Por Frank Sabatini Jr.
After earning a reputation over the years for comically rude service, I have to admit – with some disappointment – encountering a good deal of courtesy during an overdue visit to Hong Kong Restaurant in Hillcrest.
Established in 1978, I hadn’t eaten here since the early 1990s; the same for my two companions in tow. As I vaguely remember, and according to recent testimonies, Hong Kong can leave thin-skinned customers feeling dejected by simply asking certain servers about meal specifics or when taking too long to decide between the cloying orange chicken and the smoky tasting lo mein noodles, for example.
The staff responses are sometimes clipped and impatient. Other times you’re plainly ignored. Yet for many, it’s become part of the restaurant’s perverted appeal, and the employees seem to fully realize that in their humble effort of turning tables.
“What kind of vegetables do you want?” a middle-age waitress shouted while taking a meal order from two young men seated in a booth across the room. They appeared intimidated, yet beneath her scowl and broken English, I detected a playful grin.
Our server was far less abrupt. He told us the age of the restaurant when I inquired, and explained there is little difference between the syrupy glazes used on the lemon and orange chicken entrees when we pointed to them on the menu — same preparation, just different fruit used.
And when I asked if the restaurant is family-operated, he told us without caginess that the original owners, an older couple, sold it a few years ago to several of their employees.
We came in expecting rough treatment, but ended up in civil hands.
From what I could tell, little has changed on the menu. The honey-walnut shrimp one of my companions ordered has been around forever and it’s the most expensive item in the place ($15.95), along with a few other top-tier choices like pepper-garlic shrimp and egg foo young.
The heavily battered shrimp were aplenty and draped in a sweet, milky sauce with lots of jumbo walnuts interspersed throughout the dish. It’s still the best in town next to Peking Restaurant’s in North Park.
Foil-wrapped chicken remains an old standby, and I loved the whispers of lemongrass infusing the meat inside. Just like the steamed dumplings packed with coarsely ground pork, you get six per order.
Adding to our nostalgic repast was green bean garlic chicken, a delightful mingling of flour-dusted poultry pieces and lightly fried beans that were vibrant and fresh. The garlic factor was strong, but not obnoxiously so.
Hong Kong’s Kung Pao chicken is exactly as I remember it. Instead of the salty brown sauce I dislike in other versions, this is draped thinly in a scarlet glaze reflecting the hue and flavor of the chili peppers. It wasn’t as spicy as I prefer, although several dribbles of feisty chili sauce on the table brought it up to speed.
Other choices across the rambling menu include twice-cooked pork, dynasty beef, eggplant in plum sauce, and steamed fish with ginger for those hell-bent on dodging the fried stuff.
With its unassuming façade and kitschy, outdated interior, the restaurant holds special appeal to late-night bar crawlers seeking a sobering food fix. The kitchen stays open until 3 a.m. daily, which is a luxury in an age when few old-school Chinese restaurants are left standing.
—Frank Sabatini Jr. es el autor de “Secret San Diego” (ECW Press), y comenzó su carrera como escritor local hace más de dos décadas como miembro del personal del antiguo San Diego Tribune. Puedes localizarlo en [email protected].
