To: Owners of
Chinese restaurants in the Triangle
From: Greg Cox, restaurant critic
Please visit a new Chinese restaurant in Chapel Hill called
Lantern at your earliest convenience. You'll gain valuable insight
into evolving American tastes and maybe get a few ideas for your own
restaurant. And, while you're at it, you'll enjoy some of the best
food around, regardless of cuisine.
You'll probably want to arrive early or late, especially on a
weekend night. During prime dinner hours, the line of customers
waiting for a table has been known to snake out onto the Franklin
Street sidewalk.
Inside, you'll discover a dining room whose decor is exquisitely
restrained, from the monochrome constellation of parchment lanterns
overhead to the gray slubbed silk-look carpet underfoot. The only
decoration on the sage-green walls is a trio of large mirrors in
coffee-dark frames, which visually opens up the modest space. At
each place setting, a pair of chopsticks rests on a polished stone
-- harbinger of the attention to detail that marks every aspect of
the dining experience at Lantern.
Wait a minute, you're probably thinking. This can't be a Chinese
restaurant. The decor sounds almost Japanese. And when's the last
time you heard of customers queuing up outside a Chinese restaurant
that wasn't serving dim sum?
OK, you have me there: Lantern isn't, strictly speaking, a
Chinese restaurant. Pan-Asian is a more accurate term. About
two-thirds of the offering is Chinese, though, with the remaining
third divided among Japanese, Thai and other Asian cuisines. Among
the menu's frequently changing listings, you might find a classic
rendering of the Vietnamese beef noodle soup pho, for instance. Or a
Japanese bento box filled with sake- and tea-cured salmon, sushi
rice, miso mayonnaise, house-pickled ginger, wasabi and nori sheets
for assembling your own handrolls. (If you're inexperienced with
this or any of Lantern's other occasional do-it-yourself projects,
your server will gladly provide instruction).
Chinese fare is every bit as impressive. Starters might include a
bamboo steamer basket filled with sea scallop and shrimp shumai,
their filling flecked with cilantro stems and diced jicama for
crunchy contrast. Or crackling-crisp calamari, a variation on the
classic dish of salt and pepper shrimp served on a bed of seasonal
greens. Or barbecued pork ribs, whose chewy-tender meatiness and
five spice-tinged hoisin glaze would be the envy of many a Chinatown
eatery.
Steamed sea bass, topped with threads of fried ginger and
surrounded by a broth sparkling with ginger, scallions and black
beans, is a flawless entree. Nor could fault be found with
red-cooked pork, a fist-sized hunk of shoulder braised overnight
until stained on the surface and penetrated to the bone by the
mingled perfumes of cassia, star anise and Szechuan peppercorn. Baby
bok choy and fragrant jasmine rice round out the dish.
If you please, note the attention to every detail of Lantern's
tea- and spice-smoked chicken. The chicken is first brined, then
air-dried before smoking, a two-day process that assures succulent
meat and pecan-colored skin. Edamame take the place of the customary
-- and insipid --frozen green peas in the fried rice, joining diced
Chinese sausage, asparagus tips and lots of egg. Even the
accompanying whole green beans, wok-fried to crisp tenderness, get
the special touch of house-made XO sauce.
Please don't take this the wrong way, but when is the last time
any of you went to the trouble to make --or even offer -- this
luxuriously complex sauce? Granted, I know it's not entirely your
fault. You're just giving the American public what it has demanded
for decades. But while you kept on serving up heavily sauced
stir-fries that bear only passing resemblance to real Chinese food,
the public's tastes have grown more sophisticated. They have
traveled, read cooking magazines and watched Food TV, and
increasingly, they are looking for freshness and authenticity. And
although, for instance, jicama is not an authentic ingredient in
shumai, it's an inspired alternative to the usual tinny-tasting
canned water chestnuts -- which aren't really authentic in that
processed form, either.
Which brings me to my reason for writing: Would some of you
consider following Lantern's example, at least in spirit? I'm not
asking you to expand your repertoire to include other Asian
cuisines, and I realize there will always be a demand for the
Chinese-American fare that has become a sort of comfort food here.
But there are well over a hundred Chinese restaurants in the
Triangle now. It couldn't hurt to set yourself apart from the crowd
by serving the real, vibrant and varied flavors of Chinese cuisine
to a public that's increasingly hungry for them. Just think of that
line of customers waiting for a table at Lantern.
It may interest you to know that Lantern's owners aren't Chinese.
Andrea Reusing gave up her position at the estimable Enoteca Vin to
open the restaurant with her brother Brendan, who had previously
worked as Scott Howell's sous chef at Nana's. Rather than apply
their considerable talents to yet another temple of New American
cuisine, the pair opted to pay homage to the Asian cuisines they
admire. With the assistance of Silvia Pahola, who comes to Lantern's
kitchen from Acme Food & Beverage, they've created a dining
experience that is simply the most impressive for the money in the
Triangle.
And that's not just because most entrees, for all the care that
went into them, are in the $12 to $14 range. It's because the wait
staff (including the bartenders in the sexy Chinese lacquer red and
black bar in the back) are as well-trained and attentive as you'd
normally expect only in far pricier establishments.
It's also because the wine list, though relatively short, is
reasonably priced and carefully chosen to match the menu, with nary
a cliche label in the lot. Because 10 beers are offered by the
bottle, but only one -- the spicy Spaten Franziskaner Weissbier, a
peerless companion for Asian food -- is on tap. And because six
Asian teas are offered by the pot.
Even desserts are outstanding, though most are only loosely Asian
by virtue of a key ingredient or two. There's the pineapple in an
upside-down pineapple cake, for instance, or the ginger ice cream
that accompanies a molten-centered dark chocolate cake. And then
there's the oversized, house-made fortune cookie perched atop an
organic pink grapefruit-champagne sorbet. The folks at Lantern have
even printed up their own fortunes for the cookies. The one I got
recently read: "The sage knows when to hold them and when to fold
them."
Come to think of it, that could be wise advice for some of you.
Any takers?
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