A Mandarin Restaurant

While we are fortunate enough to have a wide array of ethnicities in our family tree, all of our cherished Asian relatives happen to be from the south. Outside of Canton and Hong Kong, we are sadly bereft of Chinese home cooking (though, we admit, we find it very difficult to tire of our relatives' black bean salmon, won ton soup, and other delectables).

Thus it was with great relish that we accepted an invitation to dine with friends at what we imagined was a new northern Chinese eaterie. We hope to keep a most open-minded palate, and we know that that is earned through testing one's limits with excesses of flavour intensities. A bite of flashing-hot Xi'an-style food seemed just the thing to catapult us into the warm spring weather. Or would it recall the imperial kitchens of Beijing? Or even Manchurian hot-pot? Our acquaintances were unable to answer our queries, and with great anticipation we met with them for our designated lunch.

Imagine our surprise, then, when we entered the impressively large dining hall -- or somewhat small airplane hangar, perhaps -- to find a buffet-style meal extending far into the distance. We were seated with alacrity, as our companions wisely chose an early hour for lunch; enthusiastic wait staff immediately brought water and took drink orders (though my pleas for oolong or bo lei tea went, sadly, unfulfilled).

To the buffet. We allowed our companions, who, we learned, had visited similar "Mandarin" outlets in the past, to lead the way, and they marched right up to the hot table. This was a blessing, we later learned, when we espied such items on the cold table as "tuna salad" and "wilting romaine leaves coated with salad cream"; meanwhile, apparently without any sense of irony whatsoever, "Boston Clam Chowder" was offered among the soup selections. Hot and sour soup was in attendance, but we broke with our typical pattern and declined to sample it.

We believe it to be most instructive to give a cross-section of the buffet items; thus we offer this list.

• Beef ho fun. These broad rice noodles, stir-fried with a simple soy-based sauce with bean sprouts, onions, and slices of beef are a longtime favourite of the Droll household, and we were surprised to find that they were competently cooked, and were not, as we expected, greasy or soggy, and the beef was tender. However, their flavour was somewhat tepid.


• Peking Style Pork. Here, we thought, we were for it: authentic Beijing-style work. But to our surprise, the pork appeared to be dipped in some sort of childrens' confection, a reddish caramel, we suspect, not far from the coating on a candy apple. We would have enjoyed it, perhaps, if the strips of pork had not been cut solely from the part of the belly with the greatest amount of gristle per pound.


• Lemon chicken. We have a dear aunt in another part of the province who, while she runs an Americanized Chinese restaurant to complement the palate of her local patrons, makes a delicious lemon chicken: pan-fried, lightly breaded chicken breast cutlets, with the tartness of fresh lemon juice accenting the sweet, thick lemon sauce. We will think of our aunt for a while, in the hopes that the memories of Mandarin lemon chicken fade away.


• Breaded shrimp. We fail to see how farm-raised, factory-breaded shrimp, in a soggy coating, with no marine flavour or texture to speak of, belong on any buffet on earth, much less a Chinese one.


• Sushi. We were surprised, as we progressed along the buffet, to find a cold case containing eight or so varieties of maki sushi; we were unaware of any Japanese provinces in China. Upon closer inspection, however, we found that these were in fact not maki at all, but rice and nori seaweed rolled around such apparent leftovers as teriyaki chicken and ("Hawaiian") ham. It is impressive that these cooked foodstuffs in maki inspired more fear and revulsion than, for example, unyaku.


• Barbecue pork. This was sliced to order at the counter where one might also sample that staple of the Chinese table: roast beef with mashed potatoes and gravy. We accepted a small slice of dried-out pork, and regretted it.


• Singapore noodles. Curry powder, vermicelli, and overcooked shrimp do not say Singapore; they say beware. We concur.


• Green beans. Stir-fried in chopped garlic, these were cooked rather nicely -- crisp but not raw -- and tasted of vegetable, rather than salt, sugar, and MSG. However, their presentation was unattractive; they were positively wizened, and we hesitated to sample them.


• Chicken wings. We are not certain where these came from, but we assume they were meant to be delivered to nearby Moose Winooski's and arrived at the Mandarin by mistake. Such an error would also explain why they were fried without seasoning of any kind.

We would be remiss if we failed to mention the service. The maitre d' in the section we occupied, Kent, was enthusiastic, polite, and charming. He ensured that plates were cleared immediately (but not too quickly); that water, napkins, and utensils were supplied without request and without delay. Few servers seem able to muster the energy required for the (admittedly difficult and thankless) job.

One other surprise -- and this, we have learned, is a well-known hallmark of the Mandarin experience -- was the hot, damp, lemon-scented towel offered at the end of the meal. While refreshing, we experienced strange feelings of having awoken in economy class as the plane began descending: refreshing, but far from satisfying.

As Americanized Chinese buffets go, the Mandarin is difficult to gauge -- the food quality is not remarkably bad, but the price is remarkably high. We suggest patronizing one's local Chinese outlet when the desire presents itself, and saving one's pennies for a trip across the ocean for the real thing. Hot, moist towel included.