Chinese Cuisine thriving and growing in Oklahoma City

The fact that two of the city’s best Chinese restaurants are in old pancake houses might be a red flag in most culinary circles. Those who would judge our thriving collection of Asian eateries poorly based on the ingenuity and efficiency of two of its leaders are fate’s fools as they would never know the profound privilege of eating at Chow’s Chinese Restaurant or Grand House. While along with Fortune Chinese, 12314 N. Rockwell, these are my go-to spots for wok-induced wonder, after spending some time with Max Chow my view of what authentic Chinese cuisine will never be the same.

First, know Oklahoma City’s Asian community is a prosperous and growing a mix of Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Korean and Thai peoples. Regardless the signifying culture depicted on the marquee of any local Asian restaurant, each of the aforementioned cultures play a role in the food that comes out of the kitchen. Purity is rare, but was there an eleventh commandment I didn’t hear about, proclaiming that cooks and chefs be jailed for caving in to influences outside their ancestry? If there was, then I don’t want to be a saint.

The Mid-Del area is home to a number of Korean restaurants. The Asian district north of Midtown is populated primarily by Vietnamese and banh mi and pho shops are strongly represented there and on the south side of Oklahoma City. Pho has even leaked into the suburbs, popping up from Norman to Bethany and in Edmond.

A handful of solid Japanese restaurants can be found, including Tokyo House, Sushi Neko, and Stillwater’s shabu shabu specialists at Tokyo Pot. Then there are fusion specialists like Saii Bistro and Sushi Bar that offer all things to all diners.

Chinese restaurants predate them all. However, the earliest worked hard to build an audience. To do that, traditions began in San Francisco and New York that placated Western tastes were represented on the menu. Not until the Vietnamese population took root did a handful of old-school Chinese restaurants decide to get out of the buffet business and consult their inner crispy duck. That said, Chow’s Chinese restaurant owner Max Chow admitted his restaurant, which switched from American-style Chinese cuisine to more authentic Chinese cuisine in the early 90s, doesn’t mirror exactly what would be found in his hometown of Hong Kong. Influences from the other Asian communities are clear on his menu and on those of his fellow Asian restaurateurs.

“The available ingredients are not the same,” he said. “There are things in Hong Kong that cannot be exported to the U.S.”

Max says his food is a communion between Chinese, Vietnamese and Thai traditions.

 His daughter Matty, who earned her Masters Degree in Hong Kong,  said during her time in China the dining experience is completely different than anything in the West.

“Everything there is government owned,” she said. “The sense of urgency to profit doesn’t exist.”

She said that lack of free-market-fueled ambition leads to long waiting times and leisurely service because their is no eagerness to turn over diners. That’s great if you’ve got a table, but not if you’re waiting for one. 

This kind of authenticity we can gladly do without.

After spending a number of hours with the Chow family and eating Max’s heartfelt offerings, I came away with the inclination that the authenticity Chow’s and others who strive for a truly Chinese experience like Dot Wo, Fung’s Kitchen and Grand House, has to do with tradition.

Max Chow is the most humble, generous and gracious chef I’ve come across. He has no discernible ego as a chef. Perhaps drawing from their communal upbringing, both Max and Sindy take enormous collective pride in what they do and its place within their community. Not many years ago, the Chows sold their restaurant. But when the couple heard grumblings that the quality of the food had suffered, they bought it back to right the ship. But there was at least one caveat.

“We used to be open for lunch,” Sindy explained. “And we were very busy all the time, so we hired a cook to help out in the kitchen.”

But Sindy said when Max wasn’t manning the wok, customers noticed a dip in the quality. With their nest emptied, Sindy said they opted to shut down lunch service because, “My husband only has two hands.” And she admitted they were both ready to spend at least a little time outside the kitchen.

When asked about his cooking style, Max is practically sheepish. He shrugs and talks about learning a simple style, an ancient style, which requires close attention to heat maintenance and fresh ingredients. When Sindy Chow talks about fresh ingredients, she’s serious. She doesn’t use the word fresh the way it’s used in marketing slogans or advertising jingles. If you order crab or lobster at Chow’s, it will be alive when you do. That’s why if you’re planning a visit to Chow’s and are thinking crab or lobster, you better call ahead.

Ba Luong, executive vice president of Super Cao Nguyen Market, told me he sees the Chow’s almost every day.

“They’re always in, checking out the produce, picking up live crab or lobster,” he laughed.

Max’s aim is simple: find the aroma of the ingredient and release it into the dish when it’s most capable of lending its flavor. He achieves that with high heat and a discerning eye. Spices are secondary.

“If the ingredients are not fresh, you will get very little flavor,” he said.

Sindy said, “We only buy the best ingredients because if we don’t, the food will not taste right.”

Authentic Chinese dining isn’t so much about specific dishes, it’s about connection. No matter how many times I asked Max to make a traditional chinese dish, he simply could not move forward without knowing my preferences. Spicy? Salty? Crispy? Beef? Chicken? Pork? Seafood? Dessert?

Chow’s is true family dining in the sense that a trip there, is as close as you’re going to get to inviting yourself over to somebody’s house and not only being welcomed in the door but asked what food will please you. It’s the best of a culture that doesn’t glorify the individual. Yes, the individual is consulted, but dinner is served by committee. Your flavor profile, fresh ingredients and a technique passed down over thousands of years to a gentle soul from Hong Kong who once dreamed of building audio equipment.

To proclaim one restaurant is better than another goes against what I’ve learned from Max, Sindy and Matty Chow. If you want a buffet, by all means find one and enjoy it. The good folks at August Moon, 2142 SW 74 St., do a great job as does Panda Garden in Norman, where I once witnessed Oklahoman sportswriter extraordinaire Berry Tramel eat 100 mushrooms before begining his lunch.

Chow’s, in fact, offers well-known American-style favorites like General Tso’s Chicken and Sweet and Sour Pork. Max said he would do his best to make a chicken-fry if that’s what a customer asked for. 

I’ve always felt music and food were similar art mediums, used subconsciously by people to mark time and solidify memories. After eating Max Chow’s food and listening to his family’s philosophy, I realized there’s an even stronger parallel: Just as there are songs, styles and musicians for every mood, so too is there food, chefs and restaurants.

While I might listen to The Clash more than I listen to The Kinks, they are both British rock bands who play song-driven rock with various cultural influences. Do I have to say I like one better than the other? No, I can love them both. Ray Davies has my left ear, Joe Strummer has the right. My brain is in between firing impulses down my spine that, when the mood is right, make the hair on my neck stand up. Because they can both have this effect, they are equal in the end. The happiness created in me connects us all.

Kind of equalizes us as human beings, which just feels a lot more like how this little thing called existence was intended.

Just as Ray Davies draws a song from soul when he asks, “Where have all the good times gone?” so too does Max Chow make me close my eyes, scrunch my toes and smile when I take a bite of his Ginger-Scallion Crispy Chicken. And just as Joe Strummer compels me to crank the volume when he asks, “How’d you get so rude and reckless? You been drinking brew for breakfast?” So too does my adrenalin race and energy jump when I take a bite of Shrimp-Stuffed Jalapeno or Salt and Pepper Shrimp from Grand House.

Authentic Chinese cuisine occurs when desire sparks imagination interpreted by technique. It’s impossible to say that exists in one place or in one dish better than any other because it’s subjective. And while it might begin with a simple understanding between one diner and one chef, the cuisine expands with each hungry person who pays a chef to cook. While that might sound a little chaotic, tradition and technique keep the whole thing in harmony. And why else would Max Chow have ever dreampt of building speakers if not to amplify harmony?

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