SEPTEMBER 29, 2019 – Yesterday evening we “dined” at the wholly refurbished House of Wong in an old local strip mall that recently underwent a major “face lift.”
House of Wong opened in 1958. We’d eaten there once about 30 years ago. It was popular among old folks then, and it’s a favorite of older folks now. Even at our Medicare-eligible ages, my wife and I lowered the average age a little. Our wait time for sit-down, we were told, would be 30 minutes, but I soon noticed that the many old couples and groups who followed us in were told the same thing. In our case, at least, 30 minutes lasted only 20.
The menu was divided between your “basic” Chinese features and typical American food. The Chinese half was led by old, white person favorites, chow mein and lo mein—with exuberantly New! and exotic Pad Thai (“mildly spicy”) for younger diners like us, willing to risk it all. The American half of the menu boasted “burgers and fries,” or something like that. I mean, since we were there for the Chinese cuisine, I saw no point in surveying the American side.
We ordered the specials, but when the food arrived, it reminded me of the “specials” at Baker’s Square (another favorite among the Medicare-eligible), an ever so slightly upscale version of Perkins. The table had been set with metal utensils. We weren’t offered chopsticks, and in my broad survey of the dining area, I saw no sign of them anywhere. Amidst the bustling business, our waiter looked too harried to be asked about chopsticks.
I’d noticed that the double wooden doors at the entrance, salvaged from their former quarters, bore carvings of dragons and other Chinese motifs. Elsewhere, however, the fresh new décor of House of Wong showed no hint of China—no paper Chinese lanterns; no bamboo wall hangings with painted pandas; no sweeping photographic mural of the Great Wall or Guilin (the Longji Terraced Fields); and like I said, no chopsticks in red, packing printed in China, bearing instructions, “Tuk under thurnb and hcld firmly.”
After 61 years in Roseville, Minnesota, the only thing remotely Chinese about House of Wong are General Pao’s name on the menu and the obligatory fortune cookies after the meal. Yet, even my fortune was bland: “Be smart, be intelligent, and be informed.” In fairness, though, I must acknowledge the Mandarin spoken softly between two of the elders of the family—the women Wong, dining room side—exchanging information as they passed each other, one carrying a tray of plates filled with food and the other pushing a cart laden with leftovers. I imagined them on the Yulong River in a time long, long ago, calling out news to each other from their sampans, one headed upstream, one downstream.
But that idyllic scene quickly vanished when I learned from the restaurant’s website that its founder, “Teddy” Wong, had been born in . . . North Dakota, of all places. That would explain the “burger and fries” on the menu, I guess.
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© 2019 Eric Nilsson
