Last week, I called writer Rick (part of my regular dining posse), and told him to get ready to go out.
"What are we eating?" he asked.
"Chinese." I replied.
"Can't we eat good food instead?"
"This will be good," I replied, crossing my fingers behind my back.
Anyone who starts looking the "free food" gift horse in the mouth drops precipitously on my list of favored dining companions, but I could understand his reluctance.
You can find Chinese joints everywhere, with food ranging from greasy take-out to not-so-greasy take-out. Some places are better than others, but few strive to be anything more than ethnic fast food. I have friends who stick with a particular Chinese place because they have seen Chinese people eating there. Hey, you see a lot of Americans at McDonalds, but that doesn't make the food good.
I had given up hope of finding a place that would step up and represent the vast culinary heritage of more than a billion people. Then, someone recommended TC Choy's. Man, have I wasted the past five years.
The restaurant has a good pedigree: It was opened in 2001 by Tak and Chan Choy, part of the family that owns Asian ingredient superstore Oceanic. Like Oceanic, TC Choy's delves into the whole panorama of popular East Asian cooking, from sushi to Thai noodles. But the heart and soul of the place rests firmly in Chinese heritage.
A graceful, curving wood wall lines one side of the dining room, while fish tanks and the kitchen dominate another. It is an impressive cooking area, covered in gleaming stainless steel and teeming with white-garbed cooks working the three rows of stations. Water cascades down the back wall, behind the wok line. According to our server, that's for practical reasons – to clean the woks between preparations – but it also provides spiritual balance to the fire-powered cooking area.
In another feng shui touch, the tables are arranged in lines radiating from the kitchen. The set-up works well, inexorably drawing everyone's focus toward the creative energy of the chefs.
TC Choy's calls itself an Asian "bistro" – the most misused restaurant term of the past decade – but the restaurant's true accomplishment is not in adventurous experimentation or East-meets-West fusion. Instead, the food reminds us how good classic Chinese and pan-Asian dishes can be, when done properly.
Like the cold sesame noodles ($8.99), arranged in a clamshell made of lettuce leaves. The Japanese buckwheat pasta, notoriously difficult to make well, was so soft the noodles barely needed chewing. They mingled well with julienned crab and cucumbers, strands of wakame seaweed, diced scallions and tiny chunks of tart, bright tomato. The nutty dressing was rich, but sparsely applied so it tied the fresh ingredients into a unified whole. You see this dish everywhere these days, but rarely with this grace.
There was more wakame in the seaweed salad ($6.99), a simple pile of three different greens dressed with suitably subdued sesame dressing. Seaweed is all about chewy – but still crisp – texture, with a bit of fresh green flavor barely peeking through at the end; TC Choy's allows it to speak for itself.
I never thought I'd ever write words like this, but, well, the fried rice ($7.99) was sublime. Really. Each bite was pillowy soft, packed with perfectly cooked diced seafood and veggies, shredded cabbage and strands of tender yellow egg. It was elegant and composed, the seasoning subtly permeating every bite. It has spoiled me for future take-out.
Not everything knocked our socks off. We downed average chicken lo mein ($6.99) and sautéed beef and asparagus in XO sauce ($17.99). We tried the tough and chewy Hong Kong duck ($9.99). This street food standard might be a bit too authentic for me. After pulling piece after piece of bone shard and gristle out of my mouth, I gave up and tried the hamachi-kama ($12.99). Though snapper cheeks – in this case, still attached to the skull of the hapless fish – can be exceptional, these were overcooked.
The arrival of a fried whole perch ($25) – which the waiter snagged live out of the fish tank moments before it was cooked – made us forget TC Choy's few failures in a flash. Nearby tables began muttering, craning their necks to get a look. It is a gawk-worthy dish, the presentation of which includes the carcass, batter-fried and posed upright on the plate.
The flesh itself oddly resembled fried plantains. Nuggets of perch are coated in a sweet and spicy glaze and wok-fried, turning the exterior chewy and the interior into fluffy mush. The technique creates a texture unlike any Western fish preparation, but the delicate flavor remains, accented by the heat and sweet of the crust. The fish tasted good; the spectacle was even better.
A perfect contrast was the simply steamed side of baby bok choy ($4.99). Glistening with butter and redolent with garlic, the green and white bulbs just sat there on a plain white plate – rich, tender and perfect. No need for showbiz.
TC Choy's "clay pots" were also shy and unprepossessing, just simple ingredients cooked inside a crock. We lifted the lid and steam blossomed, which cleared to reveal seafood and tofu. We speared bits of chewy red and white conch, scallops so tender they fell apart and shrimp coated with wilted cilantro. The tofu medallions were the stars of the dish, each with a seared crust surrounding a creamy, custard-like interior reminiscent of a good French omelet.
TC Choy's desserts are the most non-Western items on the menu. Be honest, do you really like the taste of sweet red bean paste, or cubes of gelatin covered in green tea ice cream? If so, go for it.
Better to save your money and come back for dim sum the next day. The endless parade of excellent tiny dishes (especially the fantastic dumplings) is the best way to enjoy a long lunch break.
Needless to say, writer Rick was chastened. But I didn't rub it in. After all, I didn't have a lot of hope for the place either. Instead of the lifeless sludge I've become used to at other Chinese eateries, I found expertly executed cuisine at TC Choy's. There was power, there was subtlety, there was grace. There were no fortune cookies.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. He can be reached at brian.ries@weeklyplanet.com. Planet food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in Jul 6-12, 2005.