Shuang Cheng letdown

It’s been a while since I’ve had an awful meal. But I was so ravenous with hunger, and the server so sporadic in his visits, I ate it. Well, most of it.

Yes, Harold and I returned to Dinkytown last Friday to test another venue, and, with the parade of young co-eds winding along the sidewalks, to reminesce once again about all of our missed sexual opportunities in college roughly a decade ago.

The joint? Shuang Cheng Restaurant on Fourth Street SE, about which I’ve heard several good reviews from a variety of people over the years, usually from someone that’s never eaten there. They’ll say, “You know, I’ve heard it’s really good.” Yet when I’ve spoken to someone who’s really eaten there, the review is mediocre, at best. Harold was one of those people. He ate there a couple months ago. He wasn’t impressed, but not offended, either. “But I heard their seafood is the way to go,” he said, selling the place as our destination.

Why do I listen to this man? His opinions are fueled by the vapors of the previous night's binge or the dehydrated hallucinations of his marathon training runs. Ah, but he’s a wit, to be sure. So, there we were, in the restaurant, being led to a table deep in the back, in front of a door where a kitchen worker squeezed his way past to exit into the alley to speak on his cell phone.

Most of the menu read like a retro list, fare that graced the menus of Chinese restaurants housed in strip malls years ago, before authentic ethnic cuisine began taking hold in the Midwest. But there were a couple items that piqued my interest—in particular, the roast duck lunch special, which I ordered. Harold ordered the barbecue pork; he didn’t find what he was seeking on the lunch menu, a seafood soup.

We sipped complimentary tea (that was a nice touch) and again revisited a subject occupying our minds in a big way for several months: How to escape our jobs.

The food arrived quickly—the best part of our experience. So, there. Look at my meal. Yeah, it’s a crap photo. I’m not really sure what the vegetable was. Some sorta broccoli? Spinach? All I know is that the buds were blooming, and I’m not sure that’s supposed to happen. Underneath that was the duck, and beneath that, plain white rice. As in plain, not sticky. Coulda been Uncle Ben’s.

Now, before I continue, I should confess that I am partially responsible for rendering part of my meal almost inedible. I went a little nuts with the hot sauce, drizzling more and more of it on the pile in a futile effort to ad some flavor. ANY flavor. I have quite a high tolerance for spice, but I did cause some nasal drip during my meal. That miscue aside, the meal was most unpleasant to eat because of the duck. Not that it tasted terrible, although it was overcooked and about as bland as the rice and vegetables. But it was merely a roast duck hacked to pieces in such haphazard fashion I was spitting bone shards out of each bite. I’ve never experienced that before. How appetizing does the joint between the leg and thigh sound to you? That’s what I got. A bundle of ribs. I didn’t get enough meat for a small sandwich.

Here’s a thought: Carve the carcass, rather than taking random swipes at it with a cleaver. Starved, I ate all the meat I could forage from the bones, feeling like a desert survivor picking clean a carcass left by the vultures. I ate as much rice and vegetables as I could without crying from the hot sauce. Harold was equally unimpressed with his meal. “The pork was OK,” he murmured.

As we walked to the register to pay our tab, I looked at the plates other patrons were devouring. They looked like nothing more than what might have been served in any anonymous cafeteria in the ethnic food line. Yet this place was packed as full as a frat house on Friday night. Why? Maybe the dinner rush here is another story entirely.

Or, perhaps Shuang Cheng is one of those unexplainable circumstances the universe throws our way, like dark matter, the Bush administration and Paris Hilton.

Perhaps on our next trip to Dinkytown, we’ll return to the old reliable, Kafé 421, where not two days previous I had my first great, simple taste of fall: a warm turkey sandwich with slices of apple and brie cheese, and a cup of fantastic butternut squash soup.

Comments

[cK]

Kafe 421? Never been. Maybe I'll take a trip there soon. The warm turkey sandwich, brie and apple sounds outstanding.

I had some squash risotto with wild mushrooms, garlic, and pine nuts the other day at the Good Earth in Roseville. Fall is a lovely dining time, is it not? At least, so long as one avoids the autumnal fare at subpar Chinese restaurants.
-cK

[fruit seasons]

I think my produce guide could improve the quality of your ingredients. FruitSeasons.com

[RealDuck]

What do expect when you eat animals? As though they don't have bones? You reap what you sow, dude.

Here's a more appetizing thought: try the mock duck next time. Or, yes, go to Kafe 421. ;-)

[Cheng Shuang]

Ever thought of ordering off of the specials board at an authentic Chinese restaurant - rather than some stupid lunch special item? Given the level of writing and comments in this review, I don't think we're exactly dealing with cuisine experts here. Try McDonald's and review the McNuggets.

[Cantonese Gal]

You might want to be more educated about Chinese cuisine before you make a bunch of laughably erroneous assumptions.

Traditional Chinese meals are almost always served with long grain rice which is NOT a sticky rice (exceptions for noodle dishes, glutinous rice dishes or northern chinese meals served with bread items).

The kind of duck you ordered is Chinese roasted duck and is always fully cooked...never rare as in a French style. It has a very well done roasted skin that sometimes looks burnt but it isn't. It is always chopped as all Chinese roast meats are and NEVER carved like a western roast.

You got Chinese broccoli which is also known as gai lan, it's supposed to look that way.

If you are thinking seafood, you need to order the seafood specials on the board NOT some imaginary seafood soup.

Aieeya! Oy vey! I seriously could go on and on about your very provincial expectations and assumptions.

BTW, I am a Hong Kong Chinese, raised in London, NYC, HK and Guangzhou and I now live in Minneapolis. Shuang Cheng is handily one of the better Chinese restaurants in the Twin Cities area.

Merry Christmas!

[Cantonese Gal]

Oh, and don't completely douse your food in hot sauce (you mean chili oil, right? you must mean chili oil).

I don't go somewhere and cover my food with ketchup and then complain about the flavor of the dish I'm eating in the guise of a review in a public forum.

[Lewis]

Cantonese Gal:

Thanks for the comments. I should keep this blog better updated. But "provincial"? C'mon. You read this blog? Or just this review?

Sure, we'll cop to being heavy-handed at times. But, considering the meal was two years ago, all I've got to go on is the review, which, when re-read, indicated I wasn't confused about the method of the duck's preparation, merely that there was hardly any of it, save its skeleton. Chopped bone is chopped bone. The chef shoulda made the call on what made it to the table. The rice that was on my plate wasn't long-grain. And I also admitted to my own error of pouring too much of the hot stuff on it, so what's the problem? Further, while there is plenty of junk in the food blogosphere (and the Bloated Belly could certainly be included on many folks' lists), one should never assume the writers are land-locked rubes. That is a provincial assumption, indeed. But, again, thanks for the comment(s). Perhaps we'll give the joint another shot.

[Cantonese Gal]

Wow, I didn't expect a quick response to a a comment on a two-year old post. Nice!

Anyway, I didn't mean provincial as code for "midwestern." I am at this point a midwesterner and through experience I know very well that living in the midwest doesn't mean anyone is a land-locked rube.

I meant provincial as in "it seems like you are applying a lot of Western standards and expectations regarding food to a Chinese meal when it doesn't seem you know very much about Chinese food," so perhaps I should think of a better term for that. It feels like a provincialism though. Also the fact that it seemed that you and your fellow diner each ordered your own platter a la Western dining as opposed to ordering Chinese/family style added to that sense.

When I was an exhausted-from-studying-and partying teen I do remember being dragged out to big family meals at Chinese restaurants and feeling like every single dish on the table required so much work -- shelling, de-boning, cracking, etc.-- just to get enough of the meaty bits to make a meal.

This review was my intro to your blog and didn't make me very curious about the rest of it. But I might give it a go as I am always interested in local opinions.