Chinatown Tour- Part 1
Who doesn’t want to visit New York City? My nephew Justin and his family from South Carolina love it here, too. So much so that they weathered the squelching heat and crowds of melting humanity to visit their Aunt Marsha over the recent July 4th weekend.
To optimize their three days here, I devised a schedule of activities themed around immigrants and their contributions to the city’s diverse melting pot of tastes and traditions. After a day at the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, we headed to Chinatown for a private food walking tour. Turns out that I, a hard-core, know-it-all New Yorker, was as fascinated as my family with what we experienced on our three-hour odyssey.
Dressing for the Fourth of July
Robert Zhu, a certified sightseeing guide, was our culinary Pied Piper. When I first spotted Zhu jauntily walking towards us, I knew we were in for a fun and memorable adventure. A trim, Millennial Asian-American in crisp, khaki summer shorts, navy T and matching baseball cap—finished off with an American flag scarf twisted around his neck—Zhu exuded high energy and definitely a “cool dude” factor.
Our guide was masterful in providing just the right amount of pertinent information to maintain the attention of the three generations on his tour. What we appreciated most, though, was that he was Chinese (in truth, a first generation Chinese Korean American). Not only could Zhu authoritatively explain the subtleties of the neighborhood’s historical and cultural landscapes, but he could also communicate with the locals. The fact remains that many of Chinatown’s older residents—like in other deeply ethnic neighborhoods in our city—speak little English.
Prepping us for our cultural and culinary adventure
In between our various food stops, Zhu salted and peppered his sight-seeing repartee with spicy tidbits about Chinatown’s complicated history of discrimination, dangerous tongs (or gangs), and old-world traditions.
But let’s not forget about the food, the primary purpose of our tour. Zhu cherry-picked the best examples of dishes to sample from his favorite food haunts: cold sesame noodles; pork dumplings; spicy Szechuan fish soup; rice rolls; and finally, sponge cake and Chinese mochi for dessert.
Chinatown’s graffiti scene
Our tour started at “Greetings from Chinatown,” the iconic postcard mural by graffiti artist, Victor Ving, located at the crossroads of Allen and Division Streets. Standing in front of its characteristic, typographic block letters, Zhu explained that this was just one of 40 other “Greetings from” murals the artist had painted around the country. Naturally, my family took advantage of this Instagram-able moment with their smart phones. Our guide pointed out a few of the cultural elements depicted on Ving’s wall art: a floating ‘I ❤ NY’ plastic shopping bag; a bottle of Tsingtao Beer; and a swimming koi fish which symbolizes success and good luck in Chinese culture.
Whipping out his handy tablet Zhu gave us a quick visual overview of Chinatown’s burgeoning public art scene, much of it sponsored by the community. He showed us work done by other trendy Chinese American street artists including Jade BTM, Sev TDT, and MN. I could tell Justin’s teenage kids, Baine and Tully, were quickly bonding with Zhu.
Happening upon Chinatown’s Crimson Kings Drum, Fife & Bugle Corps
On our way to the first food stop we heard a lively rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner” wafting through the air. Yes, it was July 4th, but it was still unexpected. Looking for the source of the music, we discovered a marching band dressed in crimson red uniforms with gold braiding standing on the sidewalk in front of a large brownstone building lavishly draped in Chinese and American flags.
Zhu read the Chinese letters outside the structure where the band was rehearsing. He identified it as one of the still active Chinese American Associations dating back to the mid-1800s. Later we would learn the historic significance of such organizations which stepped in to offer economic aid, social services, and protection when New York City turned its backs on the newly arrived Chinese immigrants.
Lucky combinations
Our guide casually asked if any of us gambled. Tully and Baine snickered, then rolled their eyes. However, their father perked up wondering if Zhe was about to share some invaluable information. Zhu explained that Chinese always use 1, 24, and 1848 in combination as lucky numbers as they signified the date when gold deposit was discovered in Califoria.
With that factoid, our history lesson was off and running. Zhu explained that most immigrants came from the poorest provinces in southern China. They originally sailed to California where they were employed to do the back-breaking work of building railroads and digging for gold.
Looking for better a brighter future in New York City
From the onset, Chinese immigrants were met with rampant discrimination in America. Eventually, as the railroads were nearing completion and goldmines started to yield less, they migrated towards New York City. Here they could find work—in hand laundries, tea rooms and rice shops—and quietly join the city’s ever-expanding immigrant population.
The Chinese mostly settled in the Lower East Side alongside Italian and Jewish immigrants. However, unlike other ethnic ghettos where an eventual assimilation was the goal, the Chinese community chose otherwise. Chinatown preferred to self-segregate with an internal structure of businesses and governing associations, like the one we encountered with the marching band.
A lonely bachelor society
Chinatown continued to grow through the end of the 19th century. As early Federal immigrant laws prohibited Chinese women from coming to America, this was mostly a bachelor’s society. Men crowded into two-room flats in tenement building, some with as many as 15 residents living together. All of them lacked indoor plumbing. And then the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 made things even more desperate for the newcomers.
It wasn’t until 1943 that Congress passed a measure to repeal the discriminatory exclusion laws against Chinese immigrants. However, the newly established immigration quota for China only accommodated 105 visas per year. For the entire country!
At least give it a try!
But the story of the rest of Chinatown’s challenging history had to wait. It was time for our first food stop at Lanzhou Ramen. When Zhu went to the counter to order our bowls of hand-pulled, cold sesame noodles, Justin’s wife Beverly, discreetly prepared her children. Referring to what they were about to taste, she counseled them to “Go with an open mind. Try to experience it to the fullest without any pre-conceived notions. However, feel free not to like something, but at least try it first.”
Surprisingly, the kids did not request forks when eating their noodles. After Zhu’s quick demonstration on how to properly hold chopsticks, everyone dug in. Beverly asked what the etiquette was for laying down chopsticks. Zhu taught us that Chinese never place their chopsticks directly on the table. Instead, either they lay them across their dish or on a chopstick rest. “However, in more casual restaurants, such as where we are now, you can make your own rest by folding up the chopsticks’ paper wrapper.”
Learning proper chopstick etiquette
Zhu continued his lesson of etiquette warning the children to never point at anyone with their chopsticks. “Even more important, don’t stick your chopsticks into your rice bowl and leave them standing up.” The kids looked at him quizzically. “Because they look like death,” he whispered with a mischievous grin. The kids looked at him with rapt attention as Zhu described that in this position, they resembled the incense sticks Chinese put before a grave. “And avoid playing with your chopsticks, such as rapping them on your plate like drumsticks or waving them in the air.” The kids became silent and cautiously rested their chopsticks on the edge of their bowl. But not for long. The cold sesame noodles were just too tasty to resist. (Check out my recipe for this dish in the “Dessert” section.)
As Justin forewarned me that Baine, a high school senior, “still eats like a three-year-old,” I did not anticipate his offspring’s enthusiastic response to the noodles. No doubt, it was the peanut butter in the sauce—a taste which resonates with all American youngsters—that caused Baine’s thumbs up reaction. I heard him off-handedly remark to his younger sister as we were leaving the restaurant, “Dim Sum good peanut butter noodles! “
Chinatown’s bustling food scene
Walking our way towards the heart of Chinatown, we marveled at the abundance of open crates brimming with exotic looking fresh produce on the sidewalk in front of endless tiny shops. “Do you know what that is?” Zhu asked pointing to the dark green, spiky shell of a durian fruit covered in plastic wrap. “Durians are so smelly that they must be transported frozen. Their interior is custardy and taste slightly sweet and sour, a little like a mango. Its highly regarded among Asians. We call it the ‘King’ of fruits.
“And the ‘Queen’ is right there,” exclaimed Zhu enthusiastically pointing to a crate of small, deep purple Mangosteens. The kids had never seen either fruit before. Looking at the Mangosteens Zhu added “Their flesh is white, very juicy, also tart and sweet in taste. Not only is it delicious, but it’s also a super-food as it’s filled with antioxidants.”
As our guide elaborated on the health benefits of the two fruits, I was busy checking out a stall selling bags upon bags of dried fish. At another fish monger, we encountered sea snails, squid, and soft-shelled crabs. Plus, a whole range of fresh, silvery fish on beds of ice, most of which we could not identify. Then I noticed a crate of live lobsters flailing around in slow motion with a sign posted at $8.99 a pound. “Incredible,” I shrieked. “At my supermarket they go for $24.99!” Note to self: Next time you make lobster risotto, start your grocery shopping in Chinatown!
Pork dumplings with a prison twist
Our next food stop was Yung Sun on East Broadway. Zhu pushed up his sunglasses on the top of his head like an imposing black crown. We carefully descended the steep stairs to the basement restaurant crowded with Chinese families busily enjoying their food. Fortified with our newly acquired chopstick skill set we were ready to attack our pork dumplings.
While waiting for our order to arrive, Zhu recounted the story that this restaurant belonged to Cheng Chui Ping who opened it in the 1980’s. Turns out the owner also used this location as the center for her human-smuggling operation. Also known by the name “Snakehead” or “Sister Pang,” she ended up in jail for 35 years. Despite her demise the restaurant is still run by her family. Zhu clandestinely commented to the kids that our dumplings might be served by one of Snakehead’s off springs.
In the meantime, Zhu bragged about his own mother’s dumpling-making prowess. “She makes the best and when she does, it’s usually 50 at a time so she can freeze some of them for another meal. I’ve tried learning her secret but each time my dumplings fall apart when I cook them,” he recounted with a downturned smile of resignation on his face.
We enjoyed Sister Pang’s pork dumplings so much that I’ve recreated a recipe for them in TarteTatinTales’ next installment. This wraps up the first of a two-part post. Stay tuned for the conclusion of our recent July 4th culinary pilgrimage to Chinatwn. Be prepared for more of Zhu’s lively stories of colorful characters, local intrigue, and deliciousness.