No. 1 Noodle House, Rowland Heights: 1 of 10 Reasons My Job Is So Cool

A Daily Gluttony blog just wouldn't be a Daily Gluttony blog without the irreverent food/work combo posts so here goes.

My job kinda rocks.

But interestingly enough, not very many people understand what it is that I do without having worked in the retail industry. My own mom to this day couldn't tell you exactly what I do. She still tells her old Chinese mom friends that her daughter works in Finance. Usually I am referred to as a Financial Analyst but I've heard myself being labeled a Financial Planner too. Her friends then nod in approval because it's something they can understand. No offense to any of you financial analysts or planners out there, but I didn't shed an insane amount of blood, sweat and tears for years in the retail industry for nothing. No way--my job is so much cooler because:

1) I get to work with fashion and other cool stuff.

2) I get paid to go shopping.

3) I get paid to stay updated on fashion, style, and pop culture news.

4) I am not required to travel.

5) I get to see a bunch of private music shows.

6) I get to listen to music and watch music videos all day.

7) I can wear jeans and 5" platform stilettos to work and not get reprimanded for dressing inappropriately. Visible tattoos and piercings are completely acceptable.

8) I work with a lot of both interesting and nice people.

My mom and her friends would totally not get why reasons 1-8 would make any one think they'd hit the job hunting jackpot. But they would totally get why I'd love my job because of reasons 9 and 10...

9) At the end of the day, I'm doing what I do best which is being a numbers and data nerd.

Things involving math have a decent position on the career totem poles inside my mom's and her friends' heads. High up on that same totem pole are stuff like "doctor," "dentist," "lawyer," "investment banker," "engineer." Bonus points if one had such a career and lived at home with their parents at the same time.

And finally...

10) I work near a bunch of good food.

If my mom was able to meet me for lunch one day, I'd skip having her meet everyone at the office and instead take her to lunch at one of my favorite weekday lunch spots No. 1 Noodle House in Rowland Heights.

No. 1 Noodle House is nothing more than a small space with a counter at Rowland Heights' Yes Plaza. The official menu is in Chinese but there are large photos and English names of the restaurant's most popular selections behind the counter. If, like me, you're not a Mandarin speaker and/or the person behind the counter happens to be English-challenged, just point or talk in broken Mand-glish like I have in the past. Find a table in the indoor seating area to the right or at one of the patio tables outside and someone will bring your order to you. I like sitting outside and being surrounded by Yes Food Court's faux Neo-Classical facades--it makes me feel like I'm on vacation at Disneyland. Or Europe. Or Euro-Disney.

Despite how much I like my job, there are still days where I feel like my head is going to explode from crunching too many numbers. My brow gets furrowed and my face gets all squished up from thinking too hard. On such days, I know I can count on the spicy options at No. 1 Noodle House to clear my head up and relax my forehead. Take that, Botox.

On colder days, I usually opt for their spicy beef noodle soup, niu rou mian, to warm my belly and clear my sinuses. I've heard conflicting reviews about these with critics saying that the soup's bland and lacks spice and/or depth which fortunately for me, has never been the case. Sure, it's not the best I've had, but its rich, beefy broth is fine by me. Tender chunks of beef and pickled greens help to round the whole thing out. If you're worried about the broth not being bold enough, be sure to tell the counterperson that you want it spicy. Usually they'll ask what your preferred level of spiciness is, but in case they don't, just tell them.

When it comes to wontons in chili oil and dan dan mian, my heart still belongs to Shufeng Garden (in the form of Zhong's Dumplings) down the street, but unfortunately, Shufeng Garden doesn't have patio seating where you can work on your tan whilst sweating out chili oil. That doesn't mean that No. 1 Noodle House doesn't make decent versions of the two dishes, however.

Their wontons in chili oil are perky porky pillows that really pack a punch in its glistening orange chili oil bath and sprinkling of scallions and peanuts. A word of advice though: don't take them to-go if you can help it, else the wonton wrappers tend to turn quite doughy.

On warmer afternoons, which is usually the case in Rowland Heights, my dish of choice is the dan dan mian--a bowl of warm chili-oil, ground pork and peanuts slathered over a bed of cool noodles. Mix it all up for a bowl of absolute carby goodness that packs a nice spicy punch. As with the wontons in chili oil, these noodles should be eaten on the spot.

Regardless of what size noodles you get (No. 1 Noodle House offers them in a small or large size), all three of these dishes can be had for under $20 which I imagine would make my mom quite proud of me for finding such a gem in the same neighborhood that my paychecks come from.

"My daughter's a financial analyst and really good at math, and she works near a lot of good, cheap Asian restaurants," my mom can say with a smile. Mom's happy. Her friends are happy.

And I'm happy because of numbers 1-10 above and because my mom and her friends are happy. And that's all that really matters.

No. 1 Noodle House
18180 Colima Rd. #B (Yes Plaza)
Rowland Heights, CA 91748
(626) 839-7093
Cash Only

Be sure to read Mmm-Yoso's, Naked Sushi's and Hungrybunny's reviews of No. 1 Noodle House too!

Cheaters are Losers: A Spicy, Oily Indulgence at Shufeng Garden, Rowland Heights

I've been good.

I've pretty much kept my daily caloric intake to about 1400 a day.

I've been working out 5 days a week, some days at a pretty high intensity.

And I've lost 15 pounds since I've started this Biggest Loser challenge about 6 weeks ago. Not too shabby, eh?

But that 15 pounds lost hasn't all been a result of me being good. It is also, in my opinion, a result of me being very, very bad.

No matter how many tasty and healthy recipes I have up my sleeve, day after day of low calorie, low fat, low sodium, low carb, mayo-less, bacon-less, whole grain, high-fiber, sugar-free, dressing-on-the-side bullshit makes me want to eat the couch. So if I didn't allow myself to cheat on my diet once a week, I would literally consume upholstery. Topped with cheese and butter, of course.

One of my most recent cheat meals involved an oil-laden, fried, fatty, carbo-loaded feast at Shufeng Garden. And yes, this Rowland Heights mini-mall Sichuan did indeed do its job of fending off those late night upholstery cravings as well as punishing this unfaithful dieter with red-hot, spicy pain that hurt so much I liked it.

I'd remembered photos of an oil-slathered fatty pork dish on some local blogs and knew right away that this was exactly what I needed. Thanks to a Mandarin Chinese speaking coworker, printouts of photos of the dish from local blogs' jaunts to the restaurant's second location in San Gabriel, as well as an email from SinoSoul with the names of recommended dishes in Chinese, my non-Mandarin speaking, non-Chinese reading, Chinese self was able to get some Pork Butt in Garlic Mud into my now-smaller belly.

The cool, thin slices of half meat/half fat stripes bathed in spicy chili oil definitely satisfied my fat-covered-in-more-fat craving. I'd imagined them to be a little thicker and served warmer, but the dish was good nonetheless.

The large pot of Water Boiled Fish we ordered looked like something out a movie: a virtual sea of orangey-red angry with red pepper flakes, like a vast body of fluid over which you'd be rowing a decrepid boat in hell. The cauldron of white fish fillets and assorted vegetables soaked in a spicy red bath wasn't as spicy as I thought it was going to be, which is either good or bad depending on your tolerance for spice. I personally would have liked it to be spicier and perhaps a little more tangy, but it was still a nice accompaniment for a hot bowl of steamed rice.

Zhong's Dumplings were al dente pillows of pork-filled goodness served with a healthy dose of (you guessed it) chili oil. A sprinkling of sesame seeds added a nutty bite to these smoky and spicy little pouches.

It was perhaps the restaurant's Dan Dan Mian that put Shufeng Garden on LA's foodie map to begin with--what with having made Jonathan Gold's Best Dishes of 2009 list--and for good reason. It looks like a none-too-exciting small bowl of noodles topped with ground pork and spinach upon first glance, but after mixing the al dente noodles up with all that's in that bowl and taking a slurp, it's a multi-dimensional flavor experience that will both enlighten and numb your tastebuds. It's spicy, acidic, herbal and smoky all at the same time, with flavors that work together but that are distinguishable separately as well.

A cheat day can't be called a cheat day without something fried, so infidelity in the form of the restaurant's Shufeng Spicy Chicken and Intestines in Chili & Wild Pepper were pure guilty, spicy perfection. Fried meat morsels are fun, but not as fun as when they're fried with as much chilis and pepper as there were pieces of meat. I especially liked the fried intestine which were fried to a beautiful golden crisp on the outside which gave way to a slightly bouncy funkiness on the inside--a funkiness that only offal enthusiasts can appreciate.


After having inhaled three bowls of hot, steamy rice and five tongue-tingly good dishes with enough chili oil to grease up my newly toned biceps, I was more than ready to go back to 400 calorie a meal "budget." Until the next cheat day, that is. Sometimes you just have to be bad to be good.

Shufeng Garden
18459 Colima Road
Rowland Heights, CA 91748
(626) 839-7589

DG's Recycle & Reuse Program: Steamed Roast Pork With Shrimp Paste

In Cantonese, we use the word hahk-hei to describe when someone is being polite. But it's not the common-courtesy-kind-of-polite; rather, it's the I-need-to-be-polite-to-save-face-kind-of-polite.

Ever been out to eat with a bunch of Chinese people and experience a literal fight over the check?

"Mm-ho hahk hei, lar!" we'll say to each other as we're literally lunging over the table trying to grab the check from one another's hands. It's our way of saying, "Hey, don't be so polite, yo. Let me pay!" To which the response is always a never ending back and forth tirade of "No, no, no, let me pay!"

OK yes, we do like to be generous to our friends and loved ones. But the thing is that we don't put up a fight for that reason alone; we put up a fight because we don't want to look like we didn't. It's all about saving face.

The same situation applies to leftover food at said gatherings. No one wants to look like the greedy one who snatched all that food for themselves. "Mm-ho hahk hei, lar...you take it!"

Except when it comes to leftovers, I have no qualms about taking the shit.

Because the reality of it is, I am poor. I got a mortgage and bills to pay and a family to feed and I need anything I can get after either a) paying for your dinner to save face or b) giving away a benjamin or two inside a red envelope to a newly married couple or new baby or whatever.

Now if you're really, really poor, or really, really cheap, or perhaps a combination of both, harm ha jzing jee yook--steamed roast pork with shrimp paste--is the perfect dish for you. It reuses every bit of your leftovers, so it costs next to nothing to make, and a little goes a long, long way.

First thing you do is make sure you are not hahk hei--if there is leftover roast pork at whatever Chinese party/dinner you're attending, take it. If there are no Chinese dinner leftovers involved, that's OK. Drive yourself to the nearest Chinese BBQ shop like Sam Woo BBQ and buy yourself a pound of roast pork for under 10 bucks.

Next, add a little bit of shaoxing cooking wine, a swig of vegetable oil, a dusting of cornstarch, a dollop of shrimp paste (like the one pictured below which you can find at Asian grocery stores) and a teeny bit of water to the pork and mix it all up.

Put it in a shallow dish and steam for about 20-30 minutes. Serve with lots of hot steamed rice.

The result is juicy morsels of pork that have been both roasted and steamed and that have taken on this savory, pungent, funky-in-a-good-way flavor. My favorite part is that once-crispy pig skin that's now taken on a chewy texture after having been steamed but still retains a hint of that smoky flavor it got by roasting.

Like I said earlier, a little really goes a long way. All you need are a few pieces of the pork and maybe some of the juices to liven up an entire bowl of rice. In fact, if you use too much, your meal often becomes too salty. Rationed properly, this dish could potentially last you several days, partially offsetting the original cost of your dinner bill or gifts.

My Favorite Childhood Dish, Loud and Proud: Steamed Pork With Salted Duck Egg

Coming from where I come from--a podunk little suburb about 25 miles outside of San Francisco--growing up Chinese-American back in the 70’s and 80’s was tough work. As one of a small handful of ethnic minority kids in my grade school classes, I was always guaranteed that anything I did that was remotely culturally diverse was a free pass for taunts, teases and hurt feelings. Had I known then what I know today, those Slant-Eye-Ching-Chong-China insults would’ve been met with the finger and a resounding “Fuck You” from that little Chinese girl with the bowl cut. Unfortunately, I wasn’t that self-confident back then and resorted to taking the “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” attitude in order to avoid being the laughing stock of my school.

I watched shows like the Brady Bunch to figure out how a stereotypical American family lives. Easy enough, right? Everyone calls each other "dear", they eat roast beef for dinner every night and they like to go camping. It would be my job to convince my classmates that these kinds of things were what my family liked to do too.

So when my 6th grade class was studying nutrition and had a homework assignment to keep a food diary and categorize those things into the four food groups, I was determined to replace stir-fried pork intestines and pickled mustard greens with pot roast and potatoes. I didn't think anyone in my class would understand that at my house, we ate from the vegetable, meat, and bread/grain groups as well as the offal group, the soy group and the various-preserved-foodstuffs group.

It was a total shame because my embarrassment and cowardice led me to leave some of my all time favorite dishes off of this food diary. What's worse, my parents somehow got a hold of this project and were crushed that I'd rather show people that I ate meatloaf instead of my favorite dish that they'd prepared with so much love: steamed pork with salted duck egg, or hahm dahn jzing jee yook.

I've been kicking myself in the ass for that food diary incident for as long as I can remember. How could I have been so stupid as to lie about something that made me feel so good? Knowing that it was my favorite dish, my parents always let me have the first scoop, and I strategically dug my spoon into the center every time so as to get some of the salty, velvety egg yolk. I'd plop the spoonful of this porky, eggy Cantonese village dish onto a steaming mound of rice, mix it all up, and start shoveling the stuff into my mouth. My parents would also purposely leave a little bit of the hahm dahn jzing jee yook in the dish because they knew I liked to dump the last bit of rice from the rice pot into it and scrape up every last juicy pork and egg bit.

I therefore made it my goal to make sure I knew how to make this dish for my own children. Even though my son is a little too young to be eating such a sodium and cholesterol bomb right now (hey, I never said this dish was healthy), it's comforting to know that I can one day make this dish for him the same way that my parents made it for me. And being that he's mostlikey going to be growing up in the Chinese-heavy San Gabriel Valley, I don't think he'll have a problem putting steamed pork with salted duck egg on his own food diary.

The basic recipe follows; sorry I don't really use exact measurements. Do like I do--trial and error until the taste and texture is to your liking. You'll be surprised at how super-simple it is!

Steamed Pork With Salted Duck Egg/Hahm Dahn Jzing Jee Yook

Ingredients:
-A large handful (about 1/2 lb?) of ground pork butt preferably chopped by hand for a coarser texture
-Sesame oil
-Soy sauce
-Shaoxing rice wine
-Cornstarch
-1 large chicken egg, beaten
-1 uncooked salted duck egg (available at Chinese markets such as 99 Ranch)

Put a swig each of sesame oil, soy sauce and wine onto the ground pork. Sprinkle with a little bit of cornstarch. Mix it all together with your hands.

Add the chicken egg and mix again with your hands.

Separate the salted duck egg--the big bulbous orangey-yellow yolk will remain intact.

Combine the salted duck egg white with the pork & chicken egg mixture and mix thoroughly with your hands.

Pour the mixture into a shallow dish and put the salted duck egg yolk in the center of the mixture.

Steam for approximately 20 minutes or until the pork is no longer pink.

Serve with steamed rice and enjoy!

Note to parents: I recently started cooking an alternate, lower-sodium version of this for my toddler. I simply omitted the salted duck egg and added an additional beaten chicken egg. It won't have that subtle salted flavor that the duck egg lends to the dish, but at least my kid can enjoy something similar now. It still has that wonderful aroma of steamed pork and sesame oil and the custardy texture of the steamed egg. He's already been eating it at daycare and loving it--he makes mama so proud!

Jook: The Next Best Thing To A Hug From A Chinese Mama

Growing up, no other food that my parents made spelled out love better than jook, or Chinese rice porridge (also called congee). All it took was a little rice and broth or water to make comfort food at its finest. It warmed our tummies alongside noodles on weekend lunches at home. Since it's so hearty yet easy to digest, it made us feel better whenever we were sick with the flu, stomach problems, you name it. It was also traditionally a birthday food with my family--my dad explained it as "simple food that symbolizes your humble beginnings"--pretty wise, eh?

So now that I'm a Chinese Mama, jook has quickly become a staple in my household too. It's cheap, it's delicious, and it's such a feel-good food. Long gone are the days of dragging myself out of bed on a weekend morning to go to brunch in my best I-tried-really-hard-on-purpose-to-look-disheveled-yet-comfy garb. No sirree, I'm up early making jook for my family.

All you pretty much need is this: one part rice to approximately 10 parts liquid (broth, water or a combination of both) I prefer using jasmine rice, and using broth always makes jook alot more tasty than does water, though using water is handy when queasy stomachs call for the blandest of bland foods.

Put the rice in a large pot and add only about 4 to 6 parts of the liquid. Bring to a boil and lower heat to simmer and cover. After the rice simmers for a little bit, it will start to break down and look like the photo on the left.

Keep adding liquid in one to two part increments as the liquid in the pot starts to get absorbed by the rice and stir. As you near the 10-parts-liquid-part, the rice will start to look like the photo on the right. At this point, I always taste the jook for consistency before adding more liquid. Remember, you can always add more liquid but you can't take it out, so don't think that you have to use exactly 10 parts of liquid. Sometimes 8 is the magic number for me and sometimes it's 11, it all depends on how you want it and how moody your rice is on the absorbency scale that day. Another thing to keep in mind is that you can't rush jook; hearty, soul warming foods can't usually be made in 10 minutes, so be patient. Jook can sometimes take up to a couple of hours to make.

When your jook is near done, you can also add meat or other ingredients that would make it more interesting. Make jook as simple as you want, or as elaborate as you want. These days, I usually add coarsely chopped chicken thigh or beef because I'm catering to a toddler's diet, but the possibilities are really endless. Seafood makes for a really tasty jook, as do offals. My favorite jook growing up was a chicken and dried squid one; my brother's favorite contained pigs feet and boiled peanuts.

No jook is complete to me without all the condiments. At bare minimum, I've got scallions, ginger, and preserved turnip laying around for our jook meals. But it's an extra-extra-special day when I've got peanuts, thousand year old egg, deep fried bean threads, or yao zhar gwai--a deep fried cruller of sorts--to add to my jook. And oh yeah, don't forget the white pepper!

So doesn't this make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside now? Makes you wanna go hug your Chinese Mama, right? Don't have one? That's OK, just go make some jook--it's the next best thing.

Back Where I Belong: Wonton Forest, City of Industry

It sucks to be lost.

Like the time we got lost in the Northwestern tip of Maui and were driving on a one lane road on the side of a mountain next to the ocean.

Like the time I made one wrong turn and got lost in Downtown LA's skid row for the first time. (*Disclaimer: Notice I said first time. Don't think I'm I big ol' priss; I drive through it all the time with no problem now.)

Like the time I got lost in Anaheim for oh, 27 months???

OK fine, so what if it's only figuratively speaking? Sue me. Since October 2007 until the day I was let go, I took at least two hours out of my day to drive to this place where I worked around beach people all the time (sorry beach people, I love the beach but I'm a city girl at heart so I've never understood the whole beachy lifestyle thing), where with the exception of a few friends the people I worked with were complete two-faced assholes, where all these two-faced assholes' idea of real Mexican food is Chipotle, and where the nearby dining options were limited to chain restaurants and one mediocre pho joint. I mean, where the hell was I, the Twilight Zone??? Two fucking years I was lost in this hell hole! Two fucking years!

With one hand on the steering wheel and one hand holding my Google Map (I don't do Nav- Systems either--I'm a map girl. Nav-Systems are for sissies), I exited the 60 Freeway across from Diamond Plaza in Rowland Heights on my way to my first job interview for the company I work for now. I think I felt my heart jump out of my mouth when I saw the Chinese restaurant signs. Could it really be true that this potential employer was located close to some actual non-chain Asian restaurants? With the much improved food choices as my incentive, I pushed myself to do extra, EXTRA well at that interview. And guess what? I nailed it and landed that job in three days. Sweet.

So yeah, you bet your ass that the first thing I did upon getting that job offer besides going on a rock star lunch tour was do some serious web-tective work as far as where to eat near the office. Thanks to a four star review on Yelp, an inquiry on Chowhound and a very favorable post from the blog Go Ramen, Wonton Forest would be the first of a long list of local restaurants to try. This little restaurant, located in a railroad-track adjacent Smart & Final mini-mall in the City of Industry, would also represent all the positive change that was happening in my life.

When I was lost in Anaheim, I felt like I had the life sucked out of me. Constantly angry. Always tired. Never had time for myself. Looked like shit. Felt like shit. Every day that I was there could have been tagged with the infamous FML. Since I found my way out, er, I mean got booted out, I feel like I've gotten a piece of my life back.

When I was lost in Anaheim, I became somewhat disconnected with my passion for food for a few reasons. One, as I mentioned before, there was nothing great to eat around the office, at least nothing that I could drive to, eat, and drive back from within reasonable time limits. And two, my job was wearing me out so badly that I lost both time and desire for much of my gastronomic pursuits.

When I was lost in Anaheim, the simple goodness of a bowl of wonton noodle soup was nowhere to be found. A few visits to Wonton Forest later, and I realized what I had been missing.

Being Chinese-American, wonton noodle soup is and always has been a staple for me. Maybe it was because my parents secretly put the stuff into my baby bottles, but whatever the reason, I've looked to this dish to warm my stomach and soothe my soul since childhood. Sometimes, my parents would treat me and my brother to a steaming bowl of wonton noodles soup at some Oakland Chinatown restaurant (usually Gum Wah) after we spent the morning lugging several plastic grocery bags and following our parents closely as they weaved in and out of Chinese markets. But more often, my parents would make noodles for us at home. Everything, with the exception of the noodles, was homemade--the soup, the wontons, the toppings--all made from scratch and all made from the heart.

With its minimalist modern decor, Wonton Forest looks more like a mainstream fusion sushi roll joint than a place I'd be able to find a bowl of noodles that is not far from those noodle lunches at home with my family. Like anything made by hand at my family's house, there's always something about small batch operations that lends a certain coarseness to the final product; the wontons that Chef/Owner Paul makes fresh daily are no exception. At my parent's house, no food grinders or mills were used to make their wonton fillings; the pork and shrimp were chopped by hand at my house and though I'm not sure of the exact method to Paul's wonton madness, his wontons' textural imperfections (which trust me, are a good thing here) tell me that there's minimal machine or mass-produced intervention here.

Same goes for their soup which, rather than tasting of MSG and being strained to the hilt as is the case at many larger scale restaurants, has the clean, pure taste of chicken or a beef/chicken combo and made even better by the tiny bits of meat or luscious fat globules that made it past the strainer.

Sit at Wonton Forest's counter and watch as Paul preps each bowl of noodles himself, separating and plumping up the springy egg or rice noodle strands with long chopsticks. Each bowl of noodles' toppings are carefully arranged atop the noodles (something that my parents also always took the time to do) before the soup is poured in. Order their signature Wonton Forest Noodle Soup and you'll get an array of goodies including wontons (duh), yau choy-sum, a soy infused boiled egg, tender slices of pork, scallions and cilantro and fried garlic bits atop the noodles. Or, you can order the Chiu-Chow Noodles and get a slew of meaty and seafood-y goodness arranged carefully around your bowl: shreds of chicken, minced pork, plump shrimp and springy fish balls. Add some of Chef Paul's homemade chili garlic sauce (which is supposedly made in a three-day process and is actually available for purchase, by the way) to your steaming bowl of noodles before you start slurping and add in extra dabs as needed. It's an extra kick that actually enhances the flavor of the soup and all the tasty bits within rather than detracting from or overpowering it. Really good stuff.

Food-aside, this little City of Industry gem has played an important role in bringing me back to my blogging life. The delicious food and super friendly vibe of the first restaurant in my must-try-restaurants-near-work list helped to kick start this part of my life that I had become so detached from. "This is totally doable," I thought to myself after my first visit to Wonton Forest, "Back in Anaheim...not so much." Subsequent lunchtime visits to Wonton Forest for me would include an interview for a foodie documentary (story for another post) and a meetup with fellow bloggers Go Ramen and Pepsi Monster. Would I have ever been able to do that in my previous LOST life and still get all my work done? Hell no.

I was lost, and now am found. Thanks, Wonton Forest, for bringing me home.

Wonton Forest
18230 Gale Ave.
City of Industry, CA 91748
(626) 435-1430
Cash only

MEOW: House Chicken and Green Onion Pancakes, Earthen, Hacienda Heights

I'm really proud of my homegirls at work for branching out into non-Americanized Chinese joints. Recently, I took them to Earthen in Hacienda Heights where I ate my latest MEOW (that's MEal Of the Week for those of you joining us late) and although they each ordered chow mein for themselves, they did try some of the delicious house chicken and green onion pancakes that I ordered.

"Try some," I said, pointing to the perfectly golden brown pancake in front of me,"it's a green onion pancake."

"Do you put syrup on it?"

Whether or not that question was a joke I don't know, but I simply led by example and took a bite of one of the triangular slices sans syrup. Thin and crispy, the pancake glowed with hints of scallion and fresh oil. My friends followed my lead, and ended up thoroughly enjoying this savory Chinese staple that I had introduced them to.

Since cold chicken anywhere outside of a salad was a novel concept to my coworkers, I don't think they quite got that the House Chicken I ordered was supposed to be chilled. Marinated in a spicy-garlicky-vinegary sauce and laid over some crisp cucumber, the cool temperature of this Shandong-style chicken dish actually enhances its flavor. A perfect dish for a typical hot Southern California day.

We got back to the office and I heard that my friends had told some people about Earthen and that they liked it. Another day, another job well done.

Earthen Restaurant
1639 S. Asuza Ave.
Hacienda Heights, CA 91745
(626) 964-1570
Cash only; Closed on Tuesdays

Top Entertaining Trend of 2009: Get Off On Offals

Charcuterie and cheese platters are sooooooo 2008.

I propose that foodies everywhere go with a more purist approach and just straight up serve offals at their next dinner/cocktail party. How abso-fucking-lutely cute would pig intestinal sections and chicken gizzards look with the little fringey cocktail toothpicks sticking out of them?

Or how about one of my favorites--pig ears, preferably Chinese style. These gelatinous sheets of goodness have a chewy and crunchy texture akin to head cheese; having been boiled in dark soy sauce and seasoned with chile oil makes them that much better. Lay them out on your best servingware in bresaola or carpaccio fashion for maximum presentation effect. I've never done a wine pairing with these, but am open to suggestions if anyone has one; my drink of choice when noshing on pig ears is an ice cold beer--something about the slightly bitter and carbonated chill just pairs so well with the salty/sweet/spicy snap of pig-skin-and-cartilage jello.

For entertaining on the fly, you can conveniently pick up some grab-and-go pig ears at your local 99 Ranch Market. Delicious pig ears can also be found at Chung King Restaurant in Monterey Park. Check out friend and fellow food blogger Eddie Lin's excellent pig ear adventure at Chung King here.

I think I'm on to something here, don't you think?

99 Ranch Market
Various locations throughout the West Coast
www.99ranch.com

Chung King Restaurant
206 South Garfield Ave
Monterey Park, CA 91754
(626) 280-7430