When I was 12 years old (during a time of increased chaos at my mom’s house), Poppa took me to NYC and DC. In NY we went to see the Rockettes, Grease, and other touristy stuff. However, the excursion that is most indelibly seared in my memory is the search for the Chinese restaurant. I was tired. We were in Chinatown. There was a Chinese restaurant in arm’s reach in almost any direction. Evidently, none of these were the “right” restaurant. “I’ll know it when I see it,” said my father as I became further convinced that he was searching for the Chinese restaurant equivalent of a unicorn. Then we found it. Down a couple of stairs, into a very small and unassuming place. Surely, thought my pre-teen brain, this can’t have been worth it. Then I had my very first taste of hot & sour soup. I was completely sold. All those blocks of walking had paid off. While I agreed it was time well spent, I was also determined not to ever have to search as if in an Easter egg hunt again. I wrote down the name and address and tucked it into a corner of my wallet. That small shred of paper moved from wallet to wallet as I grew into a teenager and then into an adult (of sorts). The paper is long gone–at some point it didn’t make the cut when a new purse was obtained. But by that time it didn’t matter. I knew Sam Wo’s at 39 Mott Street as well as I knew any other address in my mental files. Unfortunately, the restaurant has long since closed, but if Sam were still alive–I’d put his hot and sour soup up against any other.
Any favorite food stories out there?