Maggie Sivit

When the final stake was hammered into the transcontinental railway in 1869, many Chinese immigrant workers found themselves without a home. One year later, Chicago’s Chinese population was first documented, and from this original population, today’s Chinatown developed. Bolstered by a second wave of immigration in the ’50s and ’60s, the area has developed two distinct sections.  “Old Chinatown” runs down Wentworth Street, and is a string of family restaurants and shops that have been in the neighborhood for years. Here, the iconic Pui Tak Center, designed in an exaggerated pagoda-style by Norwegian architects in 1926, ushers in Chinatown visitors. “New Chinatown” on Archer Avenue  attracts a diverse, younger clientele. Two of the neighborhood’s most popular restaurants, Joy Yee’s and Lao Szechuan, are located here, drawing crowds from across the city. Nearby, statues of the twelve zodiac animals stand guard over college kids clutching cups of bubble tea.

The streets mimic the bustle of Hong Kong’s crowded roads, with cars and jaywalkers fighting for road space. The shop signs here are bilingual (traditional Chinese characters displayed more prominently) and most, if not all, of the shop owners speak Cantonese. But this district is a quieter replica than the Chinatowns in New York and San Francisco. It lacks the claustrophobia, the ear-splitting market yelps, and the breathless pace that any modern Chinese city notoriously features. On weekends, the streets are more lively with echoes from karaoke bars, but overall, the neighborhood has a subdued spirit characteristic of the city of Burnham’s wide boulevards.

Best Place of Solace
Enlightenment Temple
Tucked away between a tea shop and the World Treasures Emporium, this little Buddhist retreat is concealed from the ordinary, wandering tourist. Its humble storefront is only distinguished by an overhanging yellow sign, informing visitors that behind the display glass is the Buddhist Enlightenment Temple. Those so inclined can pray, light incense, and set their offerings on the altar inside. Otherwise, visitors can browse the temple’s gift store and purchase talismans, rosaries, and devotional statues. The sanctuary is maintained by dedicated nuns under the International Buddhist Friendship Association, who not only lead prayer and scripture sessions, bust also care for the temple’s famed thousand-armed Guan Yin Bodhisattva. 2249 S. Wentworth. Daily, 9am-6:30pm. (312)881-0177 (Wenjia Zhao)

Best Chinese-Style Breakfast
Chi-Café
For those looking to deviate from a run-of-the-mill American breakfast, this stylish, contemporary restaurant on Archer Avenue is a must-try. In addition to typical Chinese restaurant fare like congee and fried dough, Chi-Café offers harder-to-find delights such as honey garlic chicken wings and baked rice bowls. On weekends, while most of the other restaurants on the street are closed, this place is full of hungry customers. Diners can sit and relax on its comfy white booths, and enjoy the sunlight reflecting off the glass art panels on the walls. Early-risers and nights-owls can both rejoice: Chi-Café opens early and closes past midnight. A meal for two (including tips) typically costs between $8-12, and so even the budget-conscious can have their fill. 2160-A S. Archer Avenue, Sunday–Thursday, 8am–2am; Friday- Saturday, 8am–5am. (312)842-9943 (Wenjia  Zhao)

Best For the Novelties Collector
World Treasures Emporium
With so many gift shops in Chinatown, it might be easy for the passing traveler to simply accept shelves crammed with a boilerplate repertoire of overpriced miniature Buddhas, plastic flowers, and lucky cat charms. Fortunately, World Treasures Emporium sets itself apart. Despite the name, this shop does not actually carry wares from across the globe, or even attempt to go beyond Chinese borders.  Excuse the stretch, though: they sell higher quality trinkets than most of their counterparts, and the store is neatly organized—you’ll find no random piles of wholesale items here. Its comfortable aisles offer breathing space for the visitor to marvel at merchandise supplied nowhere else in Chinatown—a golden hand-painted ship, for instance, or scented sandalwood fans. True to its name, this shop may actually contain modest treasures for the keen of sight. 2253 S. Wentworth Avenue, (312)808-1818 (Wujun Ke)

Best All-Rounder
Richland Center
With a conspicuous glass rotunda and red block lettering resembling that of an office supply chain, the entrance to Richland Center towers over a corner on Wentworth Avenue just north of the Red Line stop. Home of the Richland Real Estate Group, this three-story building also houses an indoor/outdoor food court and shopping center on its ground floor. While Bollywood crossover hit “Jai Ho” inexplicably plays on a never-ending loop, the food stalls are truly reminiscent of those in China—compact, flamboyant, and arranged around a café area. Shoppers may enjoy a quick Chinese bun or sit down at an Asian buffet, teppanyaki grill, or sushi bar. From the purikura sticker booths where friends can squeeze into a snapshot to the practitioners of acupuncture, Richland Center offers a range of merchandise, food, and services found all over China but nowhere else in Chinatown. 2002 S. Wentworth Ave. Opening and Closing times vary by vendor. (312)225-2828 (Wujun Ke)

Best Grocery Market
Richwell Market
If you’re looking for food so fresh it’s alive, forget your local Dominick’s or Jewel Osco and head over to this supermarket on the border of Chinatown. Not only can you get crawling crabs in the back, but a more typical selection of fresh fruits and vegetables is also available. Though the live fish market is the biggest draw, don’t forget to grab a tasty bun from the bakery. The condiment aisle features all sorts of ingredients for every variety of Asian cooking, from the ubiquitous Sriracha chili sauce to Bagoong, a Filipino fish sauce. Located slightly off the beaten trail, and away from the general Chinatown vicinity, make sure you don’t fill too many bags with your purchases—it’s a 20-minute walk to the Red Line. 1835 S. Canal St. Daily, 9am–7:30pm. (312)226-9611 (Wenjia Zhao)

Spanning three blocks on Wentworth, the Lunar New Year Parade rang in one of the most important holidays on the Chinese calendar, melding traditional symbols with local politics and color. Men dressed as Cai Shen, the god of prosperity, waved at the spectators between groups of local high school marching bands that blared intermittently.  Two men held American flags in a gazebo riding on what looked like a tissue-paper-covered tank. Brightly colored dragons with furry trappings bobbed and slithered down the street, greeted by cheers from the sidelines.  A couple of University of Illinois students got swept up in the moment; one of them screamed and wagged her finger, “Woo, it’s a dragon! A silver dragon! I’m gonna catch it!” The other, slightly more reserved, belted out “This is the greatest parade in Chicago.” And then, reaching her arm out and groping the air, “I want a fortune cookie! The short girl back here wants one!”

At TenRen, a tea shop down the street, a local TV crew interviewed Frank Fine, the store president, about his wares. Fine, an affable elderly man from Southern China, patiently listed off the benefits of the teas and herbs he sells. The interviewer nodded and repeated, at a high pitch, certain select words and phrases: “longevity,” and “oh, so it’s nutritional,” and “brings good fortune…” Fine broke her train of presumptuous thought when he told her that the ginseng from Wisconsin was of higher quality than that from China. The reason? “Virgin land.”

Savory Radish Cake (avlxyz/flickr)

Opened in October 2009, Sweet Station is Cantonese restaurateur and amateur graphic designer Kevin Wu’s second restaurant in Chinatown Square. Aesthetically similar to Chi Café, opened three years earlier, Sweet Station offers an expanded menu of Cantonese barbeques, dim sum dishes, and Hong Kong specialties as well as Chinese pastries made in-house.

Wu conceptualized Sweet Station as a bakery-café-restaurant along the lines of trendy places he’d seen on frequent visits to Hong Kong and San Francisco’s Chinatown.

“I saw a lot of great restaurants over there, on the other side, that combined fresh and healthy ingredients with style, and I thought, we need to make one in Chicago’s Chinatown,” Wu said.

The fact that Wu studied graphic design in college, does design consulting work for friends, and runs a construction company alongside his two restaurants comes across in the meticulous matching of the dining room’s design elements, and the way these elements reflect the restaurant’s health-conscious take on traditional Cantonese food.

Wu designed Sweet Station using the aesthetic and colors of the restaurant’s logo. White spirals alluding to the logo’s Chinese sweet cake symbol cover the southern wall, and everything, from the white laminate booths to a double row of granny smith apples bisecting the narrow restaurant’s central booths, use the four colors of the logo.

Sweet Station’s simple, minimalist design was intended to reflect the freshness and health of its items, not a minimalist menu. The shallowness of the open kitchen at the back of the dining room is deceptive: a custom dumbwaiter connects the small, one-stove kitchen to a twenty-chef studio spanning the dining room’s length. Sweet Station’s menu lists over two hundred dishes, not including milk teas, specials, and bakery options. Including Cantonese hot pots and specialties like tea tree mushroom and roasted pork, radish cakes, and ginseng and silkie chicken stew, Sweet Station’s menu is as extensive and exotic as that of another Chinatown staple, Joy Yee’s. The restaurant also serves Americanized Chinese food staples like Crab Rangoon, egg rolls, General Tsao’s and Kung Pao chicken, and unlike Joy Yee’s, includes low-cost dim sum lover’s comfort dishes, like barbecue pork buns, rice noodle wraps, and fish balls.

Wu’s passion for design in no way implies that he puts food on the back burner, so to speak. Prior to opening his own restaurants, Wu worked in the kitchen of upscale Chinese restaurants in Peoria and Naperville, and he continues to work in the kitchen alongside Sweet Station’s head chef, a Hong Kong native. “I like to cook. I like to see good food,” Wu said. And he’s quick to emphasize that design, not cooking, is the hobby.

The food served at Sweet Station is not gourmet, fusion, or cutting edge, but it’s solid, and visitors can expect quality along the lines of upscale chain restaurants like the Cheesecake Factory. Pretty much anything you order at Sweet Station, from Chinatown standards to dim sum dishes to more exotic offerings like fresh lily bulbs and pork stomach, will be light, healthy, and well prepared.

Considering the restaurant’s ambiance and fresh, quality dishes, Sweet Station is a bargain. Traditional noodle, fish, and meat dishes run on the low side of Chinatown prices, and the restaurant also serves cheap bakery and dim sum offerings at all hours. Add to this the fact that it’s one of the few places in Chinatown where fried appetizers don’t leave rings of grease on the dishware, and that it may be the only place where you can fill a Chinese bun craving after 9pm, and Sweet Station is worth repeated visits.
Sweet Station, 2101 S. China Pl. Daily, 6am-2am. (312)842-2228. mysweetstation.com

(Ellis Calvin)

This time last year, the Weekly came out with its first guide to 24-hour restaurants on the South Side. In that issue, we covered classics like Izola’s, Depot, and the original Maxwell Street Polish stands. We’re back this year with a few more selections from the South Side nightscape. From the welcoming diners of Bridgeport and Pilsen to a dim sum restaurant in Chinatown to a fishery along the Chicago River, we present the second course of our after-dark dining manual.

Scott’s Hamburger Heaven
1546 W. 35th St. (773)890-1042
Sitting down at a booth in Scott’s Hamburger Heaven, you get to wondering if the name is meant to be sacrilegious. Decked out for Halloween, campy ghoulish figures hang from the water-stained drop ceiling and little plastic spiders stud the windowsill, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the place were almost as creepy and bug-ridden year-round. The Bridgeport joint’s bill of fare is almost identical to that of its progenitor, the legendary Kevin’s Hamburger Heaven, and covers a range of accidentally ingenious spins on standard diner staples. In true truck-stop form, Scott’s serves breakfast in perpetuity. The hash browns are delightfully greasy, and the omelets are rather airy but come blanketed in a thin, pernicious sheet of melted “cheese.” A whole section of Scott’s menu is devoted to hamburgers, although with a dish called “The One and Only,” how could you order any other burger in good conscience? The signature patty is homemade, over-salted, and stacked with sweet grilled onions, limp pickle slices, and cheese. Meat lovers face the perennial catch-22 of taste and hygiene, as the menu forewarns, “Tenderness not guaranteed on ‘Well Done’ Steaks, or Medium well.” If it’s any consolation, you can order all the meat-n-egg combinations you’ve been craving at Scott’s. The “Pork Chop-N-Egg Sandwich” might actually be decent, while the “T-Bone Omelette” is recommended only for the hardiest patrons. As a side, consider the “Summertime Special Fruit Salad,” which is colorfully described as a “melody of in season fruits,” or perhaps some spicy “Japapinios.” Scott’s may not be paradise, but there are some similarities: like the Pearly Gates, you’ve got to pay in advance (cash only) and the staff reserves the right to refuse you service. If the afterlife is anything like Scott’s Hamburger Heaven, take comfort in the fact that you can look forward to an eternity of heartburn and hilarious typos. (Rachel Wiseman)

Don’s Grill
1837 S. Western Ave. (312)733-9351
A warmly lit, cozy diner on the border between Pilsen and Little Village, Don’s Grill can brighten up your late night. Its cheerful faux-brick space is plastered with kitschy posters, and its fluffy pancakes taste like Bisquick and smell like an American morning. Stick with breakfast food for guaranteed satisfaction; the cherry pie ($2.50), though it looks good, is only mediocre. The French toast ($3.69) is better than average, and the hash browns ($1.69) are better than serviceable. For a midnight pick-me-up, Don’s won’t let you down. (Sam Feldman)

“Little” Three Happiness
209 W. Cermak Rd. (312) 842-1964
Three Happiness’ s original location doesn’t have a large dining room, and on weekend nights it can fill up fast. If you’re craving Chinese late one weeknight, though, Three Happiness is the place for you, conveniently located only one block from the Red Line Cermak-Chinatown stop. It’s not the quickest or cheapest late-night joint—you won’t find anything on the menu for under $3—but while you wait you can enjoy samplings from the weird world of Chinese music videos. Among the appetizers, the creamy crab Rangoon is a solid choice, and the potstickers are also good. The egg rolls taste a bit like chalk and mustard, but not in a bad way. The beverage selection is surprisingly classy, with offerings like White Zinfandel, Chablis, Burgundy, and a sweet, thick plum wine that tastes a lot like mead. Reviews tend to vary wildly, perhaps because the quality of the food is uneven, but if you’re not a connoisseur and you’re tired of diners and Polishes, Three Happiness is a good bet. (Sam Feldman)

Steak ‘N’ Egger
1174 W. Cermak Rd. (312)226-5444
On a dark, industrial stretch of Cermak Road, a coal-powered generating station operates round the clock for the seemingly sole purpose of electrifying a brightly-lit diner across the street. “We doze…but never close!” boasts, or, perhaps, admits, the fluorescent, aging sign in the parking lot of Steak ’n’ Egger. The menu is extensive but pitches few surprises, from the eponymous Steak ’n’ Egger to the Chopped Steak ’n’ Egger, the Country Fried Steak ’n’ Egger, or even just the Two Egger with a side of hash browns and toast. Ordering becomes a complex procedure as we wrestle with dinner versus breakfast orders, half orders, combinations, condiments, and salad options. “Dressing?” “Um, vinaigrette?” “Not here, hun.” We should have known. A short wait and the waitress delivers approximately what we ordered. While not exactly bad, the imitation vanilla milkshake, the candy cinnamon in the pumpkin pie, and the coffee in plastic mugs serve mostly as a reminder of how much better it could be. For late night eating, the fried chicken is just what the doctor ordered, even if we didn’t. The biscuits and gravy are top-notch and the cheeseburger is decent. Steak ’n’ Egger falls a bit short of an ideal diner, but those only exist in movies anyway. (Ellis Calvin)

Lawrence’s Fisheries
2120 S. Canal St. (312)225-2113
Driving north on Canal Street near Chinatown, Lawrence’s Fisheries’ towering sign is a beacon of light on a late Thursday night. Inside, people are lined up along a stretch of countertop between two ordering stations, not quite drooling in anticipation of grabbing a steaming brown bag of freshly fried fish. At Lawrence’s, it is scarily easy to eat an entire meal consisting of battered, fried food.

What distinguishes Lawrence’s from other fried seafood I’ve had, even in cities much closer to the sea, is the crunchy batter coating that is far from the greasy mess of past experiences. Our fish was well cooked and flavorful without tasting like it had been swimming in Lake Michigan just a few minutes before. At $6 for a half-pound, the frog legs are a low-cost way to expose your palate to foods you didn’t think could be found on the South Side of Chicago. As for the oysters, a word of caution: they are truly flavor bombs in the style of Grant Achatz. Be careful when biting into one not to squirt hot oyster juice in the face of the person opposite you.

A sign outside advertises “GREAT TASTE & 0% TRANS FAT PER SERVING.” At least if you’re clogging your arteries, you’ll be doing it one-hundred-percent naturally at Lawrence’s. And that’s more than can be said for some establishments. (Mackenzie Cramblit)

White Palace Grill
1159 S. Canal St. (312)939-7167
At the intersection of a canal, a derelict train yard, and retail stores all but abandoned at two in the morning, the White Palace Grill is a literal beacon of light. Step inside and you’ll find the diner you thought only existed in movies. The unyielding flux of inebriated college kids and chrome-laden furnishings make this a lively, yet comfortable joint. White Palace Grill is the sort of diner where you would want to become a regular. The bacon and cheese Chicago Burger comes with the option of soup or salad and crisp, golden fries. The wall that displays Michael Jordan playing Go Fish with Mayor Daley, and waitresses like Teresa make White Palace Grill the best pit stop this side of the Loop. (Carl Brozek)

Chinatown is a busy South Side commercial district with a CTA Red Line stop near its center, so it’s a popular destination. Students beware: This popularity can be troublesome. Chinatown Square’s Lao Sze Chuan and Joy Yee’s are both worthwhile culinary destinations, but you will probably be seated in between your ex and that kid from your humanities class.

best spot to practice tai chi
Ping Tom Memorial Park
On the former site of a rail yard, the pavilions and bamboo gardens of Ping Tom Memorial Park offer one of Chicago’s finest river vistas. Nestled between rows of gray townhouses and two aging bridges, the park is an uncrowded oasis, with gently rolling lawns dotted by boulders and low trees. Amtrak and freight trains roll over the rusty skew bridge to the south every few minutes, but the swans floating in the river and the old men practicing tai chi in the pavilion don’t seem to mind. Encouraged by and posthumously named for a local businessman and civic leader, Ping Tom belatedly compensates Chinatown for the two parks demolished in the Dan Ryan Expressway’s construction. An underpass to the north leads only to a damp baseball diamond at the moment, but the Chicago Park District has plans to add tennis courts and a pool. A word of caution: the park’s single entrance can be maddeningly obscure (the final episode of a reality show challenged contestants to race there from downtown, sans map), but if you head north from Chinatown’s commercial heart on Wentworth and then head west on 19th Street, you won’t miss it. 300 W. 19th St. (Michael Joyce)

best sichuanese
Double Li
There are plenty of Sichuanese restaurants in Chinatown, but Double Li stands out. Sinus-clearing heat is the order of the day, assuming you can manage to convince the staff that your palate is up to Chinese standards. The black pepper garlic beef tenderloin is a star of the menu, and chef Chungjun “Ben” Li claims most chefs don’t know how to make it. He’s probably right—I’ve never seen it elsewhere. Served with a side of steamed broccoli, the tenderloin chunks are covered in a black pepper and diced garlic rub and cooked more or less dry on the surface. The dry chili chicken and bear paw tofu have received favorable reviews too. Unfortunately, the menu isn’t translated very clearly—the idiomatic meaning of the character translated as “maw” is a Chinatown-spanning mystery, and it’s not apparent that many of the tofu dishes contain chicken and egg. But the staff is helpful, and if you can go with a native speaker, all the better. When asked for hours, an employee reported more hours than occur in a typical 24-hour day. Take these as an educated guess and call ahead. 228 W. Cermak Rd. Monday-Friday, 11am-9:30pm; Saturday, Sunday 11am–10:30pm. Entrees about $10. (312)842-7818 (Michael Joyce)

best alternative to joy yee’s
Saint’s Alp Teahouse
Living up to its name in most regards, this outpost of the Hong Kong-based Saint’s Alp Teahouse serves a confusing variety of small plates and tea-ish drinks. I tried #59, the Double Chocolate Sorbie. Clearly invented by someone who’d never tasted a milkshake, the texture resembled ice ground with chocolate syrup and small pieces of mud. In contrast to the MatchaAgar, FavorWater, Coco de Nata, and most of the menu, the Sorbie was not trademarked. But like most of the menu, and the paintings of an Asian-populated cityscape with palm trees, Mediterranean architecture, and double-decker buses, it baffled me. Though not as popular a spot for drinks as Joy Yee’s, Saint’s Alp has a few things going for it if you’re willing to try something new. The service is efficient, but without the bedlam atmosphere, and though the benches are firm, they’re an order of magnitude more comfortable than the Chair Ones at Joy Yee’s. Perhaps the only downside was the Avril Lavigne-heavy soundtrack. 2131 S. Archer Ave. 11am–midnight. (312)842-1886 (Michael Joyce)

best tea shop
Ten Ren Tea
When I was last visiting Ten Ren, a tourist and paterfamilias boldly led his family to the door of the shop. Gazing upon the entirely white and mostly confused customers and the lone, annoyed Chinese employee, he declared, “This is where the real Chinese locals go.” He wasn’t particularly observant, but Ten Ren is an excellent place to buy Chinese and Japanese tea and tea ware. It is the lone Chicago branch of a Taiwanese export company, and Chicago’s only Chinese tea shop that focuses more on good ol’ camellia sinensis than on sea cucumbers, mushrooms and medicinal herbs. Their collection ranges from the lightest senchas and silver needles to the blackest pu-erhs at every quality grade, and their prices are low. The Chicago store with the most comparable selection—Germany’s TeaGschwendner in Old Town—has prices several times Ten Ren’s. While you wait for the clerk to bring you bins of tea to sample, you can admire the perversely intricate sculptures that are their high-end yixing teapots and tasting cups. 2247 S. Wentworth Ave. 9:30am–7pm. (312)842-1171 (Sam Bowman)

Steamed soup dumplings (xiao long bao); Yee Fay Lim

In general, Chinese restaurants put little stock in looking good, whatever the quality of the food they serve. Speaking with the sole (and vague) qualification of being Chinese myself, I suspect this is a simple reflection of the utilitarian preferences of Chinese diners, who seem to have an almost calculated disregard for such incidentals as décor, and judge a restaurant ultimately by what its kitchen produces. They are quite at peace feasting on the choicest morsels in the shabbiest surroundings. So it was that upon first entering Lao Shanghai one year ago, observing its white linen tablecloths on dark wooden tables, the generally subdued tones of its rather coherent furnishing scheme, even with muzak on the speakers, I wasn’t sure what to expect. That was especially so given my familiarity with the pedestrian decoration and what I considered the overrated food at its older sibling, Lao Szechuan, which together with Lao Shanghai and Lao Beijing makes up a well-known trio of restaurants in Chicago serving regional Chinese food. I was soon happily disarmed by some of the best Chinese food—of any region—I’ve ever had in Chicago.

A saucer of lightly pickled cucumber is served before every meal at Lao Shanghai, one of few restaurants in Chicago specializing in the food of Shanghai. Crisp, sweet, and not at all denatured as pickles are wont to be, it is a foretaste of the pleasures to come, and also a good example of some defining characteristics of Shanghainese cooking: an emphasis on freshness and a delicate touch with seasonings, aided by the judicious use of vinegar, wine, and notably sugar in savory dishes. A fondness for gentle, slow cooking in liquid, as opposed to quick, vigorous cooking in oil, is another defining characteristic of this scarcely two-century-old cuisine that melds the traditions of the provinces close to its home. Its presence is greatest in the first four pages of the menu which list appetizers—notable for cold dishes, including a few variations on the theme of protein in a sweet brown liquid—and (other) house specialties, notably the braised and steamed dishes. The rest of the menu, except the rice and noodle and dessert sections, is dominated by other regional cuisines. Remarkably for a well-known Chinatown restaurant, the menu is also relatively short, and—as I realized three visits and one week later—completely devoid of offal, a minor flaw more than made up for by how well what is actually included usually turns out.

My most recent meal there started out with Shanghai-style smoked fish and steamed soup dumplings (xiao long bao), iconic and almost obligatory for a review of a Shanghainese restaurant. The former was a tasty but unremarkable dish of deep-fried bone-in cross-sections of fish, its exterior softened and lightly sweetened by a thin marinade. The latter were encased in dough wrappers, sturdy but not tough, that held up between chopsticks to burst between the teeth with broth—steam-melted gelatin—and succulent pork; optionally enhanced with a nip of ginger and vinegar, they were good though perhaps not exceptional. Though both were satisfying, they didn’t measure up to my memory of the appetizers I had on my previous visit, the quality of which I felt better represented the capabilities of the Shanghainese cook: bean curd skin in a sweet spice- and tea-scented sauce reminiscent of tea eggs, and a salad of atomized bits of greens and tofu redolent of toasted sesame oil, so tasty a surprise it could only have been invented out of deep familiarity with a tofu-eating tradition.

More hometown food followed in the form of braised pork belly in preserved bean curd sauce, tender slabs of fatty skin-on meat almost melting with its sauce into a pleasant funk of swine flesh and decayed vegetable matter, matched in texture and contrasted in flavor by a bed of steamed spinach. Rich without being cloying, it was comforting nourishment, even with the aforementioned sauce somewhat lumpy from an overdose of cornstarch—the only dish I’ve had here marred by this flaw, which is mind-bogglingly common in this country even at well-regarded establishments. The same high standards evident in the Shanghainese specialties here are upheld in preparations from elsewhere, as my companions and I always noted in our forays outside the city’s culinary territory. Most recently, an order of Szechuan (or more accurately, kung pao) scallops yielded mild meaty discs with fiery, often crisp caramelized exteriors, beautifully complemented by crunchy, flavorful peanuts. Pork stir-fried with salted mustard greens and young soybeans (better known as edamame) rounded out a demonstration of the kitchen’s skill in various cooking traditions and techniques: with an alchemy of toasted sesame oil, the timeless pairing of pork and salted greens, and deft tossing in a very hot wok producing vivid tastes and textures in a smoky, savory shroud, it was stir-frying par excellence.

For dessert, a round cake of sweet- and nut-studded glutinous rice was set before us with a fork to each and one knife for all, with no chopstick in sight, more like a serving of pâté than Chinese dessert. Though the dish is described in Chinese as “eight-treasure,” only four apparent ones were counted (red bean paste, dates, sesames, and melon seeds); nevertheless, all elements were bound by the lightly sweetened, faintly medicinal-scented rice into a concoction of well-balanced textures and flavors.

A different kind of treat, always on the house, is sometimes available to Chinese-literate diners, and it has nothing to do with the ability to decipher the menu more accurately. It is a delicious jolt of bewilderment and mild repugnance when the collection of Chinese characters carved into wooden squares on the back wall turns out, upon closer scrutiny, to be an apparently random set of Chinese family names, with perhaps a few other unselectively chosen characters thrown in to fill up space. But ultimately, whatever one may think of that, the food at Lao Shanghai is undeniably excellent overall, with great value for the price. That, along with comfortable surroundings and efficient albeit unremarkable service, should be enough—never mind my relaxed Chinese standards in non-culinary matters—to make a good time for anyone.
2163 S. China Pl. Monday-Friday, 11am-10pm; Saturday-Sunday, 11am-11pm.

Satisfied customers at Lawrence's Fisheries; Mackenzie Cramblit

Lawrence’s Fisheries is a fast food restaurant, but one decidedly worth patronizing, especially at this time of year. (Two signs outside read “CHICAGO’S BEST SHRIMP & SEAFOOD SINCE 1950!!” and “LENT GOOD TIME FOR FISH.”) When Lawrence and Eila Schweig founded Schweig Smoked Fish and Lawrence’s Fisheries in 1950, the restaurant occupied a small storefront at its current location. Today, the restaurant has been built up above a large parking lot, like Noah’s Ark or a Sri Lankan stilt house (a conscious reference to fish?), and is accessible only by a steep set of stairs or a series of winding ramps.
Once inside, you are greeted by the smell of frying fish batter cut by astringent citrus Lysol. The clientele is varied—a family dressed in their Maundy Thursday best, a UPS driver, and a couple celebrating their 13th wedding anniversary—but everyone looks happy to be at Lawrence’s. People are lined up along a stretch of countertop between two ordering stations, not quite drooling in anticipation of grabbing the steaming brown bag of freshly fried fish.

While waiting for your order to be called, zone out by watching frogs’ legs bounce around in the hand-cranked breading machine behind the counter. If the wait is marginally longer than at most joints serving unhealthy food, you at least have the satisfaction of bearing witness to the preparation. What distinguishes Lawrence’s from other fried seafood I’ve had, even in cities much closer to the sea, is the crunchy batter coating that is far from the greasy mess of past experiences. In fish frying, as in most things in life, there are tradeoffs that need to be reckoned with. Too thick a batter and the self-important simple carbohydrates threaten to outdo the fish; too thin and the fish is not adequately protected from the boiling oil.

After nearly 60 years of experience, Lawrence’s ought to pride itself on having struck a fine balance. Our fish was well cooked and flavorful without tasting like it had been swimming in Lake Michigan just a few minutes before. If you’ve never had frogs’ legs before and aren’t planning a trip to France in the near future, you might consider ordering a half-pound at Lawrence’s (the smallest amount available—about six pieces). These cuisses de grenouille are decidedly simpler than their continental cousins, but at $6 for a half-pound, they are a low-cost way to expose your palate to foods you didn’t think could be found on the South Side of Chicago. (One customer seemed equally bemused. When I asked him where the frogs’ legs came from, he laughed and shouted, “Frogs!” as if scolding me for asking a silly question. When I clarified that I meant to ask where he thought the frogs came from, he thought for a second and with a smile confessed, “Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.”)

A word of caution about the oysters: they are truly flavor bombs in the style of Grant Achatz. Be careful when biting into one not to squirt hot oyster juice in the face of the person opposite you. Of course, depending on who that person is, it might be to your advantage to forget clemency in favor of a potentially hilarious situation.

At Lawrence’s, it is scary-easy to eat an entire meal consisting of battered, fried food. We ordered fried button mushrooms to accompany our fried catfish, frogs’ legs, and oysters. But don’t let health concerns make you avoid Lawrence’s with a heavy heart. The restaurant, like the Obama administration, seems to have made transparency its number one policy; yet another sign outside advertises “GREAT TASTE & 0% TRANS FAT PER SERVING.” At least if you’re clogging your arteries, you’ll be doing it 100 percent legally at Lawrence’s. And that’s more than can be said for some establishments.
Lawrence’s Fisheries, 2120 S. Canal St. Open 24 hours every day. (312)225-2113 lawrencesfisheries.com

Best Baozi
Chiu Quon
Simply put, Chiu Quon is a Chinese bakery par excellence. Located on Chinatown’s main drag just southwest of the Cermak Red Line stop, it does a brisk morning business with cheap dim sum and equally cheap baked goods all day. But while the dim sum is merely decent, the pastries verge on transcendent. Baozi, or Chinese buns, are clearly the main attractions. Ninety cents gets you a fist-sized hunk of breadlike dough encasing any number of savory fillings. The smoky, succulent BBQ pork is a highlight, but none of the various offerings disappoint. While lacking somewhat in variety, the bean paste-focused sweet end of the pastry spectrum is also worthwhile. In addition to custard and bean paste baozi, there’s the small, dense, and bean paste-filled seventy cent moon cakes, and best of all, sesame balls, ninety cent lumps of bean paste surrounded by a ball of fried sticky rice covered in sesame seeds. Chiu Quon is one of those rare restaurants where the bill is smaller than the CTA fare; ride a bike and use the savings on some extra buns to take home. Cash only. 2242 S. Wentworth Ave. 10am-9pm every day. (Michael Joyce)

Best Dim Sum
Shui Wah
While food is the lifeblood of Chinatown, most Chicagoans will stick to their old leanings when it comes to dim sum there—Phoenix, Three Happiness, and Happy Chef are perennial favorites. Shui Wah, located in New Chinatown north of Cermak, serves up much cheaper and equally delectable fare. Sadly, the cramped space leaves no room for jolly cart-tenders, so the conventional method of serving dim sum is eschewed in favor of cranky waiters who will be a bit slow. This is also a result of Shui Wah’s popularity (especially among Chinese), but if you bring some earplugs and scrunch your eyes, the food will speak for itself. 2162 S. Archer Ave. 8am-3pm, every day. (312)225-8811 (Lisa Bang)

Best Rock Club
Reggies
I’m going to let you in on a little secret: the owner of Reggies is not named Reggie. Maybe that’s why there’s no apostrophe. The name came about in homage to famed Green Bay Packer Reggie White…no wait, it was baseball Hall of Famer Reggie Jackson. Or maybe it was both—otherwise it’d just be called “Reggie.” The owner’s name is really Robby Glick, but he thought “Reggies” sounded cool because it added “a little shadiness.” Apparently Reggie is a shady name. But I don’t mean to make fun of the guy, because he’s got a pretty cool place here. One part record shop and music memorabilia store, one part restaurant and bar, and one part bare-bones rock’n'roll joint, Reggies has a lot going for it. Shows are incredibly diverse (previous performers include AIDS Wolf and Shonen Knife; Fucked Up plays October 23 and Danielson hits the stage November 5) and generally pretty cheap. Also, most are all ages, which is considerate, considering popular venues like the Empty Bottle are always 21+. And it’s only about two blocks from the Cermak-Chinatown Red Line stop, in an area that only continues to ride the wave of gentrification. Which is good—after all, we wouldn’t want too much shadiness. 2105-2109 S. State St. Record Breakers: 11am-11pm every day; (312)949-0125. Music Joint: Sunday-Friday 11am-2am; Saturday 11am-3am; (312)949-0120. Rock Club: open for shows; (312)949-0121. www.reggieslive.com (Gavin Fox)

Best Tea Room
Ten Ren Tea
Old Chinatown has myriad colorful signs jutting into the street competing for attention. Ten Ren Tea’s green and white Chinese characters are some of the most inviting. Step off the street into the mahogany interior, especially on a chilly day, and take in the smell of the revered brew. The store is neatly cluttered with beautiful teapots, assorted small Chinese remedies, everything from small boxes to giant urns filled with tea, and every conceivable device for the used for the production of tea. The selection covers the entire spectrum of Chinese tea from fruity hibiscus teas to the earthy pu-erh. If you’re lucky, they’ll have a couple samples. 2247 S. Wentworth Ave. Monday-Sunday, 9:30am-7pm. (312)842-1171. www.tenren.com (Ellis Calvin)

Best Country Food, if the Country You’re Referring to is China
Lao Sze Chuan
Chef Tony Hu is a bigshot. He owns three Chinese restaurants, and even used to have his own cooking show. How’d he get so big? It all started with a little restaurant called the Lao Sze Chuan. Lao, in Chinese, means “old”—Old Sze Chuan therefore refers to the “old Sze Chuan style,” Sze Chuan (or Sichuan) being Hu’s hometown province. As hometowns tend to do, Sichuan left a lasting impression on Hu, and in his homesickness here in America he decided to recapture the flavor of the meals of his homeland. With most Chinese restaurants here in America, the preparations are done in Chinese style, but the ingredients come from a variety of places closer by, from which they’re often easier and cheaper to ship. But Hu would have none of that. He prepares his Sze Chuan cuisine with authentic ingredients straight from Sichuan. It’s a strategy that’s paid off handsomely—Lao Sze Chuan has been so successful, he’s gone on to open Lao Beijing and Lao Shanghai. It just goes to show: you can’t beat good old home cooking. Lao Sze Chuan: 2172 S. Archer Ave. 11am-midnight every day. (312)326-5040. Lao Beijing: 2138 S. Archer Ave. Sunday-Thursday 11am-10pm; Friday-Saturday 11am-11:30pm. (312)881-0168. Lao Shanghai: 2163 S. China Pl. Sunday-Thursday 11am-10pm; Friday-Saturday 11am-11pm. (312)808-0830. tonygourmetgroup.com (Sean Redmond)

It began with his first taste of Smoked Tea Duck. The crispy fried skin, seasoned and infused with flavors of Sichuan pepper, camphor leaves, and black tea, created an urge to ask for a duck to go; he had to have more. Charlie Chaplin, in the company of the notable former Premier of the People’s Republic of China, Zhou Enlai, decided that Smoked Tea Duck was a truly unforgettable dish—delicious to the marrow of every bone. And that day at the 1954 World Peace Conference in Geneva, Chaplin brought fame to Sichuan cuisine; Smoked Tea Duck became a Sichuan cuisine classic.

Thirty-five years later, Tony Hu, the chef and owner of three restaurants in Chinatown, read this story—the tale of the famous mime’s affinity for the Sichuan delicacy—in an advertisement for the Sichuan Culinary Institute in his hometown of Cheng Du. Having recently graduated from high school, Hu had little idea about what to do next. And the possibility of preparing dishes for celebrities—iconic American celebrities—was inspiring. Hu decided he wanted to become a chef.

Hu, at first look, does not strike you as a typical chef. He is unassuming and quiet, and possesses a rather mild temperament for the type of commanding work he does. His stature is unobtrusive and typical. And yet, he moves about his restaurants in an almost antithetical manner. Hu works at an amazing speed, undertaking the role of a certain culinary superhero, bulleting between his three restaurants—Lao Szechuan, Lao Beijing, and Lao Shanghai—overseeing his chefs’ rapid work at fiery stoves and weaving through tables to greet customers. With his raspy, hushed voice, Hu controls a growing empire of restaurants with a fierce whisper. And much like the man who inspired him to cook in the first place, Hu resembles a silent-movie star, moving between frames of work at a whirring pace. Blink, and he’s already across the room or behind the swinging kitchen doors, attending to something equally as important as his previous task. Hu’s commitment to his restaurants is undeniable, and his drive to establish himself as a premier chef is as steadfast as the heat of a perfectly tuned wok.

After graduating from the Sichuan Culinary Institute, Hu found his way to Chicago, cooking for Houston Kou’s Szechuan House Group and various hotels in the city. Identified for his talent and skill for nailing Sichuan cuisine’s authentic flavor on the head, Hu was quickly encouraged to open his own restaurant. But for Hu, it wasn’t the growing praise that compelled him to open his first restaurant, Lao Szechuan; it was his homesickness and desire to recreate the food he remembered eating in Cheng Du. As Hu explains, “You know, I am from Sichuan. I’m homesick. I miss my country. I miss my country food. If I feel this way, I feel everybody does, who are from China. So I created my new restaurants.” Hu wanted to bring the authentic cuisine he grew up eating—numbingly spicy dishes that distracted you from the summer heat, with complex balances of sweet, savory, and spicy—to the comparably humid climate of the Midwest. Hu wanted to “change the Chinese food history in Chicago” by bringing the authentic flavors of Sichuan cuisine to the city.

With this clear motivation, Hu set to produce the most authentic Sichuan dishes possible. And he found that this would only be achievable with the use of authentic ingredients. But to his surprise, Hu found it impossible to find the ingredients fundamental to Sichuan cuisine in Chicago. The peppercorns (han yuan), Sichuan pickles (yi bing ya cai), chili bean paste, and chili peppers were all domestically grown in the States or imported from areas other than the Sichuan province. He discovered that peppercorns were imported from Taiwan, chilies were imported from Mexico, and chili bean paste and Sichuan pickles were imported from various regions in China or produced in the United States. To Hu, this was unacceptable and he set out to get the real ingredients he needed. Hu identifies the authenticity of any cuisine in its consistency: “No matter how you make your food, I want the food flavor [to be the] same [as] what you had in China, your hometown. That’s why it’s most important to use ingredients, like basic ingredients, major ingredients [like] the ones you use in China.” For this reason, finding ingredients from the Sichuan province was imperative. So, Hu traveled to his hometown and identified suppliers for his restaurant before he got started. Within a few years, Hu secured producers to import the ingredients he needed. In effect, he increased the quality of ingredients, changing the face of grocery store aisles in the Chicagoland area. Hu brought a new diversity, but at the same time, a very old feeling back to the Chinese market.

In his experience cooking in Chicago, Hu observes that the problem with “Americanized Chinese food” lies in chefs’ compromise of culinary details, like the cornerstone ingredients necessary for authentic preparations of Chinese food. Hu explains, “One must keep the good ways [of] China. We cannot just want to be fast. Lose the flavor, no. You cannot lose the flavors.” And in many ways, the “Americaniz[ation]” of Chinese food in general has caused some critical failures. While he himself indulges the palates of customers—with about “fifteen or twenty percent” of his menu dedicated to familiar “Americanized” favorites, like Kung Pao Chicken, Broccoli Beef, or Mongolian Beef—Hu refuses to cook certain dishes, dishes that he describes as “Chop-Suey stuff.” Hu doesn’t display any particular methodology in selecting dishes he deems especially offensive to authentic Chinese cuisine. He simply protests making Chop-Suey and Egg Foo Young because he “[doesn’t] want to ruin Chinese food. [He doesn’t] want to ruin [its] image.” It is probably the unrecognizable aspect of these foods when compared with the “country food” he finds in China; these dishes aren’t identifiable as Chinese dishes by their flavors, but rather, by the consequence of being on a menu from a Chinese restaurant.

“Lao,” Hu explains, means “old.” , Hu chose this word to name his restaurants in order to illustrate this Old-World feeling of Chinese cuisine. Lao Szechuan is “old Szechuan style,” Lao Beijing is the gluttonous and saucy old Beijing style, and Lao Shanghai is the light and sweet style of old Shanghai. Hu means to exemplify Chinese cuisine by emphasizing the defining characteristics of each major region’s cuisine. He explains, “I am Chinese. I love my country. My dream is to show you guys how wonderful Chinese food, Chinese culture [is]. I feel like this is my job. I work so hard at this point.” Hu, in a certain way, functions as a cultural broker; he brings familiar “country food” to those who miss it like he himself does, but he also brings unfamiliar “country food” to those who have never had it before. In an effort to remedy his own homesickness, Hu has found a community of faithful sympathizers. On a busy weekend, look through the windows of any of his restaurants and find a heterogeneous crowd of customers who share Hu’s passion for authentic flavors. These flavors, determined by a certain nostalgic quality, remind everyone that a memory may be inspired and satisfied with something as simple as the crispy flesh of a Smoked Tea Duck. You, like Hu, may find “your country, your relatives, your people” in the shared emotions provoked by a familiar—not to mention delectable—food.

Photos by Ellis Calvin

Best Place for DIY Cooking
Lao Sze Chuan
If you approach the Lao Sze Chuan restaurant from Cermak or Archer, it might not seem like all that much. There’s a small sign marking its spot amidst a strip mall filled with other restaurants and businesses, but you can’t even see inside the place. But if you approach from the entrance in Chinatown Square—well, that’s a whole other story. Two floors of large square and circular dining tables—often nearing the point of capacity—signify that the restaurant is, indeed, alive and kicking. It’s a bit pricy, but the food is definitely some of Chinatown’s finest; in fact, the restaurant is a multiple recipient of Zagat’s “Best Authentic Chinese Food” award, and Chef Tony (Xiao Jun) Hu even has his own Chinese language cooking show. And of course, there’s the Hot Pot. Get together a group of friends, get yourself a table and prepare for a night of DIY custom-made cuisine. Choose your soups, meats, seafood, vegetables, and noodles, and dip away with this Chinese fondue specialty. Mmm mmmm. 2172 S. Archer Ave. Monday-Sunday, 11:30am-12am. (312)326-5040. (Sean Redmond)

Best Place for non-Chinese to Make Educated Decisions about Their Meals Before they Order Them:
Royal Dragon
Let’s face it: unless you have extensive experience with Chinese culture (or are dining with particularly ethnic friends), you probably have no idea what half of the entrées on a Chinese restaurant’s menu are. And when it comes to picking out your dinner, you don’t want to mess around with the great unknown. So you order the Mongolian Beef or the Sweet and Sour Chicken and call it a night. That’s fine I guess, but for those looking to branch out, the Royal Dragon provides the best gateway to go from typical ignorant American to Chinese cuisine connoisseur. Why, you ask? Because the restaurant provides a full picture menu, complete with images of all the possible meal choices. And we’re not talking idealized promo sucker shots, either; these are lo-fi photographs of actual honest-to-Confucius restaurant-made meals. So you’re thinking of trying the blood cakes? You can look it up and see if it looks like something you’d want to eat. Sure, it’s not perfect, and it’s kind-of judging a book by its cover, but when your alternative is a shot in the dark or sticking with the ol’ tried-and-true, it’s a step in the right direction. And hey, if you don’t like your meal, you get a free cookie at the end of your meal. And no, not a fortune cookie—but you do get those too. What more could you possibly want? 2225 S. Wentworth St. Monday-Friday, 10am-11pm; Saturday-Sunday, 9am-11pm. (312)808-1322. (Sean Redmond)