Here's something you might be interested in.
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed
Big Screen — Movie commentary
Blurt — Music's inside track
Booze News — San Diego spirits
Classical Music — Immortal beauty
Classifieds — Free and easy
Cover Stories — Front-page features
Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes
Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts
Feast! — Food & drink reviews
Feature Stories — Local news & stories
Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore
From the Archives — Spotlight on the past
Golden Dreams — Talk of the town
The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it
Letters — Our inbox
Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites
Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans
Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists
Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news
News Ticker — News & politics
Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated
Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna
Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated
Poetry — The old and the new
Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers
Reading — The hunt for intellectuals
Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails
San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds
SD on the QT — Almost factual news
Sheep and Goats — Places of worship
Special Issues — The best of
Street Style — San Diego streets have style
Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves
Theater — On stage in San Diego this week
Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative
Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work
Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego
Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads
Your Week — Daily event picks
Fill up on tamed-tiger kung pao at Imperial Express
“True kung pao should have only ‘facing heaven’ chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns.”
Kung pao chicken, with nuts and onions, rules the combo
"Midnight, dude.”
This guy and I just happen to fall in step walking away from Father Joe’s, into the dusk of Imperial Avenue.
“Midnight?”
“Everybody’s waiting for midnight. Look around you,” he says. “There’s a vibration, man. You can feel it.”
Actually, yes, you can. This was Monday before last. Halloween. More important, the end of the month. You could see it in the quiet talk of the ladies sitting against the wall. The guys guarding their overloaded carts. It’s like everyone’s holding their breath, being good, because at the stroke of midnight, Santa Claus comes to town. Social Security dollars should be dropping into the accounts of everybody around here.
“Tomorrow, you watch,” says my buddy. “Travelodge down the road’s gonna be filled to the gills. Pah-tee!”
Actually, I was up here to maybe have a meal and see if anyone at Father Joe’s could talk about my Reader cohort John Brizzolara. He died here. One of the greatest writers to grace the Reader’s pages. How great a writer? Once he traveled with illegal field-workers through a storm drain under the border, then joined a lettuce-picking crew in the Imperial Valley. Just about killed himself. And his back. What a story.
But, tonight nobody’s around who knew him. And they don’t lay on dinners these days at Father Joe’s anyway. Only lunch. So, guess I need to find nosh elsewhere. At 12th and Imperial I hop on a #11 bus heading south. Get off at Chicano Park. Make my way through the shadowy park. The art on the legs looms large. Pass a bunch of lit candles and flowers near the kiosk. Oh, man. Where that car crashed down from the Coronado bridge on October 15. Nearby, a small shrine to Ramon “Chunky” Sanchez, one of the beloved greats in the Chicano movement. Died on the 28th.
Talk about Day of the Dead. Now I’m across Cesar E. Chavez Parkway, near the freeway, right next to that giant arrow angled into the ground. Only place I see open is across Logan. And it’s Chinese.
Imperial Express.
What the heck. I cross over and head in.
I recognize the lady. Name’s Anna? Oh, yes. Maybe 1995. She’s standing behind a counter that’s alive with 14 steaming chafing dishes.
Best of all, the sign on the back wall: “Two items, $5.56. Three items, $6.95. Fried rice and chow mein count as [one] ITEM.”
So, seven bucks buys you fried rice, chow mein, and two other dishes.
Anna is swift-moving and rapid-talking. In English, Spanish, and Chinese. When I ask what each dish is, her finger races her speech: “Broccoli beef, shrimp and mixed veggies, fried fish, Chinese teriyaki, spicy chicken, salt-and-pepper chicken wing, spring rolls, pan-fried chili chicken, honey chicken, chicken with black-bean sauce, kung pao chicken, Mongolian pork, chow mein and fried rice.”
Then she stands, scoop at the ready.
“Okay,” I say. “Fried rice and chow mein with kung pao and broccoli beef.”
Don’t totally like broccoli, but it adds bright green to the scene.
Bottle of Mexican non-alcoholic sangría to wash it down
Anna fills up a polystyrene box to the max. I grab soy sauce, Sriracha, and a bottle of that Sangría Señorial and end up paying $9 for it all, including tax. Deal.
And here’s the thing I try to remember: we’ve come to see Chinese take-out as “just” Chinese fast food in a box. But, you can bet it’s all full of history.
Kung pao chicken with nuts and onions. That's a lot of food for $6.95!
Take the tastiest and the spiciest dish in my box, the kung pao chicken. “‘Kung pao’ means ‘palace guardian,’” Carla says when I call her. “And true kung pao should have only ‘facing heaven’ chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns. And always peanuts.”
She’s a purist with a killer memory. “Sichuan’s the western province where kung pao comes from. Right up against the Himalayas. Gets mighty cold. That’s why they like it hot. Heat-wise and spicy-wise. Bring some of yours home, too, please.”
Actually, mine ain’t that spicy-hot. Carla says cooks in the West often do things to tame the tiger. Also maybe add ginger, garlic, OJ, whatever.
But at least the peanuts are here. They give it the flavor combination that tempers the rich chicken in an interesting way. I truly love this stuff.
Broccoli and beef compete for space
The broccoli beef? Okay, fills you up. But, meh in comparison to the kung pao.
The fried rice and chow-mein noodles come with peas, onions, and celery, and I give them zing with lots of splots of soy and Sriracha. But the main thing I get is how heavy, how loaded this “plate” is. It’s giant. Jam-packed. And if you did a blind taste comparison with some expensive Chinese joint, I don’t think I’d know which was which.
A big cherry-cheeked chef comes out. He’s Meño-Lei. Anna’s husband. He and his two brothers back there, Alex Lei and Sam Lei, are all chefs. All from Canton, China. Anna, too. “My parents found him, arranged the marriage,” says Anna. “They wanted to be sure I got a suitable husband.”
Reason I called Carla was to see what she wanted me to bring home. Her choice? Honey-chicken and spring rolls. Snob she ain’t. I like them, too. So I get those (about $6). Then I head back out into the barrio. I cross the road. Notice the Día de los Muertos candles still flickering in the dark.
Hours: 10:00 a.m.–8:30 p.m., daily (from 10:30 a.m. Saturday, Sunday)
The deals to go for. More bang for the buck than single-ordered items.
Prices: Combinations are the best deal. Two items cost $5.56, three items, $6.95. Fried rice and chow mein count as one item. Choices include broccoli beef, shrimp and mixed veggies, fried fish, Chinese teriyaki, spicy chicken, salt-and-pepper chicken wing, spring rolls, pan-fried chili chicken, honey chicken, chicken with black bean sauce, kung pao chicken, Mongolian pork, chow mein, fried rice; side order egg rolls, $1.75; vegetable soup, $2.32 ($6.25 large); house soup, $7.75
Buses: 11, 901
Nearest bus stops: #11, Logan Avenue at Cesar E. Chavez Parkway; #901 (northbound), National at Cesar Chavez; #901 (southbound) Cesar Chavez near Logan
Trolley: Blue Line
Nearest Trolley Stop: Barrio Logan, National, and Cesar Chavez
Here's something you might be interested in.
Fill up on tamed-tiger kung pao at Imperial Express
“True kung pao should have only ‘facing heaven’ chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns.”
Fill up on tamed-tiger kung pao at Imperial Express
“True kung pao should have only ‘facing heaven’ chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns.”
Kung pao chicken, with nuts and onions, rules the combo
"Midnight, dude.”
This guy and I just happen to fall in step walking away from Father Joe’s, into the dusk of Imperial Avenue.
“Midnight?”
“Everybody’s waiting for midnight. Look around you,” he says. “There’s a vibration, man. You can feel it.”
Actually, yes, you can. This was Monday before last. Halloween. More important, the end of the month. You could see it in the quiet talk of the ladies sitting against the wall. The guys guarding their overloaded carts. It’s like everyone’s holding their breath, being good, because at the stroke of midnight, Santa Claus comes to town. Social Security dollars should be dropping into the accounts of everybody around here.
“Tomorrow, you watch,” says my buddy. “Travelodge down the road’s gonna be filled to the gills. Pah-tee!”
Actually, I was up here to maybe have a meal and see if anyone at Father Joe’s could talk about my Reader cohort John Brizzolara. He died here. One of the greatest writers to grace the Reader’s pages. How great a writer? Once he traveled with illegal field-workers through a storm drain under the border, then joined a lettuce-picking crew in the Imperial Valley. Just about killed himself. And his back. What a story.
But, tonight nobody’s around who knew him. And they don’t lay on dinners these days at Father Joe’s anyway. Only lunch. So, guess I need to find nosh elsewhere. At 12th and Imperial I hop on a #11 bus heading south. Get off at Chicano Park. Make my way through the shadowy park. The art on the legs looms large. Pass a bunch of lit candles and flowers near the kiosk. Oh, man. Where that car crashed down from the Coronado bridge on October 15. Nearby, a small shrine to Ramon “Chunky” Sanchez, one of the beloved greats in the Chicano movement. Died on the 28th.
Talk about Day of the Dead. Now I’m across Cesar E. Chavez Parkway, near the freeway, right next to that giant arrow angled into the ground. Only place I see open is across Logan. And it’s Chinese.
Imperial Express.
What the heck. I cross over and head in.
I recognize the lady. Name’s Anna? Oh, yes. Maybe 1995. She’s standing behind a counter that’s alive with 14 steaming chafing dishes.
Best of all, the sign on the back wall: “Two items, $5.56. Three items, $6.95. Fried rice and chow mein count as [one] ITEM.”
So, seven bucks buys you fried rice, chow mein, and two other dishes.
Anna is swift-moving and rapid-talking. In English, Spanish, and Chinese. When I ask what each dish is, her finger races her speech: “Broccoli beef, shrimp and mixed veggies, fried fish, Chinese teriyaki, spicy chicken, salt-and-pepper chicken wing, spring rolls, pan-fried chili chicken, honey chicken, chicken with black-bean sauce, kung pao chicken, Mongolian pork, chow mein and fried rice.”
Then she stands, scoop at the ready.
“Okay,” I say. “Fried rice and chow mein with kung pao and broccoli beef.”
Don’t totally like broccoli, but it adds bright green to the scene.
Bottle of Mexican non-alcoholic sangría to wash it down
Anna fills up a polystyrene box to the max. I grab soy sauce, Sriracha, and a bottle of that Sangría Señorial and end up paying $9 for it all, including tax. Deal.
And here’s the thing I try to remember: we’ve come to see Chinese take-out as “just” Chinese fast food in a box. But, you can bet it’s all full of history.
Kung pao chicken with nuts and onions. That's a lot of food for $6.95!
Take the tastiest and the spiciest dish in my box, the kung pao chicken. “‘Kung pao’ means ‘palace guardian,’” Carla says when I call her. “And true kung pao should have only ‘facing heaven’ chili peppers and Sichuan peppercorns. And always peanuts.”
She’s a purist with a killer memory. “Sichuan’s the western province where kung pao comes from. Right up against the Himalayas. Gets mighty cold. That’s why they like it hot. Heat-wise and spicy-wise. Bring some of yours home, too, please.”
Actually, mine ain’t that spicy-hot. Carla says cooks in the West often do things to tame the tiger. Also maybe add ginger, garlic, OJ, whatever.
But at least the peanuts are here. They give it the flavor combination that tempers the rich chicken in an interesting way. I truly love this stuff.
Broccoli and beef compete for space
The broccoli beef? Okay, fills you up. But, meh in comparison to the kung pao.
The fried rice and chow-mein noodles come with peas, onions, and celery, and I give them zing with lots of splots of soy and Sriracha. But the main thing I get is how heavy, how loaded this “plate” is. It’s giant. Jam-packed. And if you did a blind taste comparison with some expensive Chinese joint, I don’t think I’d know which was which.
A big cherry-cheeked chef comes out. He’s Meño-Lei. Anna’s husband. He and his two brothers back there, Alex Lei and Sam Lei, are all chefs. All from Canton, China. Anna, too. “My parents found him, arranged the marriage,” says Anna. “They wanted to be sure I got a suitable husband.”
Reason I called Carla was to see what she wanted me to bring home. Her choice? Honey-chicken and spring rolls. Snob she ain’t. I like them, too. So I get those (about $6). Then I head back out into the barrio. I cross the road. Notice the Día de los Muertos candles still flickering in the dark.
Hours: 10:00 a.m.–8:30 p.m., daily (from 10:30 a.m. Saturday, Sunday)
The deals to go for. More bang for the buck than single-ordered items.
Prices: Combinations are the best deal. Two items cost $5.56, three items, $6.95. Fried rice and chow mein count as one item. Choices include broccoli beef, shrimp and mixed veggies, fried fish, Chinese teriyaki, spicy chicken, salt-and-pepper chicken wing, spring rolls, pan-fried chili chicken, honey chicken, chicken with black bean sauce, kung pao chicken, Mongolian pork, chow mein, fried rice; side order egg rolls, $1.75; vegetable soup, $2.32 ($6.25 large); house soup, $7.75
Buses: 11, 901
Nearest bus stops: #11, Logan Avenue at Cesar E. Chavez Parkway; #901 (northbound), National at Cesar Chavez; #901 (southbound) Cesar Chavez near Logan
Trolley: Blue Line
Nearest Trolley Stop: Barrio Logan, National, and Cesar Chavez
Comments