Nancy is away and so like a fat little gnome, I’m seizing her keyboard, making stupid puns and trying to quench my own food cravings.
About a year ago, I started to read the book, the United States of Arugula, the first sentence of which included a reference to author David Kamp having a “rapturous food memory” of some “Cantonese lobster dish unveiled from beneath a dome in some dimly lit place with a name like Jade Pagoda.”
I never made it all the way through the book, but the sentence stays with me to this day. It has conjured a craving that I can’t seem to quence in Dallas. Mainly it is this: I want to revisit the ’70s and relive a “rapturous food memory,” by having a waiter in some dimly lit place with a name like Won Ton, Lotus Garden or Lai Lai (actual names of Chinese restaurants from my youth in Atlanta and Fort Lauderdale) unveil a plate of Wor Su Gai.
Or, as you may know it: Almond Fried Chicken.
That’s how I knew my fried fowl friend when it was the staple of every Chinese dinner we had. It usually followed some Won Ton soup the color of chicken bullion cube, an order of spare ribs and some giant egg rolls with bits of roast pork and bay shrimp inside, not just cabbage. Those were the days, man. Column A, Column B, Family Dinners.
I’ve been in Dallas nearly 13 years now and have lived in four different neighborhoods. Every time I move, I set up my utilities and then set out in search of two things in the new ‘hood: The girl of my dreams and the gai of my desires. No luck on either. Actually, I’ve come closer to finding the girl than the chicken.
It’s not like I’m looking for something exotic; Wor Su Gai only sounds that way. IFirst of all, it’s about as Chinese as me. It is basically this: Fried chicken – similar to that you’d find in Lemon Chicken or Sweet and Sour Chicken. Add a little brown gravy, similar to what you’d receive with Egg Fu Yong. And some almonds. That’s it. When I see Almond Chicken on a menu, I get a hint of excitement, only to have it dashed when I’m told the chicken is cubed, not breaded and served with lots of celery. I’ve even gone so far as to ask folks to make it, describing it exactly as I just did. I’ve received Sweet and Sour Chicken with Egg Fu Yong gravy, which, by the way, is not appetizing in the least. It’s also not the dish. I can’t seem to get them to leave the sweet and sour sauce off. Or the Lemon sauce. No. No. No. No.
I’ve been on Chinese food crawls with New York-reared Chinese-food freaks, who like me, want the stuff of their childhood. We got the same stares in Richardson that I’ve gotten in Las Colinas and on McKinney Avenue.
I’ve searched the web and there are numerous recipes for the dish. There also appear to be lots of other folks like me: Too lazy to cook and desperate for a fix of the Chinese food with which they grew up. It’s apparently still popular in the Midwest. And when I go visit my folks in Atlanta, there are still a couple of places serving it.
Does anybody out there know this dish? Does anybody out there know a place that serves this dish? Does anybody out there know a Chinese restaurant owner who ows them a favor and would add it to the menu? Will somebody cook it for me?
Help!
Is there some comfort food from your past that you crave and can’t find here anywhere. Anything you’ve been dying for, but can’t find. Consider this your clearing house for old-school comfort food tips. Dishers, I plead with you. Help me and one another.
