I finally made it to the Mission Chinese pop-up last week. Although it’s been open since the spring in the Chinatown space once occupied by Cha Kee, I’m not sure if it’s right to call it a pop-up any longer. A pop-up feels like it’s supposed to be a week or two; Danny Bowien serving food under the name that made him a food-world star after a litany of problems that turned into a “nightmare,” feels more like a dipping of the toes to gauge the temperature of the water.
The truth is that I’d eaten at Mission Chinese enough in the past incarnations that I wasn’t exactly running out the door to have it again. The whole experience of dinner there was always a little too much for me. The food was fine, but the portions always seemed small for the price. The crowd always felt like it was filled with people who could afford the West Village but picked one of those newer apartments in Bushwick instead, and even though the signature kung pao pastrami was something I should have been a diehard fan of, I was always left wondering That’s it after we’d finish.
The occasion that got me into Mission on a Thursday night in late July was a friend’s birthday. We sat at a long table in the middle and I looked around surprised at both how comfortable I was compared to other Mission Chinese experiences, and how empty it was when you considered how hard it once was to get a reservation. We were given the choice of a chef’s tasting menu at either $60 or $100. Since I’ve got a newborn at home, I’m chronically late, so I let people order whatever and I’d make due. When I sat down, the pickled veggies and vinegar peanuts were waiting, as were two of the famous lip-numbing chicken wings. A lot of rice followed—both plain and the shisho fried rice that I thought was more plain rice just with some garnishes due to the color and lack of any real flavor—along with the kung pao pastrami. When I dug my chopstick in, something in me said it was perfectly OK to blurt out, “I think pastrami was supposed to come in this kung pao pastrami.” The server didn’t like my joke and walked away. The pastrami, save for a few stringy bits that I found floating in the bowl, never materialized. A little while later the bill came. Everybody paid a $110. I’d say about 73 percent of my meal was rice.
This all brings me to the question I’ve been asking a lot recently about many things: what’s the point? What’s the point of bringing back something that—let’s be honest here—failed? Especially if you’re not going to change anything save for a few new dishes that border on infantilization? Why not try something, I don’t know—accessible and affordable? I don’t know, that’s just a thought.
Other Notes
Rachel Kushner was interviewed by The Drift, and there’s this part I like where they ask, “The novel is sometimes called a fundamentally bourgeois art form. How do you conceive of its radical potential?”The Kush brings up Jean-Patrick Manchette in her answer and how she’s looking to write something about the late French writer. As leader of the Kush Gang (that’s my Rachel Kushner fan club) and also a big fan of Manchette’s work (some of it available through NYRB Classic), I figured I’d share that.
The cops in Paris have been giving the booksellers a hard time leading up to the Olympics. Way to go trying to clear away one of the things that makes visiting the city great.
I’ve been waiting for a cultural history of the yuppie, so I can’t wait to read Tom McGrath’s Triumph of the Yuppies: America, the Eighties, and the Creation of an Unequal Nation
Always a pleasure to read you, Jason. (Have I said that too much?) This was a great one (as always).
When I'm hungry I try not to go to restaurants that are selling something besides food be it a view, a name, exclusivity or popularity. Food is what I'm interested in when I'm hungry. The Lechon stand on the corner that sells me tortas de lechon for 30 Mexican pesos is what I want because their sole reason to exist is food. It's sure not the ambiance when I have to sit on a plastic chair under a tarp. If it wasn't for the flavor they wouldn't exist. I like flavor.