surface, covering only a few of all the Asian cuisines. As my writing changes focus, note that I’ll still be reporting on “Asian Eats,” so please let me know what I’ve missed.

This time around, we went to Szechuan Bean Flower and insisted on eating something from the Chinese menu. Server Ben obliged us with a walk through each of the items, the last of which was, in his words, “simply guts.” We saw the same Chinese characters on a specials sign, and asked about it. “Intestines with Bean Curd,” Ben said, adding, “You won’t eat it.”

“Can you really eat that?” now seemed mild, by comparison. Not only did we want it, we told Ben, but we wanted it authentic. Don’t dumb it down.

Ben brought a glass pie plate containing a liquidy glob full of intestines floating over clouds of silky white tofu, with crushed peanut dust scattered on top. But the color was wrong. Where was the fiery red oiliness? The textures were wonderfully chewy and smooth, but on the spice scale, this was barely registering. “Why, why, why?” we asked. Ben explained that many Caucasians claim they can eat spicy food, but when their eyes tear and their mouths burn, the uneaten food goes back to the kitchen. The often-disappointed chef now refuses to prepare truly spicy food for Caucasians unless he knows them.

Our meal ended with fortune cookies and a revelation: It’s not just the fault of the Chinese, though we wish they didn’t discriminate by putting all the good stuff in a language we can’t read. We now blame the Caucasians. Be more adventurous. Try some new foods. But don’t try to be heroes if you can’t really handle the spice. You’re ruining real Chinese food for the rest of us. Maybe you won’t eat it, but we want to.

Originally posted at Seattlest (where “we” = me) on May 29, 2008.

We’ve been bemoaning the lack of quality Chinese food in Seattle. Aside from a few Szechuan spots, very little is enduring. Dim sum is dull, xiao long bao is bad, and so much is so Americanized so as to be unrecognizable in China (hello, chop suey). Still, we wanted to celebrate the Chinese Lunar New Year, so we decided to try out a place that’s been getting rave reviews on the food message boards: Szechuan 99.

Eight ate at 99 on 200th in 98036 (Lynnwood) recently to ring in the rat. Eight’s a nice number for dividing dishes on a Lazy Susan atop a round table. Everyone ordered one dish, and the tasting began. (Hint: At a place like this, you might want to order sushi-style – one or two dishes at a time, so you can savor them; otherwise, it can be overwhelming when everything comes out at the same time.)

An hour later, we remembered some hand-shaved noodles (always fun, though a bit salty), cumin lamb (good, but better elsewhere), eggplant (tasty, but a little too mushy), two tofu dishes (99’s popular for its tofu, but perhaps it’s overrated), duck (smoky, but served without sauce?), a signature shrimp dish (eye-candy, but cloyingly sweet), fish-and-noodle soup (pretty tasty, but a tad pasty), and a stew with fish, tripe, intestines, and blood cake (spicy, but not spicy enough) which would be our favorite – if only for tapping into our total love of organ meats. Szechwan 99’s not a bad restaurant by any means. But we weren’t wowed by anything, and wowing is what we wanted. A day later, we rated Szechuan 99 as good; better is Szechuan Chef in Bellevue, and best is right up the road (and across the border) at Golden Szechuan in Richmond.

Originally posted at Seattlest (where “we” = me) on February 11, 2008. As the Year of the Ox approaches, I thought it would be appropriate to reach back to this Year of the Rat experience.

The women work hard here; they mesmerize me with their speed and diligence in making dumplings. They prepare pork and Napa, pork and chive, and vegetable and tofu. Ten of them will run you $5.75–same if you want them in hot and spicy sauce. (You can also get wontons in that hot and spicy sauce for a dollar less.) Or go grilled with eight pot stickers that are pretty filling.

On this day, my dining companion and I were noodling for noodles. She had the den den mein, which is the first dish I’ve had there that’s disappointing. It tasted simply like noodles in sesame or peanut sauce–no pork, no green onions or other vegetables, and barely any spice (despite being asterisked as hot and spicy). We discussed this with our server, who explained that this was their version, and that some people don’t like spice…so we should just add it on our own. Strange.

(Den den mein, or dan dan noodles, is one of my quick-and-easy meals at home. I typically make the Fuchsia Dunlop’s version–with pickled vegetables–from the excellent Land of Plenty cookbook, but sometimes I twist a bit toward the more elaborate version in The Shun Lee Cookbook by Michael Tong.)

But I really enjoyed my Szechuan beef tendon noodle with soup. The broth is rich (good anise flavor!), the noodles just right, and good bite from the chili. And the tendon was terrific–soft and succulent. I’ve had good luck with all the beef soups at Szechuan Noodle Bowl. ($5.75 is the magic number for most of the noodles, too.) Add a $2.00 side of pickled vegetables, peanuts, or pig ears (listen up: they’re good, with great texture) and you’ve got a welcomed cheap eats meal that’s cheap, fast, and warming–especially on a cold fall or winter day.

Cross-posted at Examiner.

See some updated thoughts about Szechuan Noodle Bowl here.

Bamboo Garden: Chinese food in Seattle is primarily Cantonese, which I find a bit boring (and don’t get me started on the dismal state of dim sum). So I send you over to the Eastside, where you can find some spicy Szechuan fare. Bamboo Garden, with its “Walk on the Wild Side” Menu, just edges out Szechuan Chef. My pick: a dish called “The other parts of the pig” (pictured).

Ahead of the upcoming Olympics, the Chinese government has been working to rename restaurant dishes so that visitors have a better idea of what they’re ordering. “Husband and wife’s lung slice,” “Chicken without sexual life,” “The farmer is small to fry king,” and “Swallow to take the fish sand” are not necessarily user-friendly, or, in the case of “Government abuse chicken,” flattering. But they are certainly fun. (As am I, I’m sure, when I butcher foreign languages.)

Ant On The Tree is usually called “Ants climbing a tree”—a classic Sichuanese dish typically made with (mung) bean thread noodles and ground pork. Lift some strands of noodles, and the bits of pork cling to them like, well, ants climbing a tree. It’s a refreshing and economical dish; I love the transparent noodles and the bite of the chili bean paste. But on this day, at the normally red-hot Sichuanese Cuisine, the dish was too mild—despite asking them to make it super spicy. This has been a recurring problem for me in area restaurants, and I’m still looking for the best way to say I can handle the heat. Short of a providing a signed waiver that would baffle the waitstaff, I gather I need to say I lived in Chengdu and ask for a high level of ma la—numbing and spicy.

Still, I forgive Sichuanese Cuisine, as I’ve had plenty of other great dishes there, like their incredible cheap dumplings, MaPoDoFu (their spelling), dried cooked string beans, and the hot pots which are a fabulous deal. Next time I’m with a group and bury this dish in a big order, I’ll try the “Pork Bung with HaRaPeNo Chili” (sic, but not sick—I love offal and such). While there might be better Sichuanese food in Bellevue (namely, Bamboo Garden and Szechuan Chef), this is a fine hole-in-the-wall at my favorite food corner in Seattle: 12^th and Jackson in Little Saigon. (This is where you can find, within steps, Seven Stars Peppers, Tamarind Tree, Lemongrass, Malay Satay Hut, and a bounty of banh mi and more at the bargain-priced Vietnamese delis.)

The problem at Sichuanese Cuisine is the menu. The best stuff (always, it seems) is on the specials board—in Chinese only. Unable to read the characters, I asked the waitress for an interesting, authentic, and spicy dish to go with the ants climbing a tree, and she said, “I’ll make you something special.” After eating an again underspiced but decent stir-fried chicken dish, I wanted to know what it was. She pointed to the specials board, where I could only read that it was $5.25, before she said “Flavor Chicken.” Compared to unflavored, I wondered? And just what was that flavor? Maybe the U.S. government should work on names here. Or maybe not. I kind of like the mystery of it all.

This originally appeared on Examiner on July 1, 2008.