Off the Beaten Menu in Chinatown

It’s the small kiddie pools of turtles for sale that give you the first heads up that you are no longer in Manhattan proper.

Paddling aimlessly in a Barbie pool, patiently floating around, waiting for what will ultimately become their demise, they herald the first indication that the comparably serene streets of Manhattan are crouching well behind you, goading you into in the Wild West known as New York’s Chinatown.

Becoming cohesive in the late 1800’s as a place where Chinese immigrants massed, New York’s Chinatown has lived a roller coaster life of extreme ups and downs. In times not far passed, it used to be the place in New York where your parents scrambled furiously over each other to lock the car doors as a homeless man ambled up to it with a small coffee cup thrust out, looking for change.

Rent was notoriously cheap off of Canal Street, the main drag in Chinatown. Split with the venerable families of rats and roaches, a two bedroom was reasonable. Then the 80’s burst onto the scene like a bug eyed, crazed drug fiend, gobbling anything in its line of sight. Yuppies had landed.

The cancer of gentrification beat Chinatown like a misbehaving dog. Apartments that once teetered on condemnation at the hands of city inspectors became insanely desired. Artists fell to the whim of landlords who, looking on incredulously, rented these semi-slums out for mind blowing sums to wealthy renters who needed the validation of being an actual city dweller.

Once dilapidated Chinese restaurants, catering mainly to fresh immigrants who were no worse for the wear eating there, suddenly had to face the wrath of health inspectors who gave no quarter to the fetid kitchens they ran.

Menus now had to offer Americanized generic Chinese slop, so far removed from the fresh and clean flavors of real Chinese cooking that even mainland China disavows the most remote connection to that food. But the sad fact was, it paid the bills and brought fat wallets through the doors.

Now, the spot that was once a veritable outpost of all things wildly exotic and slightly dangerous is an international destination for chic on a budget. With the popularity of knockoffs and the easy availability of cheap labor, Chinatown has polished up her image and spit shined her streets.

People clot the sidewalks, hawking Chanel bags so close to the real thing that some scam artists have taken to selling them on eBay as real. Famous named watches, crusted in either glass diamonds or shiny fake gold, are tabled and passed around to hungry buyers, eager to sport the baling that many a famous rapper drapes around their wrists.

After the throngs have stockpiled obnoxious jewelry and fake bags, food is usually the next stop. For those with an adventurous palate and a spirit you only see on those “I Cram Anything into My Always Open Caw” food fests on the Food Network, a no nonsense, off the menu gustatory stop is easy to find.

After you sit down and are made mentally numb with the ramblings of some waiter’s list of Americanized Chinese fare, startle your friendly server with a request for something off menu. Do a chef’s dim sum, a parade of small offerings that range from dumplings filled with sweet meat and bean fillings to rolls crammed with pork.

Marvel at the ways a humble pig, that sweet porcine sack of flavor that was once saved by Charlotte and her web, can be prepared. Savor the ears, slightly springy, served with chilies that will clear out your sinus cavities as though someone stuck a stick of dynamite deep within them.

Move off shore and sample jelly fish, that odd denizen of the deep that you mother used to fret about while you swam obliviously. Taste it pickled with a hint of sesame. Or, tackle a dish of razor clams in garlic and black beans. Long, thin clams, reminiscent of an old barber’s blade, slightly briny and dappled with flecks of garlic and bean. Make that turtle you saw in Barbie’s pool your first course. This is real Chinese food in New York.

So, for those of you who want to wander Canal Street, fake Louis Vuitton dangling over your arm, Rolex watch hanging loosely off your wrist, “Rollex” emblazoned defiantly on the face, at least give that great neighborhood the faintest show of respect.

Forgo your primal urge to cram another helping of General Tso’s chicken into your mouth. Go off the menu. Go real Chinese.

–Tim Connors, RED Editorial Staff.