Earlier today, I went to a restaurant in Redmond, WA called Sichuan Cuisine. The first dish to come out was a thick amber soup, resembling an abstract oil painting with streaks of white and black. I took a spoonful and was instantly transported back eleven years.
I remember sitting at a table in Din Tai Fung with my parents and younger brother. If you do not know what Din Tai Fung is, it is a popular Taiwanese restaurant chain. As you stand in line for two hours to get a table, you get front row seats to the kitchen, where people in tall chef hats mold each potsticker by hand. It is mesmerizing.
You would have thought that after waiting for so long, I would have been eager to eat some a lot of the steaming soup dumplings sitting on our table. Nope. My eyes were glazed over, my RBF was on full display, and I was unresponsive to my brother’s repeated requests to play chopsticks. Why? I was having the worst sore throat. And what was the only remedy? Hot and sour soup.
Hot and sour soup was my chicken noodle soup. As a child, my parents would bring me a cup of hot and sour soup whenever I was ill. It was just the right temperature to soothe my damaged throat; just the right amount of sour that it did not taste bland like everything else; and included just the right amount of nostalgia to make me feel a little less sorry for myself. Hot and sour soup was my comfort food. It stuck by me as I found my first real friends, lashed out at my parents during their divorce, broke a bone in the height of swim season, and so much more. Hot and sour soup was a much-needed reminder that things would get better.
With that said, I have had hot and sour soups that were too spicy, too sour, or not sour enough. But this spoonful of Sichuan Cuisine hot and sour soup hit the spot. The vinegar taste was like sun shining through a canopy of deciduous trees. If I were to take a walk in such a forest, the sun would shine just enough to light my path, as I could taste the vinegar in every sip. But the sun would not blind me from the beauty of the trees just as the vinegar was not strong enough to take over the flavors of the crunchy wood ear fungus and soft tofu. The spice, however, sat in the back of my throat, almost forcing me to cough. I was not too unsettled by this feeling though – it completed the experience. Hot and sour soup is not hot and sour soup without a kick.
Thinking about that hot and sour soup gives me a sour taste in my mouth, like the one you get when you think of homemade lemonade that could use a little more sugar. I quite enjoy such a feeling; it proves that the food made an impression. I would give Sichuan Cuisine 4.8 stars out of five for this dish.
The broccoli and beef dish came next. I had this frequently as a teenager. It was usually a safe bet when I was not sure what to order at Chinese restaurants. The essential part of this dish is the oyster sauce. The saltiness combined with the thick consistency adds depth – pizazz if you will - to the beef. I once had a broccoli and beef dish without it and let me tell you – it was like eating spaghetti and meatballs, without the tomato sauce.
Unlike the hot and sour soup, I was less impressed with this dish. While it scored points for having oyster sauce, the beef was too rubbery for my liking – I felt like I was chewing on gum that had already been in my mouth for ten minutes. However, I enjoyed the saltiness of the meat. Some pieces were too salty, but some had just the right amount of salt – like that of which you taste when you lick your lips after having dried off from a swim in the ocean. The broccoli was…well, better than the undercooked broccoli I eat at the University of Washington, but that is not saying much. However, the florets of the broccoli had absorbed the sauce like a sponge; as a huge fan of oyster sauce (if you could not already tell), sucking on the florets was delightful.
The heaping of rice that accompanied the dish was disappointing. At worst, it was bland. At best, it was normal rice with some egg and peas thrown in for color. It detracted from the broccoli and beef because I was dreading having to eat it (I do not like wasting food).
I give this dish 3.3 stars – I would try a different entrée next time. However, I will say that I would take this dish over anything they serve at my school’s dining hall. $8.95 for a plate that size would only get me a mediocre sandwich at UW.
As someone who comes from a family that never orders drinks at restaurants (since buying the meal is already expensive and unhealthy), I sure surprised my dad by ordering a Thai Iced Tea. I had a reason – last week, I went to Pho Shizzle with my friend and her family. She made me try a Thai Iced Tea and it was delicious! So, I wanted to try it at Sichuan Cuisine to see if Thai Iced Tea was universally good or if it was just Pho Shizzle that knocked it out of the park.
At first glance, the drink was a beautiful, fiery masterpiece that puts my Pho Shizzle drink in a plastic cup to shame. I almost did not want to drink it because it would disturb the perfectly layered shades of red and orange. But after the saltiness of the beef, I needed some contrast, and the sweetness of the Thai iced tea did an excellent job. I made the mistake of not mixing the drink beforehand though. As a result, I drank most of the tea at the bottom first before reaching the milk, which was then less satisfying because it lacked the sugariness I craved. It started to taste like vanilla ice cream (I like ice cream, but I really wanted that Thai tea flavor).
I give this drink 4.9 stars – I really savored it (and it helps the rating that I have little to compare it to). I would spend the $2.95 to get it again.
Lastly, I want to end on a deeper, reflective note. I really like to look for meaning in my daily life and I recognized something during this meal. Like I alluded to, the hot and sour soup represents my childhood; the broccoli and beef my adolescence; and the Thai Iced Tea my adulthood. Just like these three Sichuanese dishes complemented each other and came together to form a complete and pleasant lunch, the experiences I had in my childhood, teenage years, and my adulthood are all important parts of who I am today. Though there are memories in each stage of my life that I could do without, I would not change a thing if I could go back in time. Because if all the beef slices were perfectly salted, or if the spice from the soup had not hung in my throat, I would not have enjoyed the sweetness of the iced tea as much I did.
All photos were taken on my iPhone 11 Pro. Written for ENGL 182.
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