There’s always that food you crave most when you’re lying in bed with a fever. For me, it’s rice porridge – a soupy bowl of fluffy white rice  topped with seaweed, pork sung, and green onions to fill the stomach and ease the throat. It makes me feel better every single time; I’ll swear my life on it.

When I recently discovered Charm Juk, a restaurant entirely devoted to rice porridge and nestled between the H Mart and Yogurtland in Carrollton, I knew I was a goner. Sometimes you fall in love without even taking a first bite.

Kristin Lee, the owner of Charm Juk, used to make rice porridge for her family all the time. Her kids loved it. “One time, though, I was really tired and looked around for people selling it, but there wasn’t a restaurant dedicated to making it,” she said, a bit shocked because it’s commonplace in Korea to see restaurants selling rice porridge.

She decided to take a risk and open a restaurant in Dallas (she was living in Austin at the time) that started off as a franchise in Korea. Charm Juk, which opened October 2011, is the only one of its kind in the United States, but the menu is exactly the same as those in the motherland.

The menu focuses on healthy ingredients and even has a whole section devoted to baby food made with organic rice. “As a cancer survivor,” Lee says, “I’m into healthy food.” And because her main ingredient is rice, Lee searched long and hard for the best possible kind she could find. She’s happy with rice she buys wholesale from CJ Foods, Inc. right now. “It’s nutritional rice with the rice germ intact. It’s kind of like eating brown rice and getting all the nutrients of brown rice, but soft like white rice.”

Lee’s right. The rice is soft and pillow-y, but there is also an ever-so-slight toughness to the rice that I really enjoy. These small white poofs float inside a thick soup, easy to slurp down and easy to chew at the same time. My dinner partner kept murmuring, “Oh, this is good, this is good,” to herself while she dove into a bowl of seafood combo rice porridge (with Chinese black mushrooms, carrots, oyster, squid, and shrimp), spoon first.

My bowl of samgae juk (chicken soup with ginseng) had carrots, mushrooms, and green onion in addition to small morsels of chicken. Though it wasn’t as hearty as the seafood combo, it is still one of the more popular dishes people order at Charm Juk.

For dessert, you can select from pumpkin, red bean, mung bean, pine nut, and black sesame juk. I tried the pine nut, which was a bit too creamy for my taste, but my next trip will be sure to include a pumpkin and black sesame tasting.

Most items on the menu are below $10, and the wait doesn’t take too long considering the staff makes the rice porridge after you order. Each order comes with traditional Korean side dishes like mushrooms soaked in a soy-sauced based dressing, pickled radish and carrots in a spicy sauce that adds an extra kick to your rice porridge, house made kimchi, and cold radish kimchi as well.

There’s a certain charm to Charm Juk that’s hard to place. Maybe it’s the way Kristin Lee greets every customer with a cup of barley tea or the sweet plum tea that rounds off the dining experience. Perhaps it’s the entire space decorated to feel like you’re eating inside your own dining room. Whatever it is, I promise it’s all in the rice porridge.

A Portuguese egg tart from Taiwan. Hubba hubba. (photos by Carol Shih)

Alexander Nham wrote “An Ode to Chinese Pastries” in City of Ate last week, and pointed Observer readers to Vivian Bakery located in the New Chinatown in Richardson. Not sure why he called it “new” when Chinatown has been there forever. I mean, I was probably too young to even walk when my mother brought me along with her to shop there. That was twenty-something-odd years ago. The only thing that’s new are those knock-off Terracotta soldiers they added to make the place look less dumpy. Plenty of bakeries have come and gone since then, but Vivian Bakery, to which Nham references, has been there for more than a few years now, attached to the hip of a Chinese grocery store called Tian Tian Super Market.

It’s rare when this happens (because I’m a sucker for every kind of carb), but I walked into Vivian Bakery two weeks ago and walked out empty-handed. It was a Saturday afternoon and the breads didn’t look fresh; they were shriveled up in their plastic wrappings. I was willing to give the place a shot until I caught an offensive glimpse of cheese (like the Kraft singles you buy at Wal-Mart) melted on top of a pastry.  After reading Nham’s review of Vivian Bakery, I considered the fact that I might have just… you know… imagined that slice of cheese. Wanting to give Vivian’s another chance, I returned for a second trip last Friday. This time I found a “chocolate” bread covered in brown goop  with multicolored sprinkles. Don’t get me wrong, I love sprinkles. They’re wonderful on donuts and cupcakes and cookies. But sprinkles do not belong on Asian bread. Period.

Instead of harping on Vivian’s, let me direct you to places where I go to get my carb fix. These bakeries, I assure you, will not scare you off with the sight of sprinkles and Kraft singles.

Jeng Chi's mini sponge cake for $2.50

Jeng Chi - This is actually a restaurant, but the front doors open to a bakery corner where you can buy sweet pastries and desserts made by the owners’ son. It’s almost impossible for me to walk through Chinatown without stopping by Jeng Chi and grabbing either an egg tart (one of the best in Dallas), fluffy roll cake (remember to keep it in the fridge after you take it home), savory curry pies (I was obsessed with these as a kid and still am), or mini sponge cakes. A woman standing next to me in line once asked if the egg tarts are any good, and after hearing me go on and on about their flaky crusts and eggy middles, she was completely sold.

Red bean mochi bun (sesame seeds, red bean filling).

Désir Bakery - I wrote about its breads extensively back in November. This place still gives me the goosebumps every time I go inside. Fresh bread is constantly making its way to the shelves, and the prices are unbeatable.

Aroma House's wife cakes

Aroma Cake House – We bought a cake from here a few months back, and it was a big hit among the elderly ladies and gents at the party who have a sweet tooth, but don’t like their sponge cakes too sugary. Aroma Cake House, this bakery located in a bright red-and-yellow building that could be a marketing ad for McDonald’s, offers a plentiful selection of Asian pastries (like the wife cakes above) that are solid. But it’s really the cakes – which you can order with either red bean, taro, mixed fruit, or coconut filling – that make this shop a stand-out. Plus, it’s only a second’s drive away from Vivian Bakery, and you won’t walk out empty-handed.

My current obsession: black sesame flan

It’s been eleven days, twenty-three hours, and forty-seven minutes since I tasted my first black sesame flan at Masami, a charming Japanese restaurant with traditional touches, and I’ve been going a little bit crazy in the head ever since.

Jump if you’ve never had this before.

To be honest, my dinner at Masami – first a Rainbow roll, seafood tempura, followed by pork tonkatsu – was quite unremarkable until the waiter brought over the Dobin Mushi ($6.50), a soup with miniature pieces of chicken, shrimp, and mushrooms floating inside a small tea pot. It comes with a tea cup about the size of your pinkie toe, which you pour the soup into, leaving bits of meat inside the tea pot for your chopsticks to fish out later. Not only was the presentation beautiful, but the broth was light, clear, and soothing.

But the meal peaked as soon as I finished all the salty courses and sat with the dessert menu in front of me. My eyes skipped all the fried ice cream and bananas, landing on the black sesame flan for $3.50. I’d never seen a sesame flan before. Curiosity won, of course.

Dobin Mushi soup with shrimp, chicken, mushrooms served in a tea pot

The Asian sesame craze has been going on forever. A good four or five years back when my cousin told me about sesame-flavored desserts, I was a little weirded out by the prominence of sesame ice cream, sesame cakes, sesame breads, and sesame bubble teas flooding the Asian continent. It wasn’t until I tried my first spoonful of black sesame paste that I swore this love was forever. And it was.

Flan itself isn’t an overwhelmingly sweet dessert – a fact that I enjoy. And black sesame has this natural nuttiness (similar to peanut butter) that makes it ever-so-slightly salty. When black sesame is combined with flan, it lends a toasty, warm flavor to an otherwise cold (temperature) dessert, which is certainly a nice way to finish a meal.

Masami’s sesame flan struck my taste buds to the core, and they’ve been itching to repeat that same feeling ever since. I’ve been Google-searching the Internet like a sesame-crazed scavenger, trying to find a suitable recipe for a flan that doesn’t seem to exist in the English language. Long-distance friends are even helping me with this hunt via email. Is there anybody out there who can link me to a good recipe? All I’ve found is this one. Once I get my hands on something better, my future plans include: making a sesame flan immediately, eating it immediately after, and then writing a sonnet that begins with, “Oh, how I love thee….”

Sesame Chicken

Ever since the Chinese New Year, I made a Chinese New Year’s resolution to find some exceptional Chinese food. Pretty creative idea, I know. If I’m being completely honest, I have never been too impressed with my experiences in the past, and many of this town’s apparent favorites were a bit of a let down for me.  After probing many friends, both Asian and non-Asian, about their stand-by establishments, I was pointed to Taiwan Café, an incredibly humble joint in a strip mall in Plano.  As the suburbs north of Dallas seemed to be the most celebrated areas for Asian cuisine, I thought this was probably a decent option, and when I found out it was cash only, this was only an affirmation of its legitimacy.

Another location of Taiwan Café exists in Richardson, and at one point they shared the same owner, but since that time, the Richardson location was sold and ownership changed, the name, however, stayed the same.  So, I can’t speak for this second location, but the grub at the Plano joint is better than any other I’ve had in Dallas.

Beef Lo Mein

Walking in, you are immediately confronted with a double isle of cafeteria-style traditional Taiwanese dishes from a long buffet-like set-up.  I probably could only identify half of the items in the line-up, and the sprawling 20-ft menu board written primarily in Mandarin was not much help.  But I steered away from the cafeteria trays in favor of ordering from the less-advertised, made-to-order items on a small folded paper menu on the counter.  I am fairly sure I made the right move.

Pork Potstickers

Every item I had was hot, fresh, crisp and delicious.  Nothing was overly greasy, yet a necessary greasiness was found in places I expected. The sesame chicken came out slightly sweet, with a crisp exterior, and not an ounce of sogginess.  The fried pork potstickers were brilliantly done, salty, porky, and a true stand-out when accompanied by their spicy chili-soy dipping sauce. The beef chow mein was a bit on the greasy side, but I expected this, and it only helped things slide down my grateful throat all the more easily. Don’t pass up the famed scallion pancake either, a delicious chewy, herbaceous concoction.

My search for exceptional Chinese food is far from over, but discovering Taiwan Café has helped fuel my passion for simple but elegant Asian cooking.  It was a packed house on a Saturday night, so this place is obviously not a secret to the local community. The entire experience was reminiscent of my recent trip to Chinatown in New York City, and that’s no laughing matter.

Taiwan Cafe
2747 W 15th St
Plano, TX

Scallion Pancake

]]> http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/2012/02/28/eat-this-now-taiwan-cafe-in-plano/feed/ 5 http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/2012/02/14/good-asian-grub-mr-woks-peking-duck/ http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/2012/02/14/good-asian-grub-mr-woks-peking-duck/#comments Wed, 15 Feb 2012 00:04:56 +0000 Carol Shih http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/?p=35948

Duck meat, crispy skin, green onions, hoi sun sauce, and pancake

Owner Jack Kang carves the duck tableside (left); Carved duck pieces (right)

While other children my age were perfectly satisfied with eating buttered noodles (a bland phenomenon I will never understand), I spent my summers and winters in Taipei demanding to eat Peking duck. Give me some fat, crispy-skinned duck caramelized in its own juices, and I will be the most well-behaved kid on this planet. It worked every time.

Let it be known that I hardly eat Peking duck in the States. It is always a sure disappointment that will make me start itching to buy a plane ticket to Taiwan the very second I finish my meal – money be damned. When I heard that Mr. Wok serves up a mighty duck, I decided that it was time to break my golden rule and see what all the fuss was about.

Jump or quack for more.

Cantonese crispy, fried egg noodles

Preparing a Peking duck is a long and lengthy process that requires chefs to blow air under the duck’s skin to separate it from the fat, then brush the duck with syrup and spices that’ll soak into the duck’s skin while it’s hanging up to dry. It’s a complicated process that once made me skeptical about finding a suitable Peking duck chef in the likes of Dallas, Texas. Eating Peking duck is similar to eating a fajita… except (how do I say this nicely?) it’s better. Hands down. Nobody can deny the lure of juicy duck meat combined with crunchy skin, chopped green onions, and sweet hoisin sauce wrapped inside a thin, crepe-like covering. (And if that person does exist, we need to have a little chat.)

Jack Kang, 33, and owner of Mr. Wok, calls the crepe-like wrapping a “pancake,” but it’s actually supposed to be much thinner than a pancake. Before he took over his family’s restaurant, Kang roamed the kitchen of Mr. Wok as a ten-year-old boy while his parents worked long, tiring shifts. “I realized in my senior year of high school that this was the route I wanted to take, but my dad tried to talk me out of it,” says Kang. After graduating from UT’s business school, Kang took over the restaurant in 2000, opting to keep the same booths and chairs that graced the store’s opening day in 1989.  Now the furniture looks like it should belong to a garage sale, but Kang claims that customers tell him his restaurant looks cozy.

What’s certain is that it’s easy to forget Mr. Wok’s shabby interior as soon as Kang brings a roasted whole duck tableside promptly after you sit down. (That’s if you called early to make a reservation.) He lifts the duck by its feet and starts carving the living juice out of it – an exciting show to watch if you’re into the art of duck slicing like nerdy, nerdy me. The duck is skinny with minimal fat (around 6-7 lbs), so Kang packs up his knives after five minutes of comfortable small talk and finishes arranging the duck slices onto a plate.

Banana and chocolate springs rolls dipped in caramel sauce

My parents, both expert Peking duck eaters, agree with me that Kang’s duck was prepared well, but the pancakes (which were thick as tortillas and clearly not made in-house) and hoisin sauce (which tasted like it came straight out of a can) were certainly not rave-worthy. Still, it makes me as proud as a puffed-up dead duck that my city can serve this dish to a welcoming crowd. According to Jack Kang, Mr. Wok sells around 70 ducks per week mostly to weekend customers who enjoy the freedom of bringing their own wine and beer to pair with popular dishes like mango shrimp and beggar’s chicken. “We don’t have a corkage fee,” says Kang. “I don’t believe in that.”

While Mr. Wok’s duck ($32.95 for 12 pancakes, feeds 4-5 people) didn’t meet my high expectations, it is certainly worth a taste for those who’ve never ventured into the Peking duck world.

Other dishes to try: Cantonese crispy egg noodles are a recent menu addition ($7.95), and I must admit that I ate all four banana-chocolate spring rolls ($4.95) without pausing to breathe.

Tips on having the best Peking duck experience: It takes a good 12 hours to roast an entire duck from start to finish, so do Jack Kang a favor and call one day ahead to tell him you’re coming. You can choose to order the duck with buns (gua bao) or the pancakes.  After Jack finishes slicing the duck,  you decide whether he makes the duck bones into a soup or stir fries them. Go with the soup. It comes with rice noodles, napa cabbage, and sour mustard leaves. The stir fry makes your duck bones look like carnage. BYOB. Pay the bill. Give Jack a hug. You know the drill.

Mr. Wok Asian Bistro
972.881.1888
Mon-Sat from 11am – 10pm
2600 14th St., Plano, TX 75074

]]> http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/2012/02/14/good-asian-grub-mr-woks-peking-duck/feed/ 17 http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/2012/01/30/please-welcome-carol-shih-to-sidedish/ http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/2012/01/30/please-welcome-carol-shih-to-sidedish/#comments Mon, 30 Jan 2012 17:42:14 +0000 Nancy Nichols http://sidedish.dmagazine.com/?p=35325 You all remember Carol Shih. She’s been an intern at D Magazine for a while. Last October she came to me with an idea for a series of posts on SideDish called Good Asian Grub.  She did such a good job, we hired her. For the last two weeks she has been getting our restaurant directory in shape. (BTW, we have over 1,000 editorial listings available on any smart phone or computer  or our D Recommends App in the iTunes store.) Carol speaks Chinglish (half-Chinese, half-English) which comes in handy in editorial meetings. Here is her official bio:

Carol Shih recently received her degree in Public Policy at Duke University, where she quickly decided her degree was useless if she wanted to write for magazines. So she graduated and moved back to good ol’ Carrollton, the city she was named after. As the new online assistant dining editor, Carol is often hungry from reading restaurant menus (thanks, PR people) and keeps a stash of Meiji chocolates inside her desk.

Be nice to her. She is young and full of enthusiasm. PR peeps, add her to your lists: Carol.Shih@dmagazine.com.

Golden pineapple sticky cake with gold-dusted chocolate talon

Last night, I schmoozed with some Dallas media people at Five Sixty by Wolfgang Puck for a complimentary sampling of its Chinese New Year’s menu. Big D foodies like Teresa Gubbins, Steven Doyle, Jennifer (RealPoshMom), and the nice lady from foodbitch (I swear you said your name was “Katie,” but your blog says “Rachel.”) busted out their phone cameras the second after Executive Chef Patton Robertson finished introducing each course. Photos of the five courses happily lodging inside my intestines have already been posted on several different blogs, so there’s no point rehashing all the deets. I’d just like to add this little bit: the lobster dumpling had a thicker skin than I’m used to, yet the golden pineapple sticky cake made the whole elevator ride up to Five Sixty completely worth it for someone with baby acrophobia.

Jump because you’re hungry and you know it.

Loup de mer with lemon and black pepper sauce

It’s a pricey prix fixe at $125 per person ($175 with wine pairings), but, hey, Chinese New Year only comes once a year. Reserve your table before this menu is gone on February 3.

Chef’s amuse
Gulf shrimp springroll & egg drop soup

1st Course: Fire Dragon
Wok-fired lobster dumplings and XO chili sauce

2nd Course: Water Dragon
Roasted loup de mer with preserved lemon & black pepper sauce

3rd Course: Wood Dragon
Apple wood smoked Peking duck, Chinese mustard, and duck fried rice

4th Course: Earth Dragon
Szechuan pepper crusted filet wok fired longevity noodles

The pastry chef’s amuse:
House-made fortune cookie and tangerine sorbet
(The Cantonese word for ‘tangerine’ sounds like luck and wealth)

5th Course: Metal Dragon
Golden pineapple sticky cake black pepper ice cream, gold dusted chocolate talon

Homemade pork dumplings with green onion, garlic, and ginger

My family used to have the weirdest Chinese New Year tradition. When I was a young lass, my mother would scrub seven or eight coins really well and hide them inside her homemade pork dumplings so she could watch my brother and I go cockfight crazy as we each attempted to amass the most number of coins. To our disappointment, my father would always win; his superior chopstick skills and fast-eating ways would earn him a shining victory (plus some pained teeth from biting down too hard). His winnings meant that he’d have the most prosperity for the rest of the year.

Jump for more traditions.

Chinese people are superstitious – I mean, very superstitious – when it comes to certain things, and their hocuspocus beliefs are revealed through specific dishes eaten during Chinese New Year. People who can’t afford the fancy restaurants I listed here can still follow tradition and savor these foods at home.

Jiaozi (dumplings) are shaped like gold money from the Ming Dynasty. Eat these so you can be rich one day.

Pomegranates are red (a lucky color) and symbolize fertility (because of all the seeds). They’ll bring you good bounty.

Mien (noodles) will give you a long life. Especially if you eat long noodles.

Ping guo (apples) are also red and will bring you peace (ping ping an an). Notice the word play?

Nian gao (Chinese New Year cake) is this sweet sticky rice that I’m actually eating right now as I type. Yum.

How did you/how will you be celebrating the Year of the Dragon? Post your holiday spirit down below.

Prepare to move halfway across the world for that dream job as a tattoo artist, meet the love of your life (potentially George Clooney, but don’t get your hopes up), and exert your independent strength in some political rally where you’ll end up smelling like those Occupy Wall Street dudes. In any case, you should probably celebrate at these places before your luck runs out.

Kirin Court is going to be a hot spot for Chinese people who like to start off their new year just like everyone else in Asia: family style. It’s going to be packed, especially on Jan 18, Jan 28 and Feb 4 when lion dancers will perform around 7pm. Sit around a circle table with 8-10 people and stuff your faces with lobster, garlic fried chicken, pig feet, and red bean soup for dessert. $278 for ten people and $208 for eight.

Never in a million years would I endorse P.F. Chang’s since I can’t stand fake Chinese food, but P.F. Chang’s will be handing out red envelopes containing unknown rewards to guests who visit between January 23 and February 6. I don’t want to be held responsible if evil spirits haunt you for not receiving a red envelope this year, so maybe you should go just to drink their specialty Dragon Punch cocktail.

Steel Restaurant and Lounge’s website mistakenly thinks it’ll be the Year of the Rabbit, but at least its dinner menu between January 23-29 has it right: three courses for $45 per person with whole fish, duck, noodles, and shrimp. Here’s the menu in case you’re not convinced yet. Traditional lion dancing by the kids from Chin Woo School will take place on January 23 at 8pm.

Reminder: Five Sixty by Wolfgang Puck is having a prix fixe menu for $125 per person like Nancy mentioned in this post. If you’d like to see him in person on February 1, reserve a spot soon.

So far, I have only received one notice of a special Chinese New Year celebration dinner: Five Sixy by Wolfgang Puck is doing a prix fixe menu for $125 per person. Wolfie will be in town for the dinner on February 1. All the details are below.

Anybody else out there have info an specific celebrations taking place?

WHAT:

Five Sixty by Wolfgang Puck will ring in the Year of the Dragon with a prix fixe menu showcasing Asian-inspired dishes representing the five Chinese elements: Metal, Water, Wood, Fire and Earth.

Join Chef Wolfgang Puck and Five Sixty Executive Chef Patton Robertson for a tempting, creative five-course menu, inclusive of a chef’s amuse, a pastry prelude, and a decadent dessert. Dishes such as the Wok-Fired Dumplings with XO Chili Sauce, Roasted Loup de Mer, Apple Wood Smoked Peking Duck and Szechuan Pepper Crusted Filet are each designed to evoke themes of the Chinese New Year like good fortune and power, and will ensure that all visitors start the Year of the Dragon off right.

The Chinese New Year menu will be available alongside the a la carte menu from January 23rd through February 3rd, with a special appearance by Chef Wolfgang Puck on the evening of February 1st. The celebratory menu is priced at $125 per guest, or offered with an optional wine pairing for $175.  (Tax and gratuity is not included.)

WHEN:

Chinese New Year Menu

January 23rd–February 3rd, 2012

Wolfgang Puck Appearance

February 1st, 2012

Fresh sugar cane juice with lemon.

D Magazine intern Carol Shih prowls Dallas for the best Asian cuisine and also writes a blog about sandwiches.

On Fridays and Saturdays after the last prayers are said in Arabic, the Ismailis of Carrollton exit the holy halls of their Jamatkhana, file into cars that’ll take them across two minutes of roads, and greet each other again inside the Al Markaz shopping complex where they fill their empty stomachs with juice and samosas.

An elevator-sized shop, squeezed between a beauty parlor and cell phone store, bears the name AGHA JUICE and a colorful neon sign that indicates it’s open until midnight.

Before Agha Juice opened its doors in 2004, Kareem Valliani, the owner, discovered that his community was missing a dessert concept. “Back home in Karachi, after dinner we would go out and have dessert. There was no place here for the dessert that we enjoyed back home.” So he bought a small space next to the George Bush Turnpike and covered the walls with bright objects he’d bought in Karachi—objects that Pakistani parents could point out to their American-born children and say, “You see that toy truck? That’s what the trucks in Karachi look like.”

Mr. Valliani often stands behind his own counter, quick to offer a warm hello to customers he knows on a first-name basis. South Asians squeeze inside Agha Juice as if they were standing in some busy Old Delhi market as they order everything from refreshing sugar cane juice to golaganda (snow cones) and masala fruit cocktails. Falooda, a traditional dessert from India and Pakistan, is popular with customers and it comes in six different flavors, but the original is bubble gum pink with rice noodles, milk, vanilla ice cream, Mr. Valliani’s homemade falooda ice cream, jelly pieces, pineapple and strawberry bits, and basil seeds. With so many ingredients inside one cup, it’s no surprise this dessert drink costs a hefty five-dollar bill.

Customers who can’t fit inside or have already received their orders loiter outside the shop, some sitting in plastic lawn chairs and others standing with a cup of fresh-squeezed pomegranate juice in one hand. Many alternate between speaking Urdu and licking their frozen kulfi made in-house. Ten inches of glorious milk, butter and sugar are mixed together to create five different kulfi flavors, but do yourself a favor and ignore four of them. Go straight for the khoya malai—this creamy, nutty ice cream that makes even people with lactose intolerance ignore the consequences of ordering this kulfi flavor.

If you ask Mr. Valliani what he puts in his khoya malai kulfi to make it so addicting, he will probably smile and answer you as he did with me: “That’s my secret ingredient. I can’t even tell my wife, because then she may copy me!”

Darn. And I was really hoping to open my own kulfi store one day…

Kareem Villiani’s newest fast food restaurant, Agha’s Café and Grill, offers halal meat for those who wish to pair a sweet drink with foods like malai chicken and gyros. Agha’s Café and Grill is a couple doors down from Agha Juice.

Address:
1205 W Trinity Mills Rd
Carrollton, TX 75006
(972) 245-5001

Falooda: Vermicelli, milk, ice cream, jelly pieces, fruit bits and basil seeds.

Kulfi: Khoya malai kulfi made with milk, sugar and butter.

Not On The Menu: Order Niu Nan Bao, tender beef and tendons cooked in a stew of bok choy, carrots, and turnips.

D Magazine intern Carol Shih prowls Dallas for the best Asian cuisine and also writes a blog about sandwiches.

Every month or so, my dad gets this craving for A Wok, a Taiwanese family restaurant in Plano, and moans about their fish fillets until we all get dressed and eat there for dinner. It’s become our go-to place of the century. Don’t feel like cooking tonight? Time for A Wok. It’s Christmas Eve and the whole world has shut down? Hey, A Wok is open. Located on Independence Parkway, this grungy little establishment has saved my family on several occasions whenever we needed Taiwanese food.

Chef and owner Steve Kang, a Taipei man with dark circles and the ability to ramble on a good bit, arrived in 1977 and has been cooking Chinese food on American soil ever since. If his customers don’t like a dish, he takes it off the menu. “It’s a success when six out of ten people like it,” Kang says. “You can’t please everybody.”

Buttered walnut shrimp with turnip and carrot sticks.

Business, according to Kang, has been so-so. Weekdays the place looks deserted when a few linger in to order take-out. On weekends I’ve seen a single waitress hustle around and work a full house, sweating her heart out. Most of the customers are Chinese or Asian, a fact that I attribute to A Wok’s shabby interior and a chef/owner who’s thinking of adding new dishes like “pigs’ feet on a bed of bo cai (Chinese spinach) to his 2012 menu. Not many would appreciate Kang’s choice of ingredients besides the Asian-leaning.

For those who aren’t the adventurous type, the buttered walnut shrimp ($10.95) is a safe choice and it arrives on a bed of cabbage that comes with crunchy turnip and carrot slices. I detest shrimp, but somehow I always end up ordering the buttered walnut shrimp because I like the mayo sauce and shrimp batter. (Kids will love this.) Chef Kang says the basil and chicken dish is also one of his most popular. Even though I don’t think it’s anything special (it is just basil leaves and chicken after all), I’m certain that people who like wimpy Chinese food would find this satisfying.

Basil and chicken.

Asian food-eating crazies, though, should go straight for the niu nan bao (stewed beef and tendon in a small hot pot). These tender bites of meat are cooked in a thick soup along with bok choy, carrots, and turnips. A waiter lights your hot pot with fire, keeping your stew hot and bubbly throughout your entire meal – a special treat that tastes best when it’s cold outside. (This item isn’t on the menu, so ask for it if you can’t read Chinese.) Order the bean curd Hunan Style ($8.95) if you’re not afraid of soft tofu. This baby – drenched in a garlic brown sauce and topped with red chili peppers and sliced pork –always hit’s the spot, according to my mother.

At A Wok, the milk tea is a great bargain at $1.25 with bubbles and $1.75 with no ice. Avoid the noodle soups at all costs. Even Kang admits his noodles are nothing special. If you’re that desperate, go to the Noodle House ten minutes away. A Wok is a restaurant for hardcore Taiwanese food enthusiasts who can eat pork belly and chitterlings without batting an eye. For those of you up to the challenge, welcome to my hood.

Désir Bakery inside 99 Ranch Market.

Whenever I go grocery shopping in 99 Ranch Market with my mom, I consider buying one of those ridiculous child safety harnesses that some parents use to rein in their little ones. Except mine would be a reverse leash: daughter prevents mother from her crazy tendencies to buy enough pastries from a small Taiwanese bakery inside 99 Ranch Market to feed all the children in Africa.

But who can blame her? Even I can’t help swooning once I’m standing inside Désir Bakery, surrounded by the aroma of sweet and salty breads.

A young pastry chef named Jessica told me that people come again and again because “it reminds them of the bakeries in Taiwan” and they always fall in love with the generous portions for a small amount of change. How much can five dollars buy you at La Madeleine’s bakery? A barely-breakfast of drip coffee and one mini tart. At Désir, those greens can land you a paprika hot dog ($1.19), giant “cup cake” ($1.09 for a cup cake not in the traditional American sense), a Taiwanese pineapple cake ($1.49), and a cup of house coffee ($0.99). That’s what I call a breakfast of champions.

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When 99 Ranch Market, a transplant chain from the Golden State, first opened its Plano doors during the summer heat of 2010, my mother called me in D.C. to announce the big news and has since made it a ritual to go every three weekends. We routinely stop at the bakery section first where we lay low like stealthy predators, waiting for one of the pastry chefs to hold a tray of popular, right-out-of-the-oven cup cakes and yell, “FRESH BREAD!!!!” so we can quickly grab a couple before swarms of Asian ladies steal these hot goodies.

Désir's Number 1 seller, the ugly cup cake.

At first glance, this cup cake is nothing special. It’s really just a starch and flour mixture that looks even uglier than those giant plush microbes some geeks like to give as gifts. Heck, most sugar-overdosed folks will wonder why something so bland is the best seller at Désir. But to Asians who prefer the hint of sweetness rather than the overwhelming taste of sugar, it’s perfect for the palates of Taiwanese immigrants like my mother who hug this warm bread and remember what it’s like to live on the other side of the Pacific Ocean.

Portuguese egg tarts (custard-filled egg tart).

Jennifer Tsao, Marketing Director of 99 Ranch Market, claims that Désir’s pastries are made with “unbleached flour and real butter with no artificial colors, flavors, or preservatives” – a statement I seriously question since the taro plants I’ve seen in pictures aren’t the same bright purple color I found inside their cheese puff taro bun ($1.19). Still, it’s hard to hold it against Désir when this flaky pastry (comes with cheese and pork sung filling too) sings joyful songs inside my satisfied belly before I even make it back home. Some customers like to finish their treats while they’re in the check out line. Others—exercising slightly more self-control—wait until they’re safely in the car to drive with one hand and use the other to stuff their faces with bread. My mother and I tend to fall in the latter camp.

If your taste buds aren’t shy, try the teriyaki bun for $1.19 even if it doesn’t taste anything like teriyaki; each bun has a surprise fish ball inside with a salty-sweet combo covering the top. For the sweet-toothed, go for the Portuguese egg tarts ($1.25) that have a crème brûlée-like consistency and custard filling. Individually-wrapped green tea red bean mochi cakes ($2.49 each) and pineapple cakes ($1.49 each) make the best gifts and stocking stuffers, in case you’re inclined to think ahead.

Red bean mochi bun (sesame seeds, red bean filling).

Plan to visit during the weekend when hot bread is constantly pulled from the oven and Asians practice their Speedy Gonzales moves. Before you know it, ten pairs of hands will snatch up an entire batch and you will be gazing into the depths of a very empty tray, my friend. I share all these secrets because I want you guys to eat well, but I must warn you: if you would like to remain (or become) friends with this intern, don’t you dare hog the bread and crowd up my bakery. I will hunt you down.

Address:
131 W Spring Creek Pkwy Plano, TX 75023
(972) 943-8999

Combination seafood noodle soup with roasted pork, shrimp, squid, and fish cakes. (photo by Carol Shih)

D Magazine intern Carol Shih prowls Dallas in search of the best Asian cuisine. This time she bribed her Vietnamese-American friend to help her translate and teach her the art of eating.

When I took my old high school buddy Theresa to Bon Mua (“Four Seasons”), a Vietnamese restaurant in Carrollton, she laughed the minute I started draining the bowl of beef broth the owner, Din Huynh, placed in front of me. “You’re not supposed to drink it first,” she said. “You pour a little bit onto your rice to wet it, and then you finish the soup after you’re done with the meal.”

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Deep fried Vietnamese egg roll with ground pork, shrimp, bean sprout, carrot, and fish sauce. (photo by Carol Shih)

After all these years of eating, I never quite understood the Vietnamese order and method of consumption. Not until Theresa, my Vietnamese-American friend, sat across the table and gave me the complete lowdown. It can be a confusing process for any Vietnamese food virgin who is seated at a restaurant like Bon Mua where the owner can’t speak more than ten words in English, a barrier which really throws off the customer as soon as a waiter starts piling bowl after bowl of fish sauce and broth onto the table. Almost every dish on Bon Mua’s menu comes with a side of something.

So here are some tips to make your life easier, fellow eater, from me to you.

Bánh bǒt loc lá, translucent tubes of tapioca flour wrapped with banana leaves, filled with whole shrimp and slices of fatty pork. (photo by Carol Shih)

First. Place your order. (Like how I’m taking this reeeally slow and easy?) I suggest starting off with the fried egg rolls ($4.75) rolled in thick, crackly paper. Or, if you’re daring, get the bánh bǒt loc lá ($4.75), gelatinous tubes of sticky tapioca flour wrapped in banana leaves filled with whole shrimp and fatty pork. Mr. Huynh told us these were “specialty cakes found in the middle of Vietnam” and he also suggested the còm bò lúc lǎc, cubed tender beef with lemon pepper sauce for $7.99. My favorite has to be any of the broken rice dishes which come in combos or plain pork; Bon Mua’s the only place I know that serves this nuttier, smaller rice form which is native to Vietnam.

Còm bò lúc lǎc, cubed tender beef with lemon pepper sauce, lettuce, red onion, tomato, and steamed rice. (photo by Carol Shih)

Second. Dip eggrolls and bánh bǒt loc lá into accompanying fish sauce (don’t worry, it doesn’t taste fishy at all, but I’m not going to reveal how it’s made because then some of you weaklings won’t try it) or pour fish sauce over rice and vermicelli dishes. Add the generous plate of raw bean sprouts and cilantro into your bowl and mix. If you’ve ordered pho or a noodle soup ($5.75 for small; $6.75 for large), quickly throw in the veggies and let them cook inside your broth while you decide whether to douse it with fiery Sriracha sauce. Some friends of mine like to do this and it’s always a painful process to watch since I like mine clear and spice-free. But to each his own.

Third. If you didn’t order pho and you received an extra bowl of liquid that looks exactly like fish sauce but isn’t, this means you have some broth that took Mr. Huynh ten hours to make. Some people pour it all over their rice or take a sip after each bite; others wait for it to cool before gulping it down. My expert advice? Drink the separate bowl of soup whenever you feel like it. Just don’t let it be the first thing you touch unless you enjoy making your Vietnamese-American friend laugh.

Bon Mua Restaurant
3030 N. Josey Ln #113
Carrollton, TX 75007

972-820-6220

Fresh salmon placed on top of California rolls and rice.

D Magazine intern Carol Shih prowls Dallas in search of the best Asian cuisine. She’s a weird Chinese American who doesn’t like most seafood, but can’t help feeling passionate about sushi.

In my food religion, sushi is the Bread of Life and I am its most intrepid disciple. If it weren’t for this inherent desire to seem normal, I would have erected a temple of worship for this Japanese food and used a rice cooker as the altar. Instead, I named my blond Labrador “Sushi” and consider this a sign of my lasting devotion whenever she slips through the fence and I’m hollering her name down the street. My neighbors must think I’m crazy and always hungry.

Food porn and more below.

Tuna Tower- a stack of sushi rice, spicy tuna, crab, and avocado served on zesty creamy sauce.

So when my dad asked his friend, Mary Ann, where she had tasted the best sushi in town, I had to try her suggestion: Sushi Yokohama, a tiny sushi and sashimi bar in a strip mall that I always pass by. But this time I stopped and walked through its front doors, anticipating what Mary Ann had deemed the most authentic place in Dallas.

Though Sushi Yokohama was eerily quiet when I walked in around dinnertime, a few regular customers started trickling in soon after and it was hard to pin down Young Gerke, the owner and waitress. “It’s just one of those days,” she sighed, and then paused in the middle of our interview to help jumpstart one of her customer’s cars. I knew right off the bat that service here must be pretty unbeatable. For the last eleven years since Sushi Yokohama first opened, David Oh, Gerke’s brother, has been the top sushi chef (and now the only one) at this establishment. Don’t let his Korean heritage fool you, though; back in Hawaii, he trained under Japanese chefs and served Japanese tourists until he learned how real sushi—not the Westernized kind—is supposed to taste like.

Louisiana roll- fried crawfish, cucumber, avocado, spicy sauce.

The menu isn’t cheap, but well worth the price considering the generous portions of fresh fish. Thick pink slabs of raw salmon drape over California rolls or rice depending on your preference, glistening lusciously at the price of $11.95-$13.95. For $6.95, I tried the Louisiana roll which comes with fried crawfish, cucumber, avocado, and orange spicy sauce lightly drizzled over little curls of crawfish piled on top. A real winner, I tell you. The Yokohama roll was creative with its flying fish eggs and green soybean paper ($13.95), but didn’t excite my taste buds like the Negihama roll ($7.95), a simple combination of green onion and yellowtail fish that could’ve jumped straight out of the ocean.

Yokohama roll- soybean paper, spicy tuna, asparagus, radish, cucumber, avocado, sprouts, flying fish eggs.

For those who aren’t weak of stomach, stick to the raw fish because that’s what makes Sushi Yokohama stand out from other Japanese restaurants. “We’re a small restaurant and we want to keep it that way. Some sushi places are big and they make the sushi somewhere you can’t see it. We want our sushi fresh,” said the owner. She then bid me over to watch Chef Oh prepare a Tuna Tower ($13.95-$16.95) with spicy tuna, crab, and avocado served on a stack of sushi rice covered in zesty sauce. Holy. Moly. If this tower were any higher, the Sushi Gods would have to strike it down for reaching the heavens.

No wonder Young Gerke calls her place the “best kept secret.”

But now that the secret’s out (at least on SideDish), it’s time to head over to Sushi Yokohama if you’re a fellow worshiper. Just don’t name your dog “Sushi” like me. It never feels right when you tell people you’re going out to eat sushi.

19009 Preston Rd # 115
Dallas, TX 75252-8553
(972) 733-0223