Chinatown Tour - Part 2

While cooking Chinese food may not have been Zhu’s forte, recounting colorful stories was. Now, as we walked towards our next food destination, it was time for him to introduce the fascinating yet tragic tale of Afong Moy. In 1834, Afong was brought to New York City by the brothers and traders Nathaniel and Francis Carne. They had bought Afong with the intention of exhibiting her as “The first Chinese woman to come to America.” According to Zhu, Afong was our country’s first-ever “influencer.”

The Carnes made her the centerpiece of their mercantile collection from China in the hopes that her novelty would attract curious shoppers. Indeed, Afong caused quite a stir. She was exhibited like a commodity seated on a throne-like chair dressed in traditional Chinese clothing. Her bound feet in miniscule satin slippers were displayed on a stool in front of her. Visitors paid 50 cents to gape at the human exhibit while admiring the assortment of Chinese antiques and goods artfully arranged around her.

Tiny feet-Big profit

Zhu detected our peaked interest in Afong’s bound feet. Out came his tablet. The kids gasped in horror and disbelief at Zhu’s image of a woman’s doll-sized bound feet. He explained that foot binding was an ancient Chinese cultural practice which lasted until the early 20th century. Mothers would break the toes of their daughters and tightly wrap their feet to restrict growth. Over time their bones would arch in such a way as to resemble a lotus flower. When a girl reached adulthood, her feet might only be four inches long making walking, and by extension, doing any physical work outdoors almost impossible! Back in Afong’s days, bound feet were a sign of beauty and a way to distinguish upper class girls from others.   

However, as Zhu recounted, the American audiences who came to witness   Afong’s exoticism did not understand the cultural context of her bound feet. While they considered her somewhat of a freak, they kept coming back. Business flourished until the Carne brothers’ warehouse burnt down. They elected to sell Afong to another manager who toured her around the country. Eventually she landed under the control of the legendary showman P. T. Barnum. After several years she was replaced by a younger Chinese woman. All along the way, Afong never learned English and therefore, was completely dependent on her handlers. Furthermore, Zhu explained that she was never paid for her services.  Afong’s sad story was one of slavery, cruelty, and exploitation, a far cry from that of a modern-day influencer whose endorsements are lavishly rewarded.

Where celebrities go to eat

On our way to the third food stop, we paused in front of Hwa Yuan Szechuan, one of Chinatown’s celebrity hangouts. Using his trusty tablet  Zhu showed us publicity shots of the original owner, Chef Shorty Tang’s grandson, James, who now runs the restaurant. Short like his grandfather, A-list celebrities, each one at least a head taller than he, mugged for the photos: Jennifer Lawrence, Gwyneth Paltrow and Emma Stone.  And with the last photo Zhu added, “When Martha Stewart shows up, you know you’ve arrived.”

One of Chef Tang’s claims to fame was his “original” recipe for cold, sesame noodles. The jury is still out whether the dish was invented by Shorty or was merely a spinoff. But its ability to tantalize New Yorker palates remains unchallenged. In fact, the dish is so universally appealing that I’ve included my own version in last week’s post.

Bloody Angle’s deadly reputation

Zhu next led us to the very heart of Chinatown’s bustling community, the intersection of Mott, Doyer and Pell Streets. “This was known as both ‘Bloody Angle’ and ‘Murder Alley’ by New Yorkers. Why? Because, at one point more murders were reported from here than anywhere else in the country. According to Zhu, during the early and mid-twentieth century Chinatown’s community interest was governed by a combination of benevolent neighborhood associations and less benevolent secret societies. The latter criminal syndicates, also known as “tongs,” were the cause of Bloody Angle’s deadly statistics.

By the early 1900’s there were only 78 Chinese women per 1,000 Chinese men in the U.S. as the door was closed to women from China. This unnatural “bachelor society” gave rise to all sorts of illegal underground businesses such as prostitution, gambling, and opium dens, all run by the tongs. During this period two gangs dominated Chinatown: On Leong Tong and Hip Sing Tong. The most colorful of the two gang leaders was Sai Wing Mock, better known as “Mock Duck,” who arrived via San Francisco to take over Hip Sing.

Chinatown’s Kingpin, Mock Duck

As Zhu elaborated, we found a shady spot to listen to his story. “These were turbulent times where dangerous turf wars left both residents and tourists afraid to walk the streets of Chinatown.” He showed us a black and white photo of Mock Duck on his tablet: a smartly dressed gentleman in an elegant, dark suit with a straw hat jauntily tilted on his head giving him an air of cockiness. Both hands were in his pockets.  Zhu flipped to another image of Mock’s hands, one normal and one with freakishly long, lethal-looking fingernails. My family and I were equally fascinated and repulsed. Our guide explained that like bound feet, long nails were a sign of wealth and status for both Chinese men and women. Clearly, with long nails a person could not be expected to do any manual labor.

But back to Mock Duck and how he got his name. Legend has it, he was a terrible shot. So, whenever he was confronted by another man with a gun, he would crouch down as low as possible, duck his head and start wildly shooting back. His tactic worked as he managed to survive several attempts on his life as the tong boss. Despite two decades of warfare and serious crimes, MD spent only two years in Sing Sing, then retired to Brooklyn where he lived in relative peace until his death in 1941.

Mock Duck was to Chinatown what Al Capone was to Chicago. My nephew was utterly captivated by the gangster’s persona and tales of his endless, bloody battles to maintain control of Chinatown’s illegal enterprises. Justin enthusiastically exclaimed “You never know who or what you'll see in Chinatown. You may see a celebrity (alluding to patrons at Chef Shorty Tang’s hip and happening restaurant) or hear a story about a famous gangster’s escapades on Murder Alley. And if you do, don’t forget to duck!”

Turning up the heat

From our discussion of wickedness and war lords, we switched back to the safer topic of food.  Zhu asked us, “Do you like spicy food?” The kids apprehensively shook their heads “no.” The adults, on the other hand, responded in the affirmative.  “Bring it on,” Justin said puffing up his chest. Zhu warned us that Chinese heat was much hotter than what most Westerners were used to. Too late. The challenge was on.

We walked into Zhang Liang, a popular Szechuan restaurant on Mott Street. The interior surprised me as it resembled a brightly lit, modern Greek diner with booths, not that of a traditional Chinese eating establishment. Here guests serve themselves. They are handed a bowl and tongs to select from a wall of different fresh ingredients—a veritable Chinese smorgasbord of meats and vegetables. Then your bowl is weighed to establish the cost of your meal before being handed off to the chef. After cooking your ingredients in a giant wok, the chef adds everything to his secret Malatang spicy soup base.

With our soup spoons held high, we were ready to dig into the adult spicy hot and children’s milder version of personally curated Szechuan hot pots. But not so quickly, Zhu warned the kids. “My mother always said to never breath in to try to cool the soup as it will only make it seem even hotter.” 

Immigrant mothers know best

Tully giggled and our guide asked her why.  “Because this reminds me of what my dad always says to us in Italian, ‘Mangia e stroccha la bocca.’” Now this was making the immigrant theme of my family’s visit particularly relevant: Parental tableside warnings from two different ethnic groups.

With Tully’s comment, I witnessed the fourth generation of my family still using Nonna Maria Spagga’s favorite mealtime admonition. Channeling my past, I recalled whenever we visited our Italian grandmother and we kids were making a commotion and not paying attention to Maria’s delicious meal, she would simply tell us in Ladin dialect from Trentino-Alto Adige to “Shut up and eat.” 

Yes, we started to sweat profusely as we savored our Zhang Liang spicy hot fish soup. As we paused to allow our mouths to cool down—none of my family’s adults was prepared to admit defeat—we listened attentively to Zhu. It was time to learn about the so-called Chinese dishes which were in fact, invented in America: General Tso chicken; egg rolls, beef and broccoli; and fortune cookies. But the best was the almost authentic dish, chop suey.  As our guide explained, the name means “odds and ends” referring to recycled kitchen scrapes used by cooks to feed the original Chinese immigrant gold miners in California.

Chop Suey: Chinese-America’s most expensive dish

Out came Zhu’s electronic assistant, the tablet. “Speaking of Chop Suez, let me show you one of the most expensive paintings ever sold in America.” There it was. Edward Hopper’s iconic oil painting of two women chatting in a restaurant in the foreground with a cropped “chop suey” sign out the window. In November 2018, it was sold for $92 million, the highest price ever paid for one of Hopper’s works. 

Zhu anxiously looked at his watch.  We were running short of time, so Zhu combined our last two food stops.  He picked up our desserts at a bakery then we headed to 98 Food Court on Mott Street. “This is my go-to when I come to Chinatown and find myself hungry. I want you to try their rice rolls.” 

Inside the food court we discovered multiple vendors selling everything from bubble tea to dim sum to lacquered duck hanging from racks. We found six seats together in their communal dining area and waited for our last two courses.  By this time, we were all stuffed from our “peanut noodles,” pork dumplings and hot, hot, hot Szechuan fish soup. However, we mustered up a feeble attempt to sample a selection of rice rolls, one filled with beef and the another with shrimp.

An acquired taste

Then we used our plastic forks to taste a mildly sweet, heavenly light sponge cake which Zhu explained was steamed not baked.  The kids devoured the cake but were less enthusiastic about our second dessert, a Chinese mochi. Instead of a golf-ball of sweet rice dough filled with ice cream—or at least that’s Trader Joe’s version of a Japanese mochi—we sampled a gelatinous pastry filled with a layer of sweetened red bean paste. Not exactly what we were expecting.  We put down our forks and feigned interest in Zhu’s comments that Chinese mochi can also be filled with finely crushed peanuts, roasted sesame seeds, or toasted coconut flakes. And, like it’s sponge cake, Chinese mochi is steamed.

Remembering what Beverly had counseled her children at our first food stop, “Feel free not to like something, but at least try it first,” we assuaged our guilt for leaving our second dessert barely touched.

An immigrant experience to remember

But this did nothing to dampen our overall experience. Our Chinatown visit under the tutelage of Zhu, our informed, charismatic, story-telling guide, had been a delightful combination of discovery, discussion and deliciousness. Except perhaps for the mochi which we all agreed, had to be an acquired taste.

To conclude this week’s post about my family’s Chinatown experience, check out Zhu’s detailed description on how to eat soup dumplings in the “Appetizer” section. It may come in handy for your next visit to a Chinese restaurant.