I tried to rekindle an old love affair recently. It had been more than 20 years since our last encounter.
We met just across the bridge at a restaurant in Hadley. Her name was “dry saut?ed beef Szechuan style,” and she is a wonder of spice, aromatic flavor and textural intrigue. Her beauty was magnified, not diminished, by that long absence.
I’ve had versions of this dish by many similar names over the years and the spark was never there, so it was a sad reunion of sorts, reminding me that such past glories are hard to come by today in a world populated by so many dull Chinese restaurants.
Until the 1970s, what passed for Chinese food in America was a watered-down version, lacking the distinctive flavors and textures we have come to enjoy. It starred oversized and under-flavored egg rolls, sweet and sour pork (a precursor to General Tsao’s chicken), egg foo yung and chop suey. These dishes were not bad, but only hinted at more tantalizing possibilities.
This is not to say that other cuisines were treated any better. To go out for a fancy dinner often meant suffering the indignities of “continental cuisine,” a greatest-hits-of-Europe lineup that did none of them justice: a version of wiener schnitzel next to French onion soup next to veal Parmesan, none of them particularly good. When French cuisine made its first real appearance in the 1960s, we took our first baby steps toward culinary enlightenment. There was a cost barrier, though; it was not yet the revolution that would eventually elevate gastronomy to national consciousness and chefs to rock-star status.
In the early 1970s, New York City was the stage for a Chinese food revelation: there were different regions of China with different cuisines. What we had been served was a mangled version of Cantonese. We learned that Cantonese was subtle and serene, not bland at all; that Szechuan and Hunan provinces provided a much bolder and spicier set of flavors; that Hong Kong was the New York of the East; and that dumplings and noodle dishes could be the starch of choice rather than rice. Best of all, it was all affordable and casual, with good table service and an exotic (for the time) d?cor.
The second generation of these restaurants appeared in the suburbs of larger cities, and in smaller cities. They maintained high standards and introduced many to the fun of tableside service and family-style eating. Your selections were carefully decided upon to satisfy all at the table, then each diner would get a sampler plate assembled by the waitstaff. The rest was left to the delight of the fastest and hungriest.
One could make a strong case that the entire foodie revolution, which has spawned a nation obsessed with all aspects of eating, started there, with discoveries of exotic ingredients, techniques and tastes. We now enjoy a wider culinary world, with Japanese, Thai, Vietnamese, Korean, Indian and other cuisines all well represented. Ginger is fresh in grocery stores, not just a powder used exclusively as a baking spice. Soy sauce and sesame oil are almost as familiar as ketchup and mustard. What we didn’t realize then, and still barely acknowledge today, is that experienced chefs were required to create this magic, as with French or any other great cuisine. The chefs that left China to wield influence and make fortunes here were ahead of their time, their names are not celebrated, and I fear they have not left a lasting legacy.
Italian cuisine, both fancy and casual, became so popular that practically every town in America has a place to get decent pizza or spaghetti; the same can be said about Chinese food in that there is at least one outpost in almost every town. Unfortunately, this third generation of Chinese restaurants is not all run by well-trained and experienced chefs, and the results are a very mixed bag. While both cuisines are good values for the dollar in terms of portion, their quality can be inconsistent.
This has been especially damning to Chinese food, which can have a greater number of ingredients and require greater skill. It is a cuisine that is meant to be balanced: sour and sweet, spicy and mild, crunchy and smooth, all contrasting to improve the meal, with good rice as an equal partner. If the pizza crust is not as crisp as you like it or the red sauce is a bit too sweet, we still generally enjoy it. In Chinese cuisine, though, a sauce that is gloppy or greasy or an excess of breading on a deep-fried dish can really ruin things.
The menus at these outposts are practically interchangeable, showing little creativity or regional identity, and the food is consumed so often as takeout that it becomes leftovers right from the start. That’s no way to treat a great cuisine.
Happily, there are still some beacons of hope on the Chinese restaurant landscape. There are places where fresh ingredients are combined with experience and skill, fried dishes are crisp and lightly breaded, and sauces add flavor and appeal. If a dish is supposed to be spicy, it has the proper kick. A few of the better Chinese restaurants will offer an alternative or “gourmet” menu as a supplement to their standard, familiar one. That is where one can find some worthy variety and a few gems.
Seek these places out and when you find them, enjoy their offerings with family and friends as you would any great food. There are some places in the area where such dishes may be found; search carefully and order wisely.
Here are a few of my favorites: The Great Wall in Florence has a “Gourmet Menu” that showcases a talented chef and fresh local ingredients; anything I’ve had from that menu has been wonderful. Both Butterfly in Hadley (which has very interesting supplemental menus) and China Gourmet in Greenfield have more typical menus, but almost everything is excellent and tastes like it did when Chinese food was new and exotic. There is hope out there; it had been a long time between bites for me and the Chinese dish of my dreams, but after my recent encounter, I’m ready to love again.”
