Noodles from heaven...or Xian

I whined. Just a little. But I definitely whined. 

We dove in before the picture...couldn't wait!

Yuji wanted to try a new noodle spot and I had my mouth set on Indian (my last bout with Indian was less than stellar and I was intent on scrubbing the experience from my palate).

Somehow, in mid-whine, I had a change of heart. I love food and he was so excited. Why the heck not. 

Except we pulled up into a strip mall and the sign read, “OKNoodle”.

The strip mall part was fine. Living in Oakland for a while I still haven’t forgotten all the mom and pop shops the line the strip malls of Houston. Cookie cutter layout and often cheap interior but who cares if the food is good. So I took a deep breath and walked in ahead of Yuji.

By the time he’d followed me in my head was turned toward him and I reached out to thump him on the arm with a huge grin on my face. The place looked promising. Almost full to capacity with people immersed in their plates, the waiter and maybe owner waived us to a far corner and handed us menus. 

I skimmed with little registering. 

While there are English translations under the Chinese, the descriptions weren’t always clear enough to paint a picture of what to expect. Meanwhile, Yuji studied the menu, reading random kanji that overlap with Japanese and cross-referencing his selections with some site he’d found online- the site I think that led us to this place to begin with. 

When the waiter finally returned, tea unasked for but provided none the less, Yuji pointed at a picture on his phone instead of the menu. The man nodded and disappeared. 

the gluten up close

We gazed at steaming bowls and plates as they paraded past. Thick flat noodles on silver platters the size of hubcaps, long round noodles submerged in soup bobbing next to meat and veggies. We tried to reconcile each dish with a description we read but that proved futile, so instead we just leered hungrily as we waited for our meal. 

It didn’t take long.

We hadn’t realized our noodles were cold. 

My mind floated immediately to Mul Naengmyun (물냉면), a Korean cold noodle soup that I adore after a few hours at a Korean spa- emerging parched and hot, the broth cools and the Asian pear’s sweetness snaps in my mouth so pleasurably. 

This wasn’t Mul Naengmyun.

This was Liang Pita, my new love.

These sweet and sour cucumbers were amazing

While Mul Naengmyun is smooth in its flavor execution and the noodles thing and chewy, Liang Pita is a bit of a roller-coaster. There is a tinge of sweet, a lot of sour, a touch of heat. The chili oil floats on top of what I presume was vinegar, cilantro, and whatever heaven tastes like, and coats the wide flat noodles. And a spongy item we mistook for a type of tofu that, when I asked, was explained as “a Chinese thing made from starch.” A little research and I figured out that spongy thing that has deep crannies and nooks to soak up the sauce is called mianjin, homemade Chinese wheat gluten. 

The plate, smaller than I’d imagined since we’d been watching platters bigger than my face grace tables for a while, disappointed me. Yuji and I politely scooped noodles and sauce into our individual bowls, reaching back to pick up tiny pieces of torn noodle or strips of cucumber. And then it was gone.

Yuji asked the waiter for a bowl of rice to soak up the reaming sauce, a desire I could relate to even as I urged him not to ask for it.

“This is a noodle house,” the waiter looked a cross between amused and offended. As he turned to walk away I assured him, “That’s what I told him!”

Still, we had piece of cucumber so Yuji, ever determined to sop up whatever remained, swirled them about and delicately swept them, dripping with sauce, into his waiting mouth.

Yuji, ever the good sport and unending appetite!

Back in the car, barely able to restrain ourselves from ordering another bowl to take with us, I googled the name of the dish to no avail. It because a circular game of clicking on OK Noodle’s website, the only relevant entry for Liang Pita. And then I realized the trick was removing the “ita” from Pita. The common name is Liang Pi, or cold skin noodles, and they originate from Xian.

Now the world opens up for me. I found a myriad of recipes, variations in ingredients and execution. And my  hope is to try making them myself because…in a few weeks I won’t be here anymore and I won’t have a place to run down to when I’m in the mood to taste a little bit of heaven.

Of course, I plan to dip my toes back into China. I wasn’t planning to stick to the eastern coast but for a good bowl of noodles I might be persuaded to go inland!