Asia Aquarius

With this issue, Penelope Corcoran joins the staff of New Times as restaurant critic. Penelope has eaten all over the world from western Europe to the Caribbean and Mexico, and specializes in finding restaurants off the beaten track. A former advertising account executive, she worked with General Foods, M&M/Mars, and McDonald’s. She is enrolled in the graduate program in creative writing at Arizona State University, has published short stories and is presently working on a screenplay.

It is eleven o’clock on a Saturday night. We are sitting at a table in a darkened, ballroom-like restaurant, watching a small Chinese girl sing “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” loudly and slightly off-key into a microphone. The words to the song and a cartoon-like video that even Tipper Gore would love are displayed on a huge screen. The girl rocks on a bar stool. Like some miniature pop star, she acknowledges her fans in the audience every thirty seconds or so. “Thank you,” she says, swinging her legs. “Thank you very much.”

What we are witnessing is the Chinese family version of Karaoke (pronounced Car-ah-OH-kee) at Ocean City, a year-old restaurant on the city’s west side. Though it has won acclaim in some camps as the first Valley restaurant to offer dim sum seven days a week, it is Ocean City’s weekend-night Karaoke, an imported form of Japanese high-tech entertainment, that distinguishes it from every other Chinese restaurant in Phoenix.

Fridays and Saturdays from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., diners with enough nerve can sing their favorite English or Chinese pop songs while an accompanying unMTV-like video projects on the restaurant’s huge screen. This do- it-yourself floor show has become something of a fad; now firmly established in cities like Chicago and New York, similar sing-alongs have been popping up at other places in the Valley in recent months.

Ocean City’s Karoake, however, has the added attraction of oddball Chinese menu items you won’t find anywhere else. Its combination of authentic food and self-entertainment has been enthusiastically embraced by the Chinese community. Word has it that after closing their own restaurants on Friday and Saturday nights, Chinese chefs and cooks from all over town head west for some after-hours R and R at Ocean City. They have a drink or two. They order snacks. They critique the food. They have even been known to sing.

This sounded like something we had to see for ourselves.
On the night we voyaged to Ocean City, eager to sample the exotic Karaoke menu, we brought along a couple of adventurous friends so we wouldn’t look quite so piggish. Looking around, we thought we saw some Chinese chefs relaxing in a large booth. Then again, with the reflection off the revolving mirrored ball and all, it was hard to tell.

We started with a round of Chinese beer and a club soda for our designated driver. While studying the menu, we munched on some sweet and peppery complimentary pickles, which were delightful.

I was disappointed to learn from our waiter that some Karaoke items weren’t available the night we visited, like pork feet with vegetables, or thousand-year-egg porridge (though I must say my dining accomplices seemed relieved). However, with his eager assistance, we ordered ourselves a small feast.

The video singing continued nonstop. Egged on by his friends, a designer-clad young man from a large table nearby rendered a splendid English version of “Where Do I Begin (Theme From Love Story).” We thought he had quite a fine voice, and so did his companions, who cheered and clanked on their glasses. “One more, one more,” they chanted, but he couldn’t be persuaded.

The microphone passed to a middle-aged, apron-clad member of the restaurant staff who warbled a Chinese song with the English refrain, “Lonely won’t leave me alone.” We know this because we read it. Though the feeling was there, we gave him a C+.

(By the way, it seems that no matter which Chinese pop song is selected, the video story lines are nearly identical: An innocent-looking girl meets a Johnny Depp-looking boy; they fall in love and window-shop at Gucci; they have the inevitable tiff; finally, she rides home alone on public transportation, smoking a cigarette.) Of all the items on Ocean City’s Karaoke menu, the so-called porridges, in particular, intrigued me. We ordered two: seafood and mixed meat (which, to the Chinese, includes seafood). I wasn’t disappointed.

What lovely nourishment on a cold winter night! To capitalize efficiently on the steaming quality of the two bowls of what is best described as thick rice soup, we split into two teams. Two of us tried the seafood porridge first and promptly declared it unbeatable. Featuring nice-size shrimp and ample pieces of octopus and sea cucumber, it was the chicken-stock base, enhanced with spring onion and ginger, that gave this dish its distinctive appeal.

Our tablemates disagreed. Having sampled the mixed meat porridge first, they insisted it was the better of the two. “The peanuts,” they clamored. “The peanuts are the key.” Indeed, there are peanuts in the mixed meat porridge, along with tripe, sliced jellyfish and bits of other assorted seafood and meats. These added up, curiously, to a stronger fish taste for the mixed meat version than for the seafood; because of that, I preferred the latter.

Both porridges, by the way, were enlivened with a few drops of the chili oil we requested. But use it sparingly unless you’re familiar with this potent condiment–or bring along a handkerchief; you’ll need it.

Our waiter found us scraping the bottoms of our porridge bowls when he arrived with the rest of our treats. We hardly noticed what we were doing, engaged as we were in watching the video singing of our fellow diners– most of whom were Chinese.

Exotica abounded when the appetizer-size dishes were placed before us. The chilled rings of jellyfish received bravos from two of us for their crunchy, kelp-like texture and their sesame-oil, cilantro and rice-vinegar marinade. The men at the table gave them the thumbs down: “It’s the texture,” they complained. “It’s jellyfish.” Yes, well, precisely.

None of us had anything negative to say about the firm and compact slices of beef flavored with soy, ginger, cilantro and five-spice which comprised the Cold Beef dish. But it was the Flavored Duck which won the highest marks. Served still on the bone, it was neither gamy nor greasy, but succulent and finger-licking good.

Brimming with optimism, we asked the waiter to bring us yet another dish–the Chicken Seasoned With Wine. But this, quite frankly, was a mistake that never should have left the kitchen.

It is one thing to be an adventurous eater; it is another to risk your health. Though at first the darkened room made it difficult to tell, we soon ascertained that the chicken was seriously underdone: still bloody in parts, difficult to tear from the bone. Given recent salmonella scares, I declined to try any. My dining accomplices tell me they wish they hadn’t. We left most of it on the serving plate.

After clearing away our dishes, our waiter-host entreated the members of our table to entertain the room with a song. “Oh, thanks,” we demurred. “We’d like to, but we don’t know Chinese.”

“No problem,” he said, and promptly produced a giant plastic-bound list of available tunes. There were several columns of English-language songs we reluctantly admitted knowing: songs like “Stoney End,” “Me and Bobby McGee,” “When I’m 64,” and, um, “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown.” “You pick one,” he demanded, then wisely left us alone.

So, you ask, did we do it?
Inspired by those who had gone before us, and buoyed by the good eats and total anonymity afforded us in the friendly, family-oriented environment, we took mikes in hand and led the crowd through a rousing rendition of– what else?–“California Girls.”

We can honestly say Karaoke at Ocean City was a beachin’ good time.

The enigmatic letters “-AN–RIN C-N-O-E-E —KTA—” are all that remain of the message tacked to the outside of the freestanding building that houses Kings Chinese Restaurant in Tempe. Perched on the edge of “Sin City” (the infamous near-campus neighborhood consisting primarily of student apartment dwellings), the Hong Kong-style restaurant has been in business for a year. Kings nestles inconspicuously on Apache Boulevard between the Tempe Bowl and yet another college-geared drinking establishment, and is not much to look at from the outside.

Nor on the inside. If decor makes or breaks your dining experience, I’ll warn you up-front, Kings may not be the place for you. The carpets are stained with bleach. Background music is nonexistent. There might be a smudge or two on the walls.

In other words, Kings is unpretentious and authentic in its aspirations. What you will find, however, is excellent service, huge portions and good food.

Besides, Kings is the only place in the East Valley where you can purchase Won Ton Noodle Soup–a homey, basic dish that has become one of my staple foods in the last few years. For addicts like me, this is reason enough to celebrate Kings. Oh, for that golden chicken broth dotted with spring onion slices, for those six pinkish shrimp-and-pork filled won tons, for that chewy, tangled mess of stringy noodles! What else could one possibly need to subsist–except, perhaps, for a few drops of the aforementioned chili oil?

We have visited Kings many times in the past year. On a recent visit, my faithful dining accomplice and I decided to forgo Won Ton Noodle in favor of West Lake-Style Beef Soup, an item not found on many Valley menus. To our delight, it was a thick eggdrop soup subtly flavored with spring onion and cilantro, with tiny morsels of ground beef suspended throughout. Just a shake of pepper brought out the flavors even more.

In general, the noodle dishes offered at authentic-style restaurants aren’t to be missed. (Noodles are widely considered the lowest form of Chinese cooking, but I don’t care, I love them.) At Kings you may indicate your choice of crispy egg noodle, rice noodle or vermicelli with any dish on the fried-noodle menu.

We ordered Sliced Beef With Black Bean Sauce and requested the crispy egg noodle. This is a hearty dish with a deep, flavorful sauce. The beef was fairly tender but sliced in too-large pieces. The pepper and onion chunks were a tad on the big side, too.

Fried Vermicelli “Singapore-Style” (called Sing Chow Noodle elsewhere) didn’t disappoint. We were thrilled at the size of the heaping plate of curried noodles tossed with strips of barbecued pork, tiny shrimp, green pepper and onion. I like this dish so much that my adventurous dining accomplice has in the past chided me for ordering it so often. If you’ve never tried it, initiate yourself promptly. Kings’ version is hard to beat.

The third dish we ordered was Chiang Pao Spicy Chicken. This turned out to be the closest to an Americanized Chinese dish. Large pieces of chopped chicken were accompanied by bok choy, green pepper, carrots, bamboo shoots and those tiny corn ears in a tomato-tinged sauce. Quite cleverly, the dish managed to bring a shiver to the spine without the presence of the ubiquitous red pepper pods routinely thrown into “spicy” Chinese dishes.

English-speaking patrons occupied the booth behind us on this visit. (Often we have been the only ones.) “This place gets better every time I come,” said one male voice to the other. For the most part, I agree. While the food is a bit roughhewn and, at times, too heavy-handed with already powerful sauces, Kings offers the East Valley excellent value and authentic Hong Kong-style cooking.

Maybe the digs aren’t palatial, but hey, looks aren’t everything. (The sign, by the way, once read MANDARIN CANTONESE COCKTAILS.)

Ocean City, 5057 North 35th Avenue, Phoenix, 242-5724. Hours: 10 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., 4:30 to 9:30 p.m., seven days a week. Karaoke hours: 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., Friday and Saturday.

Kings Chinese Restaurant, 1112 East Apache, Tempe, 968-6003. Hours: 11 a.m. to 3 p.m., 5 to 9:30 p.m., Monday through Friday; noon to 9:30 p.m., Saturday and Sunday. Closed Wednesday.