Emily Tian, age 17: “China Canteen: A Humble Shrine to the Sichuan Kitchen”
China Canteen, off Hungerford Drive in Rockville, Maryland, is known to its Chinese customers as 老四川: Old Sichuan. The restaurant has planted itself on the border of a nondescript strip mall for eighteen years — old indeed for an area where restaurants surface and sink in droves.
Between the inked horse paintings and specials handwritten in sloping green Expo, the restaurant wears its age plainly. Chinese parents and kids are seated in cracked maroon booths, deftly breaking apart bamboo chopsticks and pouring steaming cups of tea. Even our broad-shouldered Hispanic server has waited tables here for over a decade. He takes our party’s orders in Mandarin.
We first try a traditional dish, 夫妻肺片, which translates literally to husband-wife-lung-slices. It’s not really lung, the menu coaches us, but the marriage of thinly sliced beef tendon and chili oil, constellated with peanuts, is nevertheless a breathless one.
The Sichuan fish is electric. Filleted tilapia simmers under a blistery rain of peppers. Its spice-bombed fragrance, lightened by bean sprouts, infuses the room; our neighbors turn to ask us what we ordered.
To the chef’s credit, milder dishes don’t erode against the numbing ones. I find myself reaching again for the pi pa tofu: silken tofu beaten with shrimp then gently fried. The size of a toddler’s fist, each ball is soaked in a delicate broth of shiitake mushrooms and bok choy. For $17.99, we share a platter of tea-smoked duck, which arrives wreathed by sprigs of green onion and airy buns painted with sweet bean paste.
As with many Chinese joints, however, the bowls of white rice have become something of a chef’s shrug. And skip the scallion pancakes: the cumbersome dough all but smothers the pale ringlets of scallion. Lunch specials will set customers back $7.99, but they sport none of the traditional plates that charge the rest of the menu.
The restaurant is run by two brothers and their father, all from the Sichuan Province. Mr. Yu, the younger brother, who greets regulars and recommends dishes to new diners with a Buddha-like warmth, says they have no plans for renovations. Every three years, they’ve renewed their license; if business is decent, they see no reason to change.
Of course, it might not be so simple: Along Rockville Pike alone, China Canteen must train its steady firepower against nearly-translucent soup dumplings, A&J’s dense, chewy noodles, and sunny, Instagram-happy newcomers like the pan-Asian food hall, The Spot.
But the Yu brothers brush those thoughts aside. For now, they’re most comfortable in the kitchen, braising fish, cubing duck blood, dicing chicken, slicking the wok with red oil and peppercorns.
And I, for one, am not looking for anything else.
Ben Miller: “Cooking Mestizo”
Sometimes the name says it all.
Painted eight feet high on the back wall of Silver Spring, Maryland’s La Malinche is the restaurant’s namesake, a beautiful Nahua princess who aided the Spanish in their conquest of the Aztec Empire. Though lauded by history as the conjoiner of Spanish and Amerindian culture, La Malinche is reviled by many Latin Americans, denounced as a traitor who abetted the oppression and extermination of their ancestors. But within the confines of this tapas spot, past troubles are pushed aside in favor of small plates which effortlessly fuse Hispanic cuisine of the old and new worlds.
Founded by three brothers in November 2012, La Malinche impresses from first glance. Its warm color scheme and heavily decorated walls evoke the rich, historic spirit of Seville, from which tapas originate. Simultaneously, the restaurant’s décor, showcasing Central American art and imagery, reminds guests of the equally forceful presence of the new world in Hispanic culture.
La Malinche’s bicultural ambience perfectly prefaces its tapas. Given the restaurant’s diverse menu of meats, vegetables, and seafood, it is almost imperative to try it all. Luckily, La Malinche offers a $20 all-you-can-eat lunch special, offering an affordable means of sampling all the restaurant has to offer.
While La Malinche offers capable renditions of both Spanish classics, including pan catalana and tortilla española, and Latin standbys, like fried yuca and empanadas, the restaurant truly shines when blending both cuisines. The highlight of the menu is carne asada, grilled skirt steak topped with guacamole, onions and green peppers. The cilantro and coriander of the guacamole complement the traditional Spanish seasoning of the steak, creating a complex, layered taste which mandates a second helping. Likewise, the patatas bravas, fried wedged potatoes, are elevated through a distinctly Mexican chipotle aioli, which adds nuance to the typically crispy but bland Spanish dish. Other standout plates include the Mejillnoes al Vapór, steamed lemongrass mussels with a fresh Mediterranean flair, and the grilled asparagus spears, which are seared to a light char and smothered in salt and olive oil.
For all its success, certain menu options fall flat. The albondigas, traditional Spanish meatballs, are dry and over-seasoned, creating a musty taste. Similarly, the chorizo and pico de gallo are plainly underwhelming. Beyond the food, La Malinche appears chronically understaffed, leading to forgotten orders and habitually empty glasses.
Despite the hiccups, La Malinche offers an enjoyable culinary experience. By the time dessert (warm churros and buoyant caramel flan) is complete, a diner will have partaken in a unique cross-cultural dining experience. As the restaurant’s name promises, La Malinche presents an enjoyable blend of Spanish and Latin culture, though one decidedly less violent and controversial than its titular historical precedent.
Chicken or Pasta?”
Chase Moriarty, age 16
I don’t care if we’re over international waters, there must be standards for food. Travel 3,500 feet up, and all these standards are broken. On my American Airlines flight this weekend, I received a complimentary lunch, like dozens of other passengers on my plane. An assortment of mismatched items, “originating” from all over the world. The main course, served in a tin foil bowl, was an option of spinach pasta or chicken. Not only are those labels incredibly vague, but they didn’t hold true to the actual meals served. The pasta, which they only disclosed had spinach, was in a thick cream sauce, and the chicken about half the size of a dollar bill. Still these main courses were hardly the downfall of the meal, it was the accompanying array of snacks.
The vaguely familiar trays of food (reminiscing on the time of TV dinners) also included crackers, a whipped cheese, honey bread, a salad and a piece of “cherry crumb cake.” All of these items, misbranded and disappointing, created an expert facade.
Where does a salad constitute a few browning pieces of lettuce, some soggy shards of carrots, and one-half of a grape tomato (yes, not even a whole grape tomato), all paired with a butter pat sized container of “Authentic Italian Salad Dressing”?
Where do you buy “fresh” bread that is cold to the touch?
Is it legal to serve jellied cough syrup under the guise of cherry crumb cake?
Out of fear, I put the bread down, and drowned my veggies with a coating of dressing, giving it enough moisture to slide down my throat.
Considering my situation, I gained a new understanding of the classic “How About That Airline Food” comedy trope. The humor doesn’t remain in the original joke, but it has forced me to think about our situation today. In a world of such constantly evolving technology, somehow no one has been able to recreate airline food to be better. We’ve burned through generations of Boeings and even with the inclusion of personal TV screens, power plugs, and even Wi-Fi, these airlines can’t pull it together enough to pull off one miniature meal.
Maybe it’s all a ploy. By rewarding higher paying customers with better tasting and better quality meals, they can keep you paying ridiculous amounts for some extra leg room and a bigger seat. Maybe since they know you can’t get food anywhere else they can just save their money and feed you the dregs of the food industry. Maybe they don’t care.
Little tip: pick the chicken, there is some rice hidden beneath it, a lonely source of protein in a world of preserved mush.