Double Li
Double Li is named for chef-owners Ben Li and Wan Cai Li, but for fans of Szechuan cuisine it also signifies that we’ve doubled our options for mouth-tingling, authentically aggressive specialties from the region. Here are Szechuan dumplings, delectably cartilaginous pig’s ear, and—my favorite Double Li starter—Szechuan tripe with finely minced celery as a textural counterpoint. Fish in chile broth is terrific, the fillet meltingly tender and the chile oil hot enough to start one thinking of the firehouse a few doors east. Or try the intense lamb hot pot seasoned with cumin, a one-two punch of fragrance and flavor. Crisp-edged dry chile chicken is engaging, but it’s black pepper-garlic beef that’s quickly becoming a signature dish. To get the authentic stuff ask for the translated Szechuan menu. —Gary Wiviott
With two separate menus and walls papered with interesting specials, this sparsely furnished restaurant in the Chinatown Mall offers dishes from all over the map—and off it as well. There’s a Pork Chop With Thousand Island Sauce that sounds like an Italian futurist dreamed it up. But Ken-Kee doesn’t overreach. It does many, many things very well, from standards like beef with broccoli to 24 variations on simple congee to more interesting creations like the five-spice lotus root with Chinese sausage and bacon, and endlessly fascinating combinations of ingredients like duck tongues and baby pea tips. And if seafood is a good benchmark to measure a busy kitchen’s standards, Ken-Kee’s are high: the fried smelt special, battered and dressed with chiles, was unbelievably fresh. —Mike Sula
The third of Tony Hu’s regional Chinese restaurants, Lao Beijing was quick to take its place alongside sibling Lao Shanghai and flagship Lao Sze Chuan. Artworks depicting classic Beijing dishes set the stage for plump steamed lamb dumplings and crisp scallion pancakes. Cucumber salad is accented by the familiar flavors of peanut, cilantro, and scallions with a spike of chile pepper; far less common is cucumber with chunks of cartilaginous pig ear, a true textural treat. Chef’s Special Crispy Eggplant is not to be missed, volcanically hot eggplant encased in crackling crisp coating with just a hint of sweetness. Lamb with cumin, served either on the bone or skewered, is smoky and rich. Beijing duck served in three courses—first shredded duck with chive and sprouts, then duck soup with tofu and greens, then (and best of all) crisp, fatty, succulent duck skin wrapped in pancakes with hoisin sauce and scallion—deserves its namesake status. —Gary Wiviott
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The Shanghainese are fond of cooking with sugar, alcohol, and vinegar, and they make particular use of “red cooking,” in which meats are braised slowly in soy sauce. You find all of those characteristics represented on the Shanghai side of Tony Hu’s menu, along with the delicate and volatile snack xiao long bao, or steamed soup dumplings. At times Lao Shanghai’s dumplings suffer from thickness, but at least every one I’ve eaten actually contained soup (though not enough), a surprisingly common problem around town. Otherwise, the “eight precious stir fried in hot sauce” was particularly good, uniform dice of pork, vegetables, and tofu cooked with peanuts in a spicy-sweet black vinegar. The Shanghai-style fish fillet, in a thick, bland sauce with wood ear mushrooms, was terrifically silky and fresh, and contrasted nicely with the crunchy fungus. Braised pork belly in preserved bean curd sauce, a bright orange-red shimmering blob made in the aforementioned red cooking style, was tender enough to be baby food and deceptively subdued in comparison to its treacly appearance. Shanghai rice soup, a sweet wine-based hot broth with soft rice and balls of rice gluten, makes a nice finish. Other seminal Shanghainese dishes available include stir-fried eels, drunken chicken, and buns, fried or steamed. —Mike Sula
At Tony Hu’s celebrated Szechuan restaurant, dishes arrive with dispatch despite the crush. Bony Szechuan rabbit, marinated in oil and black vinegar and sprinkled with sweet peanuts, was every bit as pungent as the spicy sliced beef and maw was frightening looking and chewily addictive. Pork hock home style, with a blanket of thick fat covering the tender, fall-apart meat, was drenched in a dark red chile sauce redolent of star anise; powerfully but not painfully seasoned lamb with cumin Xin Jang remains epiphanic. Ma po tofu was the silky heavyweight it always is, and the snacking potential of dishes like chile chicken (tiny deep-fried nuggets tossed with dark red dried chiles) and lightly battered whole chile smelts was fully realized. Other highlights on the endless menu include Spicy Chengdu Chicken, Jelly Fish Shanghai, smoked tea duck, Szechuan string beans, and the elaborate double-sided hot pots. —Mike Sula
