You’ve probably walked past this on numerous occasions the last time you were in Chinatown stocking up on your yearly quota of chocolate Pocky, or going for dim sum. To the uninitiated, the bbq stand might look intimidating with its glass window showcasing various roasted and barbecued meats glistening under the heat lamps and the lineup of old Asian aunties yelling, talking loudly, clambering to make sure they cop the right bird that looks plumpest or the perfect piece of char siu that is both fatty and lean. To help you navigate this uncharted delicious roasted terrain, here is my definitive guide to the Chinese bbq stand.
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Chinatown
Picture it… you’re sitting at your favourite Chinese restaurant and your order arrives at your table. An order that’s wafting with steam that tantalizes senses of tables that line the walkway from the moment the waiter kicks open the dual swinging doors from the kitchen where if you looked at the right moments, you can catch a quick glimpse of fiery woks masterfully manipulated by deft hands, and random men in white short sleeve shirts and paper hats counting lotto tickets and calculating sports odds. Placed in front of you are the collection of the most colourful menu items listed; various deep fried meats in fluorescent coloured Kool-aid reduction sauces; General Tao chicken, lemon chicken, sweet and sour pork and honey spareribs. You look over to the next table and see some guy ordering without even looking at the menu and in 15 mins is presented with an array of dishes that you don’t recall seeing on the menu. Could it be? The mysterious “Chinese” menu? The menu by which all Chinese people order from that most non-asians will never see? YES…! And I was that dude.
Growing up in a Chinese home and being sent to school with some sort of funk in my lunch thermos that would permeate the lunch room did not help my popularity in elementary school. Last night’s dinner of braised pork belly with pickled mustard greens over rice would be the only thing on my mind leading up to lunch time. Nowhere to be found in my He-Man lunchbox were there any fucks packed by my mom to give about the kids who thought it was gross; frozen chicken nuggets or peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat and other latch-key loveless lunches. Trying to explain what my lunch was, I fought fodder for ridicule and ultimately groomed my passion for Chinese cuisine and subsequent appreciation.