At 77, chef Li Quan Chen couldn’t seem to settle into retirement. He tried gardening. He spent months building a fish pond in his backyard. But all he could think about was noodles.
Before attempting a life of leisure, Chen was one of the most influential figures in Chongqing cuisine in the San Gabriel Valley. He and his partner ran the original Chung King in Monterey Park, the restaurant responsible for the Sichuan wave that dominated the area in the early 2000s. There, diners were introduced to shui zhu yu (water-boiled fish), a vat of mouth-numbing chile oil broth brimming with fish and chiles; and la zi ji, bits of fried chicken buried under a mountain of dried chiles.
Then he opened Best Noodle House in Rosemead, focusing on Chongqing street noodles like dan dan studded with minced pork; and extra thick youpo noodles splashed with sizzling oil. But some family health issues and the pandemic forced Chen into early retirement, and he sold the restaurant. This summer, he and his wife Wei Sun Liu returned with Meet Noodle, in the former Subway space at the corner of North Garfield and East Newmark avenues, about a block south from the original Chung King restaurant.
“The truth is, I opened this shop simply because I love it so much,” says Chen. His daughter Lu Chen, visiting from her home in Canada to help her parents with the restaurant, is sitting by his side.
“I manage his email, and one day, I saw a lease agreement,” says Lu. “I was like, Dad, is there something you want to tell me?”
Now, instead of gardening, Chen and Liu spend six days a week at the restaurant. It was originally seven, but Lu convinced them to take a day off, placing a “Sunday closed” sticker over the posted hours.
Here, Chen can immerse himself in his noodles, spending hours in the kitchen crafting bowls of bouncy strands sluiced in chile oil and crowded with things like pickled mustard greens, ground pork and pickled chiles. He prepares each component himself, filling glass jars with mustard greens, salt and spices to make his own pickled greens and cabbage, and grinding dried chiles from Chongqing, China, to make his hot chile oil.
The menu boasts a handful of noodle styles, with thin, chewy rice noodles, glass noodles, xiaomian hand-pulled noodles and dao xiao mian knife-shaved noodles.
The Chongqing noodles are modeled after the bowls Chen and his family ate growing up in Chongqing, a city in southwestern China that was considered part of the Sichuan province until the mid ’90s. It’s a bowl of either thin or hand-shaved noodles (your choice) sitting in a pool of hot broth and chile oil, minced ginger and garlic, sesame paste and house pickled cabbage.
The knife-shaved noodles are wonderfully chewy, bouncing back against your teeth with each bite. They’re thick in the center, with thin ridges that grip the chile oil, pickled vegetables and stray pieces of green onion. The noodles vibrate with heat, ricocheting between the prickly Sichuan pepper, hot garlic, chiles and soothing sesame. It is everything you could ever want from a bowl of noodles.
The hand-pulled noodles are thicker, and wider, like extra sturdy Italian pappardelle. They sink to the bottom of a bowl of anise-scented broth replete with hulking boulders of braised beef. Order this, or any other dish “spicy,” and Chen will douse your bowl with an angry lashing of hot oil and more chiles.
Even with a table covered in a variety of noodles, your attention will likely be drawn to the hot and sour glass noodles, with clear, slippery noodles in a bright, tangy, chile-laced broth sharp with vinegar. Each forkful contains a multitude of textures, with heaps of dried chiles, crushed peanuts and diced green onion. Of all the noodles on the menu, these may be the most fun to eat.
Though most of Chen’s dishes possess a mean streak, the tomato and egg noodles are surprisingly tame, with a rich, slightly sour tomato broth packed with wedges of tomato and scrambled egg.
And there are things to nibble between bites of noodles, like Chen’s excellent popcorn chicken, cut into bite-size nuggets and dusted with hot chile powder. Or the Chongqing wontons, plump with pork and served swimming in a bowl of hot broth spiked with enough chiles to turn the color scarlet.
Meet Noodle is small, with a handful of tables and a slim refrigerator that holds tea and various fruit drinks. During my last visit, Liu walked in with a bag full of guava to make fresh juice.
Chen understands that L.A.’s dining landscape has changed drastically since he opened his first restaurant. Chongqing-style dishes can be found all over the San Gabriel Valley, and in cities across the country. He welcomes the company, confident that what he’s doing is true to his roots in Chongqing. And more importantly, it makes him happy.
“Back then, it was about starting a business and earning a living,” he says. “Now, it’s purely a passion project. I’ve kept the flavors of my hometown. I want people from back home and everyone to come and taste these flavors.”
When I ask if he ever gets tired spending 10 1/2 hours a day at the restaurant, he smiles and shakes his head.
“No regrets,” he says. “I feel like my life has meaning again.”
The post The San Gabriel Valley’s Chongqing master returns with a new noodle restaurant appeared first on Los Angeles Times.
