Ipomoea Aquatica

According to Gabriel Miller-Phillips, noted expert on Southeast-Asian gourmet specialities, the tastiest leafy green of all is something called “kang kong.” When I heard this, I ran to the internet to look it up, and was somewhat amused to discover that kang kong is among our shadier vegetables. First of all, it goes by a huge number of names – including water spinach, swamp cabbage, swamp bindweed, water convolvulus, kangkong, kang cung, rau muong, kongxincai and ong choy, among many, many others. Second, it’s one of the world’s most popular vegetables because it will grow more or less anywhere that’s warm and wet. And third, it’s pretty much illegal in this country.

It’s classified as a “federal noxious weed” for the simple reason that, should it gain a foothold in any warm and swampy environment, it will clog waterways, crowd out other plants, and generally make a nuisance of itself and wreak havoc upon a complex ecosystem. The Florida Department of Natural Resources, on its website, warns us (in both English and Vietnamese) that possession of kang kong is punishable by a $500 fine and up to 60 days in jail. But it also mentions that it’s “grown illegally in Florida as an oriental food vegetable.”

To my mind, this means that people really are risking jail time (it never says how many are caught) just to get their hands on fresh leafy greens, and what’s the FDNR’s loss should be considered the FDA’s gain – one must admit it’s a step up from simply getting the kids to eat their broccoli.

Many restaurants in NYC (where it’s legal to grow, since our cold winters prevent it from becoming entrenched) offer it on their menus, either in its common Vietnamese preparation (called “Rau Muong Xao Toi,” in a savory garlic sauce) or in its usual Malaysian form (“Kangkong Belacan,” sautéed with unspeakably stinky shrimp paste). I sampled it this afternoon at Nha Trang One (87 Baxter St., btw Canal and Bayard) and was pretty impressed. It’s very similar to spinach, with a hollow stem, and a rich “greeniness” to the flavor. Not dark or muddy in taste at all, the way spinach can sometimes be. And it was dressed with a thin, slightly salty soy and garlic sauce that set it off nicely. It was especially good dotted with the pungent chili sauce served alongside it in a too-small dose (though I realize I probably prefer more heat than most).

Apocalypse Noodles

I was a little disappointed when I first saw Grand Sichuan’s (125 Canal St., east of Bowery – the original, and not part of the chain) Dan Dan Noodles. A smallish tinfoil and plastic takeout tray, with some pasty-looking boiled noodles and about a tablespoon of minced pork and some dried woodsy vegetable – nothing really to recommend it. And I opened it up, and took a bite, hoping it was coated in some sort of invisible sauce (it wasn’t) and that’s when I finally upset the nest of noodles, saw a delicate wisp of pale orange oil below, and realized that the actual sauce was in a puddle under the noodles (I guess they’re the pasta equivalent of fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt – heat-on-the-bottom spicy noodles). And that’s when everything changed.

In order to eat the Dan Dan Noodles, you mix up bland noodles with spicy sauce. My guess would be that this is to allow guests to (at least theoretically) determine the intensity of the dish to their individual tastes. Which is a nice thought, but I’m skeptical. It pretty much mixes itself as you eat. And when fully mixed, Grand Sichuan’s Dan Dan Noodles is the single spiciest dish I have ever consumed. It’s like sucking on lightning.

BUT it’s also unspeakably delicious, which in the end is much more important than the experience of its extreme heat. I was reading somewhere somebody describing Sichuan cooking as a “different language,” and this is a perfect illustration – what others (sanely) use in small quantities as a seasoning (chili oil) here becomes the basis of an entire dish. By turns it shows off flavors of garlic, sesame and fermented black beans, so strong that they would each overpower the dish were the others not there.

But the heat is still the dominant characteristic, and it’s worth noting that in these days where there are silly “chile pepper societies” full of overgrown nerdy boys daring each other to eat things, this relentless heat is not an afterthought or a novelty aspect of the dish. It really is the apex – it’s what pulls all the flavors together and carries them. The intensity of the heat gives the food another dimension, which allows for (and even helps create) stronger, bigger flavors. I would venture to say that at the same time as the Dan Dan Noodles is the spiciest thing I’ve ever eaten, it’s also the most flavorful.

The only fault I can find with the Dan Dan Noodles is the portion – it’s too small to be satisfying on its own (at least to a hefty chap like myself), yet large enough (and intense enough) that ordering two doses seems perverse. Oh well, nothing’s perfect.

At the same time as this most recent bout of noodles, I sampled the Sichuan Double-Cooked Pork Economic Lunch Special, which was lovely, though not as earth-shattering as the noodles. Double-Cooked Pork is fatty belly bacon boiled and sautéed (hence “double-cooked”) and served in a spicy sauce of fermented black beans, onions and peppers - hot peppers, naturally. It’s a traditional dish, and I’ve had it before at other places, but have always found the belly bacon to be far too fatty to be enjoyable. The master chef at Grand Sichuan, however, knows how to do things properly.

Also suffice it to say that the peppers here are not the little dried red ones that wink slyly up at you from your General Tso’s. They are, instead, big honkin’ chunks of serpentine green long-hots, cooked as a vegetable and definitely meant to be eaten as part of the dish. And they are what makes it, adding a sultry, smoky bitter heat to the brightness of the onions and beans.

All in all, Grand Sichuan is among Chinatown’s best restaurants, consistently turning out ridiculously good food at low prices. It’s highly recommended, in case you were wondering.