The awning on Flushing’s newest food court reads, “Savor Fusion.”

One of the central truths my old man taught me about Chinatown is that it’s always changing. On almost every one of our monthly pilgrimages to Manhattan he’d point out a restaurant that had vanished only to be replaced another. Somehow his favorites—Wo Hop and Mei Lei Wah—always stayed in business. This is the corollary to what I like to call Vito’s Law: The more Chinatown changes the more it stays the same.

Big Sister Zhu shows off her stash of Sichuan peppercorns.

The other day I was reminded of these central Chinatown truths by a new food court on the corner of Maple Ave. and  Main St.  Upon entering Fung Ling Xiao Chi (Maple Snacks) I was greeted by a familiar face, Big Sister Zhu. I hadn’t seen her in two years. Nor had I had a great bowl of dan dan mian—the Sichuan snack of noodles with ground pork and preserved vegetables—since she closed her tiny restaurant. So I had even more reason to be excited by the new food court. I was, however, somewhat perplexed when she told me it had been open for a year and a half. How could I possibly have missed it?

Whipping up a batch of Flushing’s finest dan dan mian.

Her new spot bears the same name as the old: Chengdu Xiao Chi Zhu Da Ji, or Big Sister Zhu’s Chengdu Snacks. I watched in eager anticipation as she prepared my bowl of dan dan mian ($3.50). I was glad to see her back in action, especially after having had some truly abysmal version of this Sichuan specialty at New World Mall Food Court.

Dan dan mian, fiery and fragrant.

I took in the heady aroma of Sichuan peppercorn and ground pork as Zhu passed the bowl across the counter to me. Thoughts of a Sichuan version of the ramen epic Tampopo came to mind as I mixed the noodles together with the sauce.

Noodling around.

It was just as I remembered it. Springy noodles slicked with a sauce that combined chili with tingling huajiao, better known as Sichuan peppercorn interspersed with ground pork and preserved vegetable. All in all, quite satisfying. I'm looking forward to reacquainting myself with Sister Zhu's other Sichuan specialties.

As I left I asked the proprietress of a Tianjin restaurant how long Maple Snacks had been open. “Today’s the first day,” she said explaining that it had taken a year-and-a-half to get it open. Who knows what other delicious mysteries will unfold as this newest food court gets under way.

Chengdu Xiao Chi Zhu Da Ji (Big Sister Zhu’s Chengdu Snacks), No. 7, Maple Snacks, 42-09 Main St., Flushing

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Uncle Zhou Restaurant: Elmhurst's first Henanese eatery.

I never gave the short-lived Cafe Noodle much of a chance. For some reason I couldn’t relate to the ramen joint. When Uncle Zhou Restaurant opened about two months ago in its place I found myself drawn to the new spot. To be sure new restaurants lure this food writer like flowers do bees. There was something different at work here besides the urge for a scoop though. The name Uncle Zhou evokes family along with a sense of mystery. To be honest Uncle Zhou sounds like a fence in a Chinese gangster movie. As it turns out the restaurant’s proprietor is nothing of the sort. He’s a bespectacled bearded gent with close-cropped hair who hails from Henan. The joint’s Chinese name—Da  He Zhou Ren Jia—translates roughly to Zhou’s Yellow River people’s home, a reference to the river that cuts through his home province.

Shaving a block of dough for dao xiao mian.

Uncle Zhou’s is the neighborhood’s first Henanese spot. It serves the hand-pulled lamb noodle soup that I’ve come to know and love while eating my way through Flushing’s Golden Shopping Mall. It also has a type of noodle that I’ve never encountered before in Queens, dao xiao mian. That's Chinese for little knife noodles. They’re prepared by rapidly whittling away at a block of dough with—you guessed it—a little knife over a pot of boiling water.

Counting the green threads of seaweed there
are four kinds of noodles in this rich lamb soup.

Upon learning Uncle Zhou served a noodle that I’d yet to try I immediately ordered yan rou dao xiao mian (lamb knife shaved noodle $5.75). In contrast to their hand-pulled cousins the irregular shards of dough are much more al dente. Joined by thin ribbons of tofu skin and seaweed as well as slippery bean thread it makes for a pleasant combination of noodle textures and flavors. The rich broth teems with chunks of lamb and veggies. With the addition of a dollop of chili paste it’s quite a hearty, head-clearing lunch.  

The oddly named dial oil hand drawn noodle.

On a second visit I tried dial oil hand-drawn noodle ($5), mostly because I had no idea what the heck to make of dial oil. Crowned with garlic, ground dried chili pepper, and green onions the knot of noodles sits in a pool of black vinegar. Spicy, sour, and refreshing it’s hard to imagine such a dish coming from the same culture as the mellower lamb noodle soup. It’s prepared by making the noodles, cooling them and dressing them. At the very last minute the whole lot is scalded with hot oil. As best as I can tell the dish’s Chinese name you bo mian, translates to oil-scattered noodles. As for the dial, who knows?

Hai xian hui mian teems with seafood.

A friend had a bowl of hai xian hui mian (seafood hand-drawn noodle soup, $6). As I slurped my garlicky, spicy oil-slicked noodles I coveted his dish packed with squid and shrimp. We also tried some juicy, fresh yan rou shui jiao (lamb dumplings, $3) and a plate of xi qin bai he (celery with lily bulb, $6.95). 

I have a confession about what is fast becoming my favorite Henanese outpost in Elmhurst. I have yet to try to the lamb hand-drawn noodle soup. Please, don’t tell my Uncle Zhou. He’d be so disappointed.

Uncle Zhou Restaurant, 83-29 Broadway, Elmhurst, 718-393-0888

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Satisfied customers stream out of Curry Leaves.

Flushing’s Chinatown boasts a staggering array of regional Chinese food ranging from Muslim lamb chops to Henanese lamb noodle soup, yet it falls short in one area. Surely such a vibrant community should be able to support a night market like those found in Taiwan and Malaysia. Sadly such a venue does not exist. So when a fellow fresser recently told me Curry Leaves serves a late-night hawker menu from 4 a.m. to 11:00 a.m. my interest was piqued.

At other times of day Curry Leaves is a sit-down establishment with waiter service. For the graveyard-breakfast shift, it’s strictly self-service. Various savory snacks and desserts line the counter. There are oodles of stir-fried noodles in the steam table, but soup is the star. Ask for a bowl and the gal behind the counter offers a choice of three broths: chicken, curry laksa, or seafood—and three noodles rice, flat, or yellow. Combined with various fish cakes, vegetables, shrimp, wontons and other add-ins the possibilities seem endless.

Fish cake, wonton, pork skin, and eggplant
are just some of the items that can be added.

I had intended to show up in the wee small hours of the morning to experience the spectacle of club kids lining up for a late-night snack. Instead I got there at around 7 a.m. On my first visit I had curry laksa with yellow noodles. To that my new friend added fish cake, wonton, pork skin, and eggplant. The broth was rich with coconut and had a nice heat level. Ribbons of slightly chewy pork skin were surprisingly good, functioning as a second noodle of sorts. The wontons, fish cake, and a huge piece of eggplant stuffed with fish paste made for one hearty bowl of soup. As the sweat beaded up on my brow, I began to understand why some folks eat at Curry Leaves to ward off or cure a hangover. The cost for this feast in a bowl was a mere $6.

Crunchy ikan bilis tops a bowl of seafood noodle soup.

I returned for a second visit 20 hours later. At four in the morning there was a table of club kids looking to end their night with meal. There was also a crew of tough-looking dudes who were afforded the privilege of having the man working the cash register serve them their soup. This time around I had the murky seafood broth with shrimp, two types of fish cake, water spinach and yellow noodles. Topping it off was a generous heap of crunchy fried shallots and ikan bilis, or tiny dried anchovies. It was good if a tad too heavy on the fish. Still, not a bad deal for $7.

Pandan gelatin: soothing and sweet.

On both visits I had dessert and iced coffee ($2). Pandan gelatin ($4) is bright green, sweet and soothing, just the thing after a bowl of fiery curry laksa.

Apam balik, a sweet and savory Malaysian flapjack.

On my second visit I had pancakes for dessert. Filled with sweet corn and ground peanuts apam balik ($1.50) is a popular hawker snack in Malaysia. I may have had them for dessert, but apam balik would make a fine breakfast along with a strong cup of coffee.

Flushing may not have a night market, but the late night hawker counter at Curry is the next best thing. I’m planning my next visit already.

Curry Leaves, 135-31 40th Road, Flushing, 718-762-9313

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Assi Plaza looms in the shadow of Citifield.

Assi Plaza, the Costcoesque market just east of Flushing Creek is to Queens and Korean food what Mitsuwa Marketplace is to New Jersey and Japanese food. This one-stop megashop has long been my favorite in the area. Many a Chinatown trip has ended with a stroll through aisles devoted to all shapes and sizes of dried fish and various forms of hot pepper, including gochujang, the fermented bean paste; marveling at the meats, including pork belly for samgyeopsal; and watching kimchi being made.

Shoppers pause for a snack at Assi Sik Dang.

By the time my crew and I arrive we are usually too full to even think of eating. Until yesterday I never paid much attention to Assi Sik Dang, a cafeteria-like eatery that lies at the back of the sprawling complex. After walking to Flushing from World’s Fare headquarters in Rego Park my buddy and I had built up quite an appetite. And, thus it was decided to while away a winter afternoon exploring Assi Plaza and finally try the grub at Assi Sik Dang.

Best supermarket soondubu ever!

Kimchi magnate Kheedim Oh had raved to me about Assi Sik Dang’s soondubu, or seafood soft tofu stew. He’d also marveled about its value. The bubbling bowl of tofu, mussels, and squid costs $4.59 as opposed to $7.95 one would pay in an actual restaurant.  Sure the budget version lacked shrimp, and there was no raw egg to crack into the fiery broth. Still, it was just the thing to warm up after the long walk. My friend had the ja ja myun ($5.05), or Korean-Chinese bean paste noodles. We also shared some soondae ($5.59), a delicious Korean blood sausage. Never was a finer post-blizzard feast eaten in a supermarket.

Fried seaweed—crunchy, salty, and craveable.

After lunch I perused the adjacent banchan offerings. There I found twi gak. The crunchy sheets of fried seaweed are one of my favorite Korean snacks. Simultaneously savory and sweet with a hint of sesame and decidely oceanic, they’re the type of chips one could imagine Spongebob Squarepants enjoying.

Yams are aroasting in this double-barrel contraption out back.

Upon exiting I detected a wonderful sweet, smoky aroma. It was coming from gent roasting yams in the ingenious device above. Each of those five handles is attached to a tray running the length of the barrel. Each trays holds about five yams. I watched mesmerized as he swapped trays from barrel to barrel to ensure proper cooking.

A woman who purchased some told me that street vendors selling kun goguma are a common sight in Korea. Sadly I was to full to enjoy his hot potatoes (three for $5.)  They are number one on my list for my next visit to the Plaza.

Assi Plaza, 131-01 39th Ave., Flushing, 718-886-8101

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