A Bowl of Dalu Noodles in Chinatown, Oakland
Eating was always an exciting time when I went to Chinatown. I am not really a foodie, but I do enjoy when there are more options of familiar foods that I can choose from. One afternoon, I stepped into this “Shan Dong Mandarin Restaurant” in Oakland Chinatown. Shandong Province in China is famous for their noodles and dumplings. I was craving for some noodles.
I saw “大滷麵 Dàlǔ miàn (Dalu Noodles)” on the menu and knew in a heartbeat that’s going to be my lunch for the day. Dalu Noodles reminded me of my college days back in Taiwan. On a chilly day, I would walk with my roommates at that time, who are still my best friends now, from the packed 6 persons dorm to a restaurant in a small alleyway called “郭家奶奶 Guō jiā nǎinai (Grandma Guo’s).” It felt so comforting after devouring a big bowl of chewy thick-cut noodles soup in which you could also taste some good amount of napa cabbage shreds, thin pork shreds, wood ears, and egg drop. It warmed up your stomach and lifted up your spirit.
A few minutes after I ordered Dalu Noodles at this “Shandong Restaurant,” the noodles came. I looked at this bowl of Dalu Noodles, and felt like I was staring at an American-born cousin of the Dalu Noodles I had in Taiwan. In the bowl there were localized ingredients, mushrooms, zucchini, broccoli, and jam-packed protein slices of chicken, beef, pork, and shrimp. I savored this bowl of Dalu Noodles while listening to the background music, which was a mixed playlist of Lunar New Year music, Maroon 5, Miley Cyrus, and Avril Lavigne. I thought that whoever put this playlist together might share some similar cross-cultural experiences with me and we might get along. More than half an hour passed, and the bowl in front of me looked like it was just served, still filled up with noodles. I slowly chewed the thick noodles and saw quite a few tables around me had turned over to different customers. I heard different accents of Mandarin spoken among some new groups of customers. Some other tables the customers conversed in English or even in Spanish.
I finally decided to give up my table and take the rest of my Dalu Noodles to go. Before stepping out of the restaurant, I watched a woman rolling the dough, stretching it, folding it, and cutting it into the chewy thick noodles I just ate. I chatted with those women for a bit and thanked them for a good lunch. In return, they praised how good my Mandarin sounds. I felt a bit flattered but also a bit confused about the praise. I guess where they were from Mandarin was not their mother tongue.
I saw “大滷麵 Dàlǔ miàn (Dalu Noodles)” on the menu and knew in a heartbeat that’s going to be my lunch for the day. Dalu Noodles reminded me of my college days back in Taiwan. On a chilly day, I would walk with my roommates at that time, who are still my best friends now, from the packed 6 persons dorm to a restaurant in a small alleyway called “郭家奶奶 Guō jiā nǎinai (Grandma Guo’s).” It felt so comforting after devouring a big bowl of chewy thick-cut noodles soup in which you could also taste some good amount of napa cabbage shreds, thin pork shreds, wood ears, and egg drop. It warmed up your stomach and lifted up your spirit.
A few minutes after I ordered Dalu Noodles at this “Shandong Restaurant,” the noodles came. I looked at this bowl of Dalu Noodles, and felt like I was staring at an American-born cousin of the Dalu Noodles I had in Taiwan. In the bowl there were localized ingredients, mushrooms, zucchini, broccoli, and jam-packed protein slices of chicken, beef, pork, and shrimp. I savored this bowl of Dalu Noodles while listening to the background music, which was a mixed playlist of Lunar New Year music, Maroon 5, Miley Cyrus, and Avril Lavigne. I thought that whoever put this playlist together might share some similar cross-cultural experiences with me and we might get along. More than half an hour passed, and the bowl in front of me looked like it was just served, still filled up with noodles. I slowly chewed the thick noodles and saw quite a few tables around me had turned over to different customers. I heard different accents of Mandarin spoken among some new groups of customers. Some other tables the customers conversed in English or even in Spanish.
I finally decided to give up my table and take the rest of my Dalu Noodles to go. Before stepping out of the restaurant, I watched a woman rolling the dough, stretching it, folding it, and cutting it into the chewy thick noodles I just ate. I chatted with those women for a bit and thanked them for a good lunch. In return, they praised how good my Mandarin sounds. I felt a bit flattered but also a bit confused about the praise. I guess where they were from Mandarin was not their mother tongue.
I was grateful for this lunch experience. Even though Dalu Noodles here and back in Taiwan are not the same, it still took me back to the good old times. I opened the door of the restaurant, and saw myself walking along with my old roommates, laughing, and complaining “好飽喔 Hǎo bǎo ō! (So full!)” in a content tone.
Noodles and 2000 pop songs sounds great right now!
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