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Night 24: Joe's Noodle House
My month is drawing to a close. I am down to a handful
of choices. Tonight: Joe's Noodle House in Rockville.
As much as I would love to call myself an "old
China hand," (one of those glamorous sobriquets
I've always wished I could apply to myself like, "I
do my own stunts," or "I'm wearing a wire.")
my experience with Chinese food has not gone much beyond
dan dan noodles and moo shu pork. I'm not a baby, about
it; I just haven't had the opportunity to order from
a Chinese menu that hasn't been modified for the gringos.
The menu at Joe's Noodle House has not been modified
for the gringos. The menu at Joe's Noodle House is not
for sissies. The owners of Divino Lounge may have thoughtfully
altered their parrillada by discreet omission
of certain traditional items, but the chefs at Joe's
are not selling out to anybody's western sensibilities.
There are pages of menu, with 183 different items (I
counted). This is exotic unadulterated gastronomy: jelly
fish; pork intestine, tripe, kidney and ear; Szechuan
beef jerky; duck tongue and feet. But it is also poetry:
Bitter melon, Drunken Chicken, Chive Pocket and Eight-Treasure
Sweet Rice.
I rather bashfully but earnestly seek guidance (i.e.
beg for advice) from Audrey Jan, the co-owner and hostess
for the evening. Luckily, she is gracious and understanding,
and helps me choose three dishes that are typical but
not overtly Indiana Jones. Ms. Jan started the Noodle
House four years ago with Tianwen Pei, a friend from
mainland China. While their menu is extensive — it goes
way beyond noodles — their kitchen is small. A peek
reveals one range tucked into a miscellaneous wedge
of space and one small room crammed with more burners
and personnel, all air rights given over to dangling
woks, pots and other paraphernalia. The cooks look startled,
so I quickly withdraw.
The food is fantastic. The squid is cleaved into big
hunks, not the delicate rings I am used to, battered
and fried and served with salt, a nice change from the
Italo-yuppie usual. A huge glass bowl of dark and oily
broth that hides buttery slices of beef and bok choy
is amazing. Pepper flakes the size of Wheaties stick
to the food; the effect is incendiary. (Improbably,
the theme from "The Godfather" is winding
away in the background.) The waitress glides back and
forth. (She reminds me of the waitresses who used to
roll the dim sum carts at my favorite place in New York.
Occasionally one would go right by our table. When we
made a motion for the waitress to stop, she would mutter
in passing, "Not for you.") Now I'm providing
Joe's waitress a hearty chuckle with my spasmodic coughing.
She must like mischief. "A-too spicy for you?"
she asks every time she brushes by. Next comes baby
eggplant, artfully cut in halves, in garlic sauce. These
are like jewels. They are moist, just anointed by their
garlic bath. The insides are butter, the outsides shine.
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