Ok, so the following article, featured in the New York Times on August 9, 2011, talks about this restaurant in New York that serves up Henan cuisine. All I can say that after reading it, a lot of my pre-conceived notions about Chinese cuisine got shattered. For example, I thought the Chinese almost never used tomatoes. Wrong! I thought the Chinese use only two kinds of noodles: rice noodles and noodles made from refined flour. Wrong again! The description of the dishes served up at this restaurant really showcases how varied the Chinese cuisine really is. This article is definitely worth reading.
The dining room emphasizes function over frills. The décor is largely given over to bills of fare adorning two walls, supplemented by a case of intriguing (but unlabeled) cold appetizers. Luckily, Mr. Zhou, whose first language is Mandarin, can elaborate in English; so can his servers. Those nibbles ($3.50 to $5) include shiny brown wood-ears; tangled, dark green seaweed; peanuts spiced with chiles and peppercorns; sliced, springy tofu skins; pork in aspic; and fatty, flavorful smoked fish. Sweet-sour-spicy cucumbers will be a great beer snack when the liquor license comes through. Till then, tea and soft drinks must suffice.
Of the dumplings, which, like the noodles, are house-made, the lamb (nine for $3) are particularly good. Another worthy starter among many noodle bowls for one are “dial oil noodles” ($5), cousins to Sichuan dan-dan noodles with less spice, more vinegar. Ask for the knife-shaved style, which is easier to mix.
Uncle Zhou’s noodles take a star turn atop the Henan classic of baked noodles and fish (generally tilapia, $16.95, or bluefish, $19.95). A whole fish, gently fried, is shrouded in bei mian — in essence, hand-pulled baked angel hair — and set in a sweet-and-sour pool. The crisp bei mian contrasts beautifully with the tender fish. Both soak up the sauce.
Noodles also do yeoman’s work in the “big tray of chicken” ($12), an import from Xinjiang province, in Western China. Bite-size pieces of bone-in bird are heaped with potatoes in an oily bath flavored with chiles and garlic. Underneath are broad hand-pulled ribbons that are great for swabbing the tray.
Additional broad noodles ($1 a strand) might be applied to the juices pooled around loose-knit pork meatballs ($9.95); to the braising liquid, lightly flavored with garlic, for bok choy with black mushrooms ($7.95); or even to pork intestines ($9.95), brightened with peppers and scented with ginger and garlic to counter their slight funk.
Shredded potato salad ($6.95) is sour, spicy and slippery, with a vinegary undercurrent. Sautéed celery with lily bulbs ($6.95) is snappingly crisp, though the lily bulbs are scarce among the celery stalks and chopped garlic.
Chunks of spicy, crisp rabbit ($16.95), tumbled with chiles and cilantro, are moist despite their golden fried exterior. Only the little bones will slow the click-click of chopsticks reaching across the table. Lamb with cumin ($12.95) is a bone-free alternative.
For a princely centerpiece, Uncle Zhou also prepares taosibao, or “four treasures”: stuffed boned quail inside squab inside chicken inside duck ($225, with two days’ notice). Think of it as a Henan forebear of the turducken.
As at many Chinese restaurants, there’s no dessert. But the appetizer display offers a stand-in: amber chunks of winter melon ($5) cooked in sugared water till caramelized. Amber usually means proceed with caution. Here, it signals full speed ahead.
Uncle Zhou
By DAVE COOK
Published: August 9, 2011
In Henan (not Hunan, southern province of myriad restaurant menus, but Henan, breadbasket of central China), wheat noodles are the foundation of many meals even in the hottest weather. One summer favorite back home, says Steven Zhou, features noodles brusquely sliced from a lump of dough, then boiled till wonderfully chewy. At at his restaurant, Uncle Zhou, in Elmhurst, Queens, these noodles, tempered with tomato and egg, wood-ear mushrooms, julienned cucumber and a touch of peanut sauce ($5), are refreshing, even enlightening. Uncle Zhou (pronounced Uncle Joe) began dispensing sage advice and homey food early this year. Henan cuisine employs green onion, garlic, chile and Sichuan peppercorn — ginger and star anise, too — but it is milder than Sichuan. Indeed, says Mr. Zhou, Henan is the birthplace of sweet-and-sour sauce (other provinces also make that claim). The dining room emphasizes function over frills. The décor is largely given over to bills of fare adorning two walls, supplemented by a case of intriguing (but unlabeled) cold appetizers. Luckily, Mr. Zhou, whose first language is Mandarin, can elaborate in English; so can his servers. Those nibbles ($3.50 to $5) include shiny brown wood-ears; tangled, dark green seaweed; peanuts spiced with chiles and peppercorns; sliced, springy tofu skins; pork in aspic; and fatty, flavorful smoked fish. Sweet-sour-spicy cucumbers will be a great beer snack when the liquor license comes through. Till then, tea and soft drinks must suffice.
Of the dumplings, which, like the noodles, are house-made, the lamb (nine for $3) are particularly good. Another worthy starter among many noodle bowls for one are “dial oil noodles” ($5), cousins to Sichuan dan-dan noodles with less spice, more vinegar. Ask for the knife-shaved style, which is easier to mix.
Uncle Zhou’s noodles take a star turn atop the Henan classic of baked noodles and fish (generally tilapia, $16.95, or bluefish, $19.95). A whole fish, gently fried, is shrouded in bei mian — in essence, hand-pulled baked angel hair — and set in a sweet-and-sour pool. The crisp bei mian contrasts beautifully with the tender fish. Both soak up the sauce.
Noodles also do yeoman’s work in the “big tray of chicken” ($12), an import from Xinjiang province, in Western China. Bite-size pieces of bone-in bird are heaped with potatoes in an oily bath flavored with chiles and garlic. Underneath are broad hand-pulled ribbons that are great for swabbing the tray.
Additional broad noodles ($1 a strand) might be applied to the juices pooled around loose-knit pork meatballs ($9.95); to the braising liquid, lightly flavored with garlic, for bok choy with black mushrooms ($7.95); or even to pork intestines ($9.95), brightened with peppers and scented with ginger and garlic to counter their slight funk.
Shredded potato salad ($6.95) is sour, spicy and slippery, with a vinegary undercurrent. Sautéed celery with lily bulbs ($6.95) is snappingly crisp, though the lily bulbs are scarce among the celery stalks and chopped garlic.
Chunks of spicy, crisp rabbit ($16.95), tumbled with chiles and cilantro, are moist despite their golden fried exterior. Only the little bones will slow the click-click of chopsticks reaching across the table. Lamb with cumin ($12.95) is a bone-free alternative.
For a princely centerpiece, Uncle Zhou also prepares taosibao, or “four treasures”: stuffed boned quail inside squab inside chicken inside duck ($225, with two days’ notice). Think of it as a Henan forebear of the turducken.
As at many Chinese restaurants, there’s no dessert. But the appetizer display offers a stand-in: amber chunks of winter melon ($5) cooked in sugared water till caramelized. Amber usually means proceed with caution. Here, it signals full speed ahead.
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