I miss jja ja myun. It's on my list of things I miss eating since I left California, along with Mexican food. I can't say I found anything on the East Coast that can even begin to compare to Young King's in Koreantown in LA.
The one I had here was decent. It tasted better as I ate more of it. The sauce didn't have the same complexity of flavor that I'm used to, but the flavor was clean and not oily (often the black bean sauce of the jja ja myun is too oily and heavy). The serving size was a good size and it was cheap too ($6). I don't know if it was because I was there at an early time for dinner (hadn't eaten lunch, so I was doing an early dinner/late lunch) or if because i was by myself, but they only gave me two different different types of kimchi (pickled radish and the usual cabbage) and a pickled ginger (I think) for the ban chan.
They make their own mandu (dumplings) here. That really seems to be their speciality, so I'll be coming back to try those. Not the jja ja myun.
The tables are outfitted to do Korean bbq, by the way.
The owners are really nice — made sure I got what I wanted. I don't know how much English they speak or how accessible this restaurant is to non-Korean speakers. The menu they gave me was written only in Korean and Chinese.
My love of jing jiang rou si has taken me down twisty city alleys and even twistier village back-roads, through three countries and many cities, all in search of beef, scallions and tofu skins.
My latest quest for this shredded beef dish came spontaneously on a Friday afternoon, as I ticked down the minutes until the weekend began. Determined to avoid alcohol after a bruising Thursday evening, I went on the hunt.
The dish is served on three plates. One is for the beef, typically cut into strands, each about two inches long and each no thicker than a strand of spaghetti. The second plate is for the tofu skin squares, pressed flat and then cut into coaster-sized pieces. Finally, the third plate contains scallions, shredded and presented in a pile. Jing jiang rou si is assembled and eaten like a fajita or Peking duck, with the diner rolling scallions and beef into the tofu and eating the resulting two or three wraps until the giant plate of beef is finished.
A poster on Chowhound uploaded a menu from Ming Chan Dong, a restaurant specializing in food from Jiling and Liaoning, China's two provinces which border Korea. There it was, in both Chinese and Korean. I called to double check. Then I rode the 7 train to the last stop and walked 10 minutes to a quiet strip of Union Avenue that separates the Chinese and Korean parts of Flushing.
I nearly was turned away at the door. When I entered, Russian fur hat over my head, the restaurant's manager greeted me with a "Hello?" that was more accusatory than welcoming. I ignored his body language and requested the menu. He refused to hand it over, even after I insisted that the Chinese version would be just fine. Even after presenting it, he hovered, as if I would run out the door upon discovering a lack of pictures. I upped the ante in our little passive-aggressive fight by spending a full three minutes flipping through the menu, even though I knew, of course, what I would be having.
The meat arrived first, a pile twice as big as any I'd seen in China. I wondered if that would be the end of it, but soon after, the surly manager (who resembled a slightly less rotund Kim Jong-un) brought a plate of tofu skins. I did not discover the scallions until later, as they were hidden under the mound of beef, strangely steamed and then further softened in an oven of meat.
I wish the resulting dish was worth the effort. The beef was terribly under-seasoned, with none of the saltiness or zing that I found in Beijing. And the tofu skins were bizarrely wet, which doesn't work the main protein is smothered by a gooey soy/bean sauce.
So, the hunt for the perfect jing jiang rou si continues. Hopefully my next stop on the tour will feature a slightly more welcoming host – and a much better rendering of the dish.
I miss jja ja myun. It's on my list of things I miss eating since I left California, along with Mexican food. I can't say I found anything on the East Coast that can even begin to compare to Young King's in Koreantown in LA.
The one I had here was decent. It tasted better as I ate more of it. The sauce didn't have the same complexity of flavor that I'm used to, but the flavor was clean and not oily (often the black bean sauce of the jja ja myun is too oily and heavy). The serving size was a good size and it was cheap too ($6). I don't know if it was because I was there at an early time for dinner (hadn't eaten lunch, so I was doing an early dinner/late lunch) or if because i was by myself, but they only gave me two different different types of kimchi (pickled radish and the usual cabbage) and a pickled ginger (I think) for the ban chan.
They make their own mandu (dumplings) here. That really seems to be their speciality, so I'll be coming back to try those. Not the jja ja myun.
The tables are outfitted to do Korean bbq, by the way.
The owners are really nice — made sure I got what I wanted. I don't know how much English they speak or how accessible this restaurant is to non-Korean speakers. The menu they gave me was written only in Korean and Chinese.
My love of jing jiang rou si has taken me down twisty city alleys and even twistier village back-roads, through three countries and many cities, all in search of beef, scallions and tofu skins.
My latest quest for this shredded beef dish came spontaneously on a Friday afternoon, as I ticked down the minutes until the weekend began. Determined to avoid alcohol after a bruising Thursday evening, I went on the hunt.
The dish is served on three plates. One is for the beef, typically cut into strands, each about two inches long and each no thicker than a strand of spaghetti. The second plate is for the tofu skin squares, pressed flat and then cut into coaster-sized pieces. Finally, the third plate contains scallions, shredded and presented in a pile. Jing jiang rou si is assembled and eaten like a fajita or Peking duck, with the diner rolling scallions and beef into the tofu and eating the resulting two or three wraps until the giant plate of beef is finished.
A poster on Chowhound uploaded a menu from Ming Chan Dong, a restaurant specializing in food from Jiling and Liaoning, China's two provinces which border Korea. There it was, in both Chinese and Korean. I called to double check. Then I rode the 7 train to the last stop and walked 10 minutes to a quiet strip of Union Avenue that separates the Chinese and Korean parts of Flushing.
I nearly was turned away at the door. When I entered, Russian fur hat over my head, the restaurant's manager greeted me with a "Hello?" that was more accusatory than welcoming. I ignored his body language and requested the menu. He refused to hand it over, even after I insisted that the Chinese version would be just fine. Even after presenting it, he hovered, as if I would run out the door upon discovering a lack of pictures. I upped the ante in our little passive-aggressive fight by spending a full three minutes flipping through the menu, even though I knew, of course, what I would be having.
The meat arrived first, a pile twice as big as any I'd seen in China. I wondered if that would be the end of it, but soon after, the surly manager (who resembled a slightly less rotund Kim Jong-un) brought a plate of tofu skins. I did not discover the scallions until later, as they were hidden under the mound of beef, strangely steamed and then further softened in an oven of meat.
I wish the resulting dish was worth the effort. The beef was terribly under-seasoned, with none of the saltiness or zing that I found in Beijing. And the tofu skins were bizarrely wet, which doesn't work the main protein is smothered by a gooey soy/bean sauce.
So, the hunt for the perfect jing jiang rou si continues. Hopefully my next stop on the tour will feature a slightly more welcoming host – and a much better rendering of the dish.