Chung King

Death to the Panda

One of the great benefits of this blog upon which I’m engaged is the discovery of a dish that startles, inspires, and leaves a blissful memory that couldn’t be erased with eight shots of Bushmills. I’m referring to the water boiled fish at Chung King in San Gabriel. The server dropped this hot pot indifferently on our table as if it weren’t a great piece of art, the culinary equivalent of an Italian epic poem. This fish, swimming in its own juices, seasoned vegetables and about seven levels of heat, didn’t have a chance. It was dead alright. But with Chung King’s generous amounts of chiles, red and blazing, heat upon heat, with pumps of garlic, did it also have to send the poor critter to the sixth circle of hell? But the flavors! The server returns with another surprise: Pickled pigs ears. Should I eat these with a side of garlic-laced cucumbers? Yes, and they were fine, thank you. My mother, one of the bravest people I know, dared to venture down this pickled pig path. These ears, though not as fierce as the fish, were hot. Chung King is the kind of restaurant that puts a heat kick into everything. I bet they would even toss a couple of chiles into the water if you asked them.
Dinner with mom was great and she’s even a bigger extravert than me. We had a lot to discuss, family issues, obligations, and dilemmas. Oh heck, we were just gossiping, who am I kidding? As fascinating as it all was, we kept getting distracted by the food. What’s this dish my server has just plopped down? Kung Pao Chicken. No, get Panda Express out of your head, dear reader. This chicken is all heat, vinegar, and garlic. I sweated this meal out like I was in the ring with Sugar Shane Mosley for nine rounds. This was one angry chicken. I take what’s left of the food home and its pungent aromas haunt my house for days. I could see a chicken in my dreams, pecking at a bear carcass: “Die, Panda, die!”