Post 16.3: Oodles of Noodles (LA-SGV: Arcadia/Alhambra)

A post on A&J Restaurant (半畝園) cannot be complete without mentioning the oodles of noodles on their menu.  As a purveyor of the hand-pulled noodle, A&J has a variety of noodles that ranges from the ever-popular Taiwanese braised beef noodle soup to Szechwan-style noodles in sesame and peanut sauce (AKA dan dan noodles) to native favorites such as zhajiang noodles.  Many of these noodles hail originally from Szechwan (Sichuan) Province of China, but have been popular in America by Taiwanese noodle houses like A&J.  Here is a look at some of A&J's most popular noodles:

Braised beef noodle soup (紅燒牛肉麵)
listed on the menu as spicy beef noodle soup



Braised beef noodle soup is almost a staple of Taiwanese noodle houses everywhere.  And although it was first introduced to Taiwan in the 1950s, it has become one of Taiwan's most popular and well known national foods.  Every family, every chef, every restaurant adds different ingredients to their beef noodle soup, but the method is standard everywhere... and it begins with braising or stewing beef broth until the beef is tender and the soup is flavorful.  A&J's beef noodle soup is infused with soy sauce and succulent beef that isn't the least bit tough.

It's topped off with bok choy and sliced green onions for health, color, and flavor.  Some noodle-goers like to add cilantro as garnish while others cannot go without topping the noodle soup off with pickled mustard greens for some crunch and flavor contrast.

Dan dan noodles (擔擔麵)
listed on the menu as noodles in hot spicy sesame sauce topped with peanut powder



Dan dan noodles are simply noodles with sesame and peanut sauce.  Dan dan refers to the shoulder poles that peddlers or hawkers used to carry the noodles back in the old days in China's Szechwan Province.  It's one of my go-to noodles that I know I can count on whenever I'm indecisive... or feeling down.  This is my big bowl of comfort.  I remember the days when I used to sit at the kitchen table watching my Aunt Wendy make this dish.  I would ask my Aunt Wendy to top off my bowl of dan dan noodles with a dollop of Peter Pan brand peanut butter to soften the blow of the spicy Szechwan chili.  I ate dan dan noodles whenever I needed to soften the blow of bad grades or parental punishment.  How fitting.



Dan dan noodles are the grown-up, sinicized version of licking peanut butter from a spoon.  I relish in its comfort; I relish in its simplicity.  Even the name is simple... dan dan.  Anyone, Chinese-speaking or not, can order it easily.  

Many variations of this noodle exist.  Some are prepared with a heaping pool of chili oil, and some others include ground pork.  But my favorite is simply noodles, sauce, and a hint of pickled mustard greens.  How simple, how amazing.

Zhajiang noodles (炸醬麵)
listed on the menu as noodles with ground pork, bean sprouts and shredded cucumber



Zha is to fry, and jiang is the word for sauce.  Ground pork has been stir-fried with either soybean paste or black bean paste as the base for these noodles, hence the name zhajiang noodles.  Some versions of zhajiangmian include diced carrots or dried bean curd (tofu) in the sauce, but I prefer mine without.  I prefer A&J's version... hand-pulled noodles cooked just to a chewy, elastic, al dente consistency (or a 'Q' consistency for Taiwanese), ground pork, and cold bean sprouts and cucumber.  Yum.

A&J offers many more noodles on the menu, but these were some of the favorites for regulars and first-timers alike.  The same menu (and more) is offered at A&E Restaurant (北平麵館), which was A&J Restaurant's original location before it became a chain restaurant.  Got a favorite bowl of noodles? Share yours.  Until then, let's get S.O.F.A.T.

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Post 15.1: Did We Really Eat Diaphragm? (Bay Area: Milpitas)

I ate diaphragm.  Or at least that's what the menu read.

While in the Bay Area for a quick 20 hours, Vickee took me around her hood for a quick bite at Milpitas Square before my return flight to LA.  Of all the different Asian restaurants in Milpitas Square, we stopped at Taiwan Noodle House (台灣排骨大王), a small mom and pop shop that serves Taiwanese snacks and a variety of Taiwanese-style noodles.  Of course, the literal translation of the restaurant's name from Han characters means Taiwan Pork Chop King... but hopefully the off-translation just meant that the food was authentic.

And authentic it was.  The menu listed 'diaphragm' as a specialty! Can you get any more authentic than that? Since it was so different from anything on the menu (trust me, everything else on the menu is pretty standard), I had to try it.  Plus, when I had asked the owner what she recommended, the she immediately responded, "Would you like to try diaphragm?"

Silently, Vickee shot me the are-you-serious-you're-gonna-order-diaphragm-I-hope-it's-not-really-diaphragm look. 

Me: "Yes, please."

So adding onto our soup noodles with deep-fried pork chops, we ordered a diabolical diaphragm as an appetizer.  How did it taste?

The first reaction was that it was firm yet tender.  A bit elastic and springy.  If protein could be al dente, this would be it.  Taiwanese traditionally describe this firm yet tender, elastic and springy texture as 'Q,' a term that can be used for anything from noodles to meatballs to... well, diaphragm.

My second reaction was that it didn't taste, smell, or look like anything out of the ordinary.  No strong flavors? No strange after taste? Hrmmm... so I began to wonder what exactly this diaphragm was.  We asked the boss, and she explained that diaphragm (豬肝蓮) actually refers to the meat surrounding the liver of the pig.  Is it really diaphragm? No, although had it been, Andrew Zimmerman would have been quite proud.

My third reaction was that it was really good.  Dipped in the traditional Taiwanese garlic soy sauce paste and garnished with fresh cilantro and sliced ginger, the flash-boiled meat that circumscribed the pork liver made for a really enjoyable appetizer.

Would I ever eat it again? You betcha.  (Sarah Palin-esque?)

The bowl of noodles that arrived soon after was not bad at all.  Although there was a viscous layer of oil across the top of the noodles, the blanched baby bok choy helped provide a healthier balance.

I was really delighted to see a few goji berries sprinkled into the soup.  Not only do that further the health benefit ever-so-slightly, it really broke up the monotony of the yellows and greens in the bowl.  (While often used to slow-cook light soup or broth in Asia, the health benefits of goji berries have recently picked up in America.  You can now find them in the aisles in supermarkets such as Whole Foods, Trader Joe's, and Henry's.)

I added a few shakes of the white pepper to give the soup a slight kick, but I had realized why the soup was a bit bland when the fried pork chop arrived.

This protein-packed plate was to be added to the noodles and soup.  Hidden from view is the hard-boiled egg that has later been braised in a soy sauce concoction of sorts.  Also to be added to the bowl of simple soup was the deep-fried tofu triangle, which had also been braised in the same soy sauce concoction as the egg.

The pickled cucumber and the chopped, pickled mustard greens are served alongside to help break the savory flavors and to cleanse the palate from the oils of the deep-fried pork chop and oily soup.

Not bad.  Not bad at all.  It definitely hit the spot quickly, but as Vickee mentioned, "it's not like we can't make this at home."  True, the noodles did resemble the instant dry noodles that can be purchased at an Asian supermarket.  (Funny how 99 Ranch is only 3 doors down...)  But I wasn't disappointed at all.

So I tried 'diaphragm' for the first time, and I ate a pork chop the size of my face with a bowl of noodles the size of my torso.  Not bad for less than 20 hours in the Bay Area.  Until next time, let's all get S.O.F.A.T.

Notes:
'Diaphragm' is traditionally served in Taiwanese hole-in-the-wall deli shops called 黑白切 (Taiwanese: ouh beh tzeh, Mandarin: hei bai qie).  Look for a forthcoming post for this style of Taiwanese food.

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