| rev:text
| - "I wish there was real Chinese food in Cleveland." This reminded me of the plot engine of TH White's retelling of Arthurian legend, most specifically the bildungsroman of Arthur's maturation as he proceeds through challenges given him by Merlyn. Also, I was hungry.
So, I said, " I [think I] know of a place!" I'd heard of some dumpy Cantonese trough, in a paycheck-loan part of town, that has lines out the door on weekends. So out comes my Treo 700p (I hate iphones), and soon enough -- thanks to my alacrity with the Y, E, L, and P keys on the tiny keyboard -- I'd found the place, or at least its address. Click, tap, tap... "Hi, how late are you open? How late open today? Umm, today, you close, when?" "We close 1AM." Paydirt.
It's in what appears to be a former methadone clinic on Payne Avenue. They try to make it an "Asian Mall," but really, Li Wah wears the pants in this "mall." Dimsum (3 items for $12: well, the good things in life are sometimes expensive) is served all day, and is very decent, or if you prefer, indecent. Tofu skin rolls, yes. Cilantro dumpling thingies, yes. Egg noodles with roast duck, YES. Even almond jelly dessert stuff. And they have lots of Forbidden Kung Pao Chicken and Beef With Ancient Mysterious Broccoli type dishes for gw-- well, let's not be racist here!
Service is a comedy of extremes. Grumbling and sighs if they don't know you. Creepily over-warm if at any time in the past year you have given them any sort of tip. And when you go back to your car, wave a
friendly lei-ho to the cook guys standing behind the back entrance and smoking.
All this, in Cleveland!
|