Dongbei Delights

Belching (discreetly) our way down Changkat Thambi Dollah towards Jalan Pudu after a satisfyingly fiery lunch at Sze Chwan Village Restaurant, we happened upon the nondescript, completely bereft -of-activity Restoran Dong Bei.  The place was so sorry looking we would probably have passed right by without a glance, had I not spied a piece of orange posterboard taped haphazardly up front.  And there, right in front of us, were the magic characters we'd been searching for weeks earlier, before we gave up and dove into fish porridge up the street at Ah Koong Eating House: dao shao mian (knife cut noodles)!  And not just dao shao mian, but liang mian (cold noodles) and mala mian (noodles with chili and Sichuan peppercorns) and shui jiao (boiled dumplings)! 

Right then and there -- after debating the matter briefly and then finally admitting to ourselves that there was no way we could shove a second lunch down our throats, no matter how much we wanted to -- Dave and I vowed to return one day to sad little Dong Bei for lunch.  And so we did, less than 24 hours later.  And have returned again.  And are eagerly anticipate our next visit.

Dongbei is generally understood to refer to the northeastern Chinese provinces of Heilongjiang, Jilin, and Liaoning (sometimes Shandong province is thrown into the mix as well); the region is bordered by Russia, Korea, Mongolia, and (obviously) to the south, China.  The population of Dongbei is rather homogeneous.  It wasn't much settled before the 1700s, when Han Chinese arrived from the south; from the late 19th century until the end of WWII the region was occupied first by  Russia, and then by Japan (which named it "Manchuoko").  Descendents of both nationalities still live in Dongbei today, whiled refugees trickle over the region's border with North Korea. 

For Chinese from Dongbei -- in contrast to those from other parts of the country -- regional identity takes priority over provincial.  That identity includes recognition of a cuisine which transcends provincial boundaries, and is influenced by the nations which border the region.  Dongbei food makes frequent use of vinegar (Korean influence?) and features raw vegetables.  Pickles are not uncommon, especially cabbage (Korea again ... and Russia?).  Lamb is ubiquitous (Mongolia, perhaps) and chilies are used liberally.  Wasabi, mixed with vinegar and sesame oil, is used in Shandong (the "sometimes" Dongbei province) to dress salads.  Wheat, rather than rice, is the mainstay starch, so noodles, dumplings, and breads are a big part of the Dongbei diet.

Restoran Dong Bei has received our only repeat visit in the 2+ months we've lived in KL -- not necessarily because it is objectively "better" than any of the other spots I've yammered on about on this blog.  Because it is different.  Dongbei flavors make a radical and pleasant change of pace, now and again, from seafood curry mee or Ipoh chicken rice. 

In two visits we've managed to scarf a number of dishes, all expertly prepared by the female head of the Heilongjiang household that owns the place.  But before you go, know this about Dong Bei: it will probably be empty.  I don't know why, and I don't know how Dongbei has survived the 5 years that it has with such dismal lunch traffic.  Maybe it does all its business at dinnertime.  At any rate, one mustn't be put off by a lack of customers.

On our initial foray we went snack-heavy, figuring -- as we had at Sze Chwan Village -- that the best way to guage the place's sincerity was via its simpler foods: dao shao mian, shui jiao (a mixture of meat dumplings and veggie dumplings), liang mian, Dongbei dala pi (lit. Dongbei style big pulled skins -- in actuality, translucent noodles made of mung bean starch), and a coriander salad.

Dumplings were, in a word, excellent.  Skins a bit thinner than those at Sze Chwan village, but not too much so.  Expertly pleated, boiled to perfection (not mush), and stuffed with lots of garlicky greens (veggie variety, left below) and juicy ground pork mixed with wee nubs of spritely Chinese celery (meat variety, right).

On each table a proper, if not Sichuan-fragrant, la jiao you (chili oil/paste) and strong black vinegar are there for the mixing.

We ordered our knife cut  noodles "dry".

This, I believe, was a mistake.  Not that the noodles weren't tasty; thick and wheaty, topped with a blob of chili bean paste and a good pile of shredded cucumber, these were everything I'd hope for in a daoshao mian, especially when mixed with a bit of vinegar.

 

But dao shao mian belong in a soup (and in fact that's the only way I'd had them, until our visit to Dongbei).  They just do.  These are fat, hearty, hefty noodles that need to be floating around with greens and porky pieces in a rich broth.  They beg to be eaten hot, not at room temperature.  And they will be, by golly, as soon as we can get back to Dong Bei.

Dongbei's liangmian were a complete surprise.  Here, before us, was a tasty bit of Korea in a bowl.

Round, ultra-chewy potato starch noodles, cucumber shreds, thin slices of pressed beef, a generous helping of kimchee, a dab of red chili paste, all sprinkled with sesame seeds -- something like naeng myun (Korean cold noodles), with ice-cold rice vinegar substituting for broth.  Can't say I've ever had vinegar "soup" before, and I recognize that it doesn't sound appealing.  But this crunchy, chewy, beefy, spicy noodle in vinegar soup is just about the perfect aswer to KL's wet heat.

Another surprise of the meal was this simple salad of cilantro and Chinese celery leaves, red and green pepper strips, and scallion matchsticks, dressed with only salt and a whisper of sesame oil. 

I don't think I've ever eaten a better salad, even in northern California.  Leaves perky and crunchy, not a wilted one in the bunch; and just the barest smidge of sesame oil left on the plate when we finished.  A delightful palate cleanser. 

The chef delivered our Dongbei dala pi with a flourish; undressed noodles draped over shreds of cucumber and large chunks of raw garlic, with sauce on the side.

Once she had poured over the mixture of sesame paste, la jiao, and vinegar,  and mixed the lot up, we discovered the dala pi included chewy matchsticks of stir-fried pork as well.

 

This dish is a winner in every possible way.  Texturally speaking you've got slippery, crunchy, and chewy, and though the sour of the vinegar dominates, fire from the la jiao and sweet from the sesame paste and the pork don't hide in the background.  Not to mention the whallop of raw garlic.  These mung bean noodles (but don't describe them as "noodles" in front of Dongbei's owner -- she'll get quite irate) are one of my favorite new foods.

After this first meal we were eager to get back to Dongbei to try a few proper dishes.  On visit number two we couldn't resist another plate of shui jiao (all veggie, this time), and then followed that up with the intriguingly named jiachang liangcai ("home-style" cold vegetables).  Expecting something along the line of a pickle, we soon found ourselves oohing and ahhing over this tempting mound of shredded cabbage, carrots, and cucumber; bean sprouts; and coriander leaves, all entwined with the potato starch noodles that had figured largely in our liangmian.

Yet another variation on the salad theme, as delightful and refreshing as the dala pi and the coriander salad.  Except for the sprouts, which were lightly blanched, all vegetables were raw; the whole was dressed with black vinegar, a hint of la jiao, and a slick of sesame oil. 

Yuxiang rousi ("fish-flavor" pork shreds) was the first hot dish to arrive.  If I had not even tasted this dish I would still nod approval after having a gander at this photo.  Why?  The slick of red oil just visible in the plate.  Not goo or some kind of sauce -- just an exqusisite naturally occuring amalgamation of cooking oil and pork fat and vegetable juices and the essence of those big can't-miss-'em pieces of dried chili.

This dish, to me, says "China"; it's the way I remember food there being way back when, when oil was expensive and valued and not to be wasted.  Oil is a great carrier of flavors -- in excess inappropriate to, say, the finest and lightest Cantonese dishes, but wholly correct when the flavors in a dish are big and bold and assertive.  As they were in this dish, with its hit of vinegar and its extreme chili heat.  The pork was tender and moist, and the unevenly cut carrots retained plenty of crunch (and flavor).  Dried chilies had caught enough of the "breath of the wok" to have picked up a distinct -- and delicious -- charred taste.  I couldnt' resist eating them on their own, or paired only with the dish's thick slices of garlic.  As for that glistening pool of spicy grease, I was tempted to ask for a spoon so as to facilitate unimpeded delivery to my mouth.  A spectacular version of a common Chinese dish that, unfortunately, is served in many horrific variations around the world.

Xiangla xiaopai ("fragrant" and spicy small spareribs) was equally delightful.

The "fragrance" of the dish was courtesy of Sichuan peppercorns -- but just a few, just enough to perfume the meat and nowhere near enough to numb the mouth.  Ribs had been cut through the bone and deep-fried, then tossed with big garlic slices, crunchy coriander stems (a "clean" foil to the rich pork), and more dried chilies.  This dish had no sauce to speak of, and it wasn't missed at all.

Finally, the most basic dish that can be requested of a restaurant: stir-fried greens.  Readers of this blog will know that I take my greens seriously, and yet I must admit that I have yet to really and truly master this simplest of dishes (the shame!).  My stir-fried greens always end up too cooked, or too raw; too watery, or so dry that they stick to the wok.  Perhaps I should take lessons at the knee of the woman in charge of Dong Bei's kitchen, because she has really got the method down pat.

Observe: plenty of garlic, leaves well-cooked while stems -- devoid of tell-tale limpness -- still exhibit a bit of life, and a pool of neither clear nor thick and goopy juices.  A fine plate of qingchao youcai (fried mustard) if ever there was one. 

I would imagine that -- if you've made it to the end of this long post -- it is apparent that we hold Restoran Dong Bei in very high esteem.  We will be back (there are so many dishes yet to try, and we haven't even cracked to the lamb section of the menu yet).  If you're a fan of northeastern Chinese cuisine, watch this space.  Better yet, go eat at this place.

Dongbei Restoran, Jalan Changkat Thambi Dollah just a block up from Jalan Pudu. Tel 03-2148-7694. There is a very brief and incomplete picture menu; the complete menu is in Chinese.  House specials are posted on a sign just inside the entrance, and the daughter, if she is waitressing, speaks a bit of English.

 

Comments

[RST]

Shandong part of Dongbei? Oooh, be careful who you say that to-you might get into big trouble for that. Culinarily, they are without a question completely distinct: Shandong is individual enough to be considered a distinct regional cuisine and many people consider a great one. This said, Shandong cuisine was a major influence on NE cooking and of course Manchurian foodways shaped Imperial/Beijing cooking, although no ethnic Han (except me ;0) )will ever admit to that. The majority of Chinese living in Korea are shan dong ren and there is significant exchange between Korean and Shandong cooking.

I have written extensively about ta la p'i on the old Chowhound Chicago Board. This is one of my favorite dishes in the city (the two fine examples in Chicago are from Ed's Potsticker House and the dongbei restaurant Dragon King). The starch (I think I called it "jelly" in those posts) is literally "pulled" after being congealed in the pan. More later, have to run.

[Sue]

What interesting and delicious food! You're such an expert on Chinese food, Robyn! :) You put this Chinese to great embarrassment! Hehe..

[Robyn]

RST -- don't think I have any Shandong readers so I won't worry about getting flamed. ;-)

Sue -- I'm no expert, just a curious glutton!

[RST]

I just did a google search on "ta la p'i" and found my old posts on CH as well as a menu enjoyed years ago at Ed's Potsticker House that I notated and that I had forgotten completely about. I called this dish a "salad" and remarked that this is a dish where the chef can exhibit his skills with his knife. The dish should be composed beautifully, with the julienned cucumber and pork slivers carefully (and often symmetrically) arranged over the mound of mung bean jelly on a round plate. (Your dish-with the jelly thrown helter-skelter on top-is a bit strange//and is that ground pork instead of slivers in the dish? But perhaps this is an everyday, informal version...?) I am surprised that you did not mention mustard at all anywhere on this post as it is a key element of the "dressing" as well as a beloved condiment in the cuisine in general. The balance of the flavors in the dressing for ta la p'i is I think very hard to get just right. It is a great dish when prepared correctly, but sadly, in the years since I first wrote about it and championed it, no one in poor benighted Chicago has even given it as much as a second glance. I would love it very much if you could finagle your way into the kitchen and give us a photographic account of the way the "jelly" is "pulled" and formed. As far as I know, you are only the third person in the Western world to describe this dish. The first was Jonathan Gold in a capsule review of a now-long-gone LA restaurant. He never named the dish or provided the context, but from his precise description, I knew that he was talking about the same dish. It's time to get the world to know this wonderful dish!!!

Re: your "dry" noodles

Looks like they made you a plate of ja jiang mian.

*************

More please!!!

I want to read more about this restaurant! Ed's and Dragon King both have several pages of strange and wonderful, specifically dongbei items (corn cakes and chuan yang t'ang-"whole" lamb soup complete with tripe and offal bits-and so on). I am sure that they are there in KL too if you dig more. Also check out their hsiao tsi (small eats) if they have any aside from the dumplings: all sorts of wheat buns, pancakes etc Oh, and the different types of sour vegetables they use as condiments!

[Kirk]

Actually my wife is from Shandong - she saw this and just laughed, and said "it's all in how you look at it!" Fantastic food and review.

[Robyn]

RST -- good idea, to get into the kitchen and see how the jelly is made. Will give it a try. The pork in the dish is slivered, not ground. This place is very homestyle, and so is the food ... I don't go for the artistry, just for the flavors. ;-) Re mustard -- she didn't mention it as part of the dressing. I may ask again. Yes, zha zhang mian with dao shao mian, that's what I thought to. There is also a "zha zhang mian with handmade noodles" on the menu. Not a whole lot of small eats -- a few noodles, the dumplings, mantou, bao.
Kirk -- you're wife is exactly right! A Shandong dumpling-maker we met in Shanghai years ago called herself a "Dongbei person" ... she was comparing Dongbei people to Shanghai people (you might imagine that the comparison was not flattering to Shanghai people) and began with, "We Dongbei ren ..." So maybe its not just in how you look at it, but whom you are comparing yourself to!

[xinistri]

What a great article. I'm an Australian living in China, in "DONGBEI". (Liaoning Province, Shenyang City). Almost all of the dishes you've shown here I've eaten at some point or another during my time here, these are very common dishes in the cold North East of China. Of course, a countries/regions food cooked elsewhere always is adapted somewhat depending on produce, availability of ingredients, etc. Nonetheless, it's great to see other people being able to get a taste of "DongBei Cai". They truly do deserve more attention, as they are often ignored in favour of southern Cantonese, Sichuan style dishes.

:) Great Work! Love from Liaoning

[Erica]

Your post made me salivate and miss Dongbei home-cooking! I was born in Harbin but moved to Australia when I was very young, and now having moved out of home, there is no one to cook Dongbei food for me. I must learn from my mum! The Chinese food in Sydney is great, but it's mostly Cantonese and Shanghainese. Can't wait to have some mala mian!

[xinistri]

I noticed there is somebody on this blog who posted a comment back in August under the name of xinistri... That is my name... Who copied it :P I am an Aussie, who has lived in Shenyang (which is classified as DongBei) and have used the name xinistri for my YouTube and blogs and everything, and so this person must have seen something of mine and decided to use xinistri... not happy having a Chinese xinistri and an Aussie xinistri... the net is not big enough for the two of us hahahahaha

[adele h.]

wheres the recipe to this stuff...got my mouth watering!

[albert]

Does anyone know of a Dongbei restaurant in Chicago?

[email protected]

[Alex]

Replying to Erica, there is a food court stall in Sydney called "Bijou China" which has a few Dongbei dishes. It is in the Dixon House Food Court in Chinatown.