Old Standbys: Cin Cin Restaurant in Chestnut Hill

Pandiarrhea's Box: Takeout Hurts Sometimes

Chinese takeout was/is/always will be delicious. It's loaded with MSG and often fried and you get to eat it out of a cool box that supposedly unfolds into a plate. But it's also murder on the midsection, especially if the really cool box/plates are handed to you through bulletproof glass. Still, it's as American as racism and diabetes, and if you can find a place that's both cheap and high quality, you've got a great excuse not to cook.

My local is Cin Cin in Chestnut Hill. Although much more restaurant than takeout, they do a great job with the latter. It's great for when Baggage Claim is free on demand and you skipped dinner with the kids but started drinking and now you're hungry and you haven't had General Tso's Chicken in a while and since you're watching a romantic comedy you need an excuse for the tears you'll inevitably shed at the end of it (I blamed the dry peppers). Do you have a local? Or do you prefer to wait for a trek to Chinatown, licking peanut butter off a spoon in the meantime since you've removed your pants for the evening? Buen provecho.

Why Did I Eat This? Shanghai Edition

In Shanghai, the Colonel's face is literally everywhere. Peppered in between wet markets and high end retail stores, the unmistakable smell of fried chicken even cuts through the malodorous fog of the diesel fueling the country's endless growth spurt.  Typically, "Why Did I Eat This?" is a result of marketing, but I had a different reason this time around.  I read that Yum! Brands—the fast food behemoth whose weapons in the war against health also include Taco Bell and Pizza Hut—pushed into emerging markets by catering to local tastes, and I was curious to see how these local tastes were interpreted as fast food.  But I fucked up (typical).  Instead of seeing how the classically good KFC meal of a two-piece, mashed potatoes, and a biscuit stacked up to the American version, I wound up ordering the New Orleans Chicken sandwich, a non-breaded breast filet doused in not-very-hot sauce on a sesame seed bun (who orders non-fried chicken at a fried chicken joint?).  As expected, the sandwich was pretty terrible, although the amount of mayo they put on it kind of made up for things.  The videos give you the whole story (if you turn up the volume), plus an awkward interaction with a deaf Chinese panhandler, who, had he not been deaf, would have panhandled himself a faceful of high fructose corn syrup.  Buen provecho.

Pillow Status: Dining On the Slept On

I suppose it's ramen's and pho's fault that Nan Zhou Hand Drawn Noodle House in Philly's Chinatown has reached pillow status, but it's a boon for the likes of us who have limited time for lunching.  Shoehorned into a row of storefronts slanging shrinkwrapped rubber products and dehydrated foodstuffs of questionable USDA status, you might miss it if you blink.  Once inside, you're not greeted by much--a few restaurant depot tables and chairs, but looking back into the open kitchen is a sight to behold.  Just beyond the cash register, you'll see a Chinese dude tossing about an enormous blob of dough that will eventually become your noodles.  Served with your choice of protein in a bowl of broth that tastes like has been simmering since before I was born, the noodles have a just-made-this-second gummy texture (a very good thing).  You can also get them on a plate topped with either peanut sauce or "pork soy sauce," a gingery and salty meat sauce that might just be the Chinese version of bolognese.  It was exactly what I wanted to eat and I had no idea until the first bite.  All in all, a stellar find.  Before comfort food season gives way to lighter fare, it would be in your best interest to forgo the pho and the ramen to give Nan Zhou a whirl.  And if you're not in the mood for soup, just order the noodles straight up.  You won't regret it.  Buen provecho.

Nan Zhou is located at 927 Race St in Philly's Chinatown. It's a tiny hole in the wall, so be careful not to stumble into what might be an opium den behind the wrong door (or try your luck). I got a huge plate of noodles for $6 including tip.

How Much Is That Birdie in the Window?

You learn something new every day, but on the days you have lunch with Ethan, you want to make sure you pay attention.  Case in point: The best English translation for the scallion-tattooed chicken hanging in the windows of many a Chinatown restaurant is "smoothly and fragrant" chicken. Sounds fuckin' weird, but it's the best thing on the menu. The lacquered one hanging right next to it is called soy chicken (not to be confused with the spongy alt-meat reserved for those who want chicken flavor without the moral dilemma), and it's equally delicious. At five bucks a pop, even if the translation is offputting, it's definitely worth the gamble. Buen provecho.

The Craving

I meant to write this back on 8/2, but time has certainly taken on a new meaning now that we have a new roommate.

I have to commend dear Mrs. Gastro for shattering each and every pregnancy stereotype out there, but I would be a filthy liar if I didn't say I was a little disappointed at the lack of cravings. If nothing else, it would have given me carte blanche to eat Taco Bell completely guilt free at her whimsy. But craving or not, every once in a while hunger would give way to something exotic and/or greasy. This time around, it was soup dumplings, something I haven't had since moving from NYC, and something that I sometimes miss even more than my SLC-based parents.

Baby Gastro's refusal to arrive on time left us with little do to but be angry about it. After the due date came and went, we almost felt like it wasn't going to happen, and my darling wife would be pregnant for the rest of her days (which would be kind of sweet because I'd have a permanent designated driver). This anger quickly became hunger, and before we knew it, we were avoiding eye contact with junkies and huffing gas fumes as we made our way into Dim Sum Garden, a well documented diamond in the rough and supposedly the only place in Philadelphia that serves up these gastronomic gobs of goodness.

I always find myself at Chinese restaurants during the staff lunch break, and this time was no exception. If I was in the middle of eating a three foot pile of lo mein, I wouldn't want to be disturbed either, so I had no expectations for prompt service. Besides, Mrs. Gastro wasn't going into labor anytime soon. When the waitress finally ambled over, we managed to spoil our dinner with soup dumplings, scallion pancakes, and a deep fried pork chop nestled among noodles that were more fettucine than lo mein. The dumplings were perfection, dredging up memories of the first time I ate them, anticipating a burnt mouth but caring very little as I bit into one resting on a spoon used to catch the broth, which was so rich and full of fat that it would become chewable at lower temperatures (that's a good thing). The scallion pancake was another success, a flaky crust surrounding a pastry dough interior, studded with green onions, and deceptively light. The deep fried pork chop was an afterthought, but by no means regretful. It was another rich dish, so meaty that if you told me the noodles were made of meat, I would have believed you.

What's odd about the whole experience, apart from that whole dining under an elevated parking garage next to a makeshift bus depot, is that we still can't figure out how soup dumplings even came up. Regardless, we'd go back every day if we could. Some things are just that delicious. Buen provecho.

Dim Sum Garden is located at 59 N 11th Street in Philadelphia, where the convention center meets Chinatown. It's not the best location, but your mom told you not to judge a book by its cover, and I suggest you do what your mom tells you. We got three menu items and two Cokes for $25 including tip. Cash or credit card, no booze.

Why Did I Eat This?

I wholeheartedly regret having an egg roll for lunch for the second day in a row. This one was a greasy mess of overcooked cabbage stuffed into a chewy shell (that's a bad thing). Buen provecho.

Naptime, Willpower, and the Job Market

I just got back to the office with some mediocre sesame chicken from the Chinese food truck on the east side of 18th Street between JFK and Market. The dude in the cubicle next to me is enjoying a lunchtime nap, snoring loudly, mouth agape (camera phones: what can't they capture?). Considering the current job market, it's probably a real stupid idea to play chicken pong* with him, but boy is it hard to resist. Buen provecho.

*Chicken chunks are the ping pong balls, his mouth is the cup. If I succeed in making the shot, hilarity ensues.