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When you see the dragon on that takeout menu, you know what you're in for. Not to mention the exclamatory name (Kung POW!, a typography our copy editors won't allow in our paper outside of these parentheses), that telegraphed pun right out of jokey chopsocky, and the back-page "classics" menu full of Shanghai surprises and Sino-American stepchildren such as chow mein, lemon chicken and sweet and sour pork.
Nob Hill's Kung Pow—sister restaurant to subdued Chinese noodle house Shandong—is not Szechuan food, no matter how much ma po tofu or zhen bang you see on the menu. You won't find confrontational Chongqing pepper baths here, no shui zhu yu soup stained red as blood with the oil of chilies.
What San Francisco-raised chef Henry Liu made instead is an amped-up celebration of the old-school American Chinese family restaurant—winked, nudged and elevated past irony into blissful comfort, with oil and heat and spice brought into a concert that's way more Van Halen than Mozart.
The tender, delectable fish balls ($8.50) should become a hallmark here, especially the ginger-garlic version in âsweet spicy sauce.â Whitefish is a beautifully receptive ground for heavy saucesâa prime drinking snack even more so than the spicy chicken wings that have become part of every nouveau-Portland Asian spot since we all liked Ikeâs at Pok Pok. Although, of course, there are also wings at Kung Pow. Because you want wingsâjust like David Lee Roth knows you want âHot for Teacherâ and a high kick.
The lamb bao bing appetizer ($9) should also be ordered every time—it's a loud, amiable take on the too-often dull mu shu wrap, with a red bell pepper salsa on sweet-spicy lamb gussied up with mah lah berry and chilies, packed into a crepe-thin pancake. It is a burst of buoyant flavor that seems to disappear far too swiftly.
Other signatures come from Shandong, in particular the 2-foot-long Judy's and gwai wer noodles that are still hearty and glutenous feasts. Lamentably, they've also imported those soup dumplings, whose dough gorges itself on the soup until none remains within, leaving a sad and hollow wilt of a shell. (Where is that Aviary soup dumpling spot we were promised?)
But the Szechuan-style classics—the titular Kung Pow dishes ($10-$12), as well as ma po tofu ($10) and zhen bang chicken ($11)—are comfort classics with a sting, but not a burn, of red chili and tingling Sichuan pepper. All offer that familiar oil-salt-garlic rush of the corner Chinese spot, but with greater brightness, lightness and deftness. All are available in smaller portions at lunch for about $8.50. And as for that staid, old lemon chicken? It's some of the best I've had—certainly the best in Portland—a light, flour-crusted dish in goopy lemon sauce that tastes, redolently, of actual lemon. Maybe it's screwy 1950s food, but it's great screwy 1950s food. The wheel has not been reinvented, merely greased for speed.
However, letâs be clear: Most of the wheeled lubrication will be provided by the copious, Chinese-zodiac-spoked cocktail menu, from a Bulleit grenadine called Strong Ox ($9) to its astrological opposite, a âSheepishâ Champagne lychee cocktail ($8)ânot to mention a Pigs & Prosperity coffee cocktail ($9) so hot with rum, Vinn baijiu and Baileyâs it might as well steam instead of froth. Although the smartest part of the drinks menu may be the wine list, with a healthy representation of spice-compatible riesling and especially local favorite Teutonic, not to mention a refreshingly straightforward announcement of call-liquor availability and prices ($7 for Aria, $8 for Woodford Reserve). So fuck it. Treat the place like itâs a higher-end Chin Yen (RIP) or Republic Cafe. Show up to start your night and end up accidentally finishing it here instead, numb with Sichuan and buried at the bottom of an alcoholic oolong tea.
Order this: Lamb bao bing, fish balls, zhen bang chicken, and a cocktail.
Best deal: The $8.50 lunch menu.
I'll pass: Soup dumplings.
EAT: Kung Pow, 500 NW 21st Ave., 208-2173. 11 am-10 pm Sunday-Wednesday, 11 am-midnight Thursday-Saturday.
WWeek 2015
