Beef soup noodle personified

Staff Writer Timmy Wu reviews Zuo Jie, one of the Chinese food trucks on Broadway, just outside of College Walk. 

For most of the Southeastern/East Asian student population, the Chinese/Thai Food Cart and M2M on Broadway are both indispensable parts of their college life in Morningside Heights. Of course, there is a multitude of authentic and wonderful eateries in K-Town, Chinatown, and Flushing, but amidst the already-cumbersome school work, there really isn’t any reasonable justification to spend four hours to-and-fro for a sudden bout of gastronomical gratification. This is where Chinese Food Cart comes into the picture. Being 7000 miles or so away from home, these food carts are temporal portals through which thousands of soy-sauce-acquainted taste buds may taste their homeland and find solace. However, do these food trucks live up to their 7-dollar-a-banton responsibility?

I will admit that the weather yesterday was so nice that it felt like a treat, rather than a nuisance, to be standing in line for 15 minutes for the Zou Jie (左記）food cart. Being a significantly smaller cart than, say, the Luo Yang Uncle (洛陽大叔) Food Cart, the owners of Zuo Jie have to compromise their efficiency. Their workstation seems rather awkward but not without a system of their own. As I saw the couple (I presume) crossing over or interlacing with each other every 20 seconds, I couldn’t help but pry: “How long have you been here?” “Three years,” the wife reluctantly answered after a few moments of gauging my intention. I wondered what it would be like to work skin-to-skin in, essentially, a metallic box about the size of one-and-a-half bathroom stalls. More importantly, how does that kind of experience factor into Zuo Jie’s flavors?

Zuo Jie hosts a good selection of food, from the kinds that one could eat on-the-go, such as pan-fried/steamed buns, to a full-fledged-I need-to-sit-down-to-deal-with-this kind of dishes. Its eclectic menu reflects cuisines from many areas of China, and even features beef soup noodle, a popular dish originated from Kaohsiung, Taiwan, where it was rumored that a veteran from Sichuan innovated a traditional cuisine from Chengdu.

Eventually, following the generic habits of Columbia students, I opted for the “three sides, one soup and a rice” that costs seven dollars.

For my three sides, I chose 1) Tomato and scrambled egg, 2) braised pork ribs, and 2) spicy tofu. As for the soup, one has the option of soy milk or the soup the day. I chose the soy milk. While they assembled my food, I noticed that some of their menu items were stored in white plastic, industrial buckets. I squirmed a little inside but at the same time, reminded of myself that I had not done my laundry for nearly a month. Who am I to judge?

The tomato and scrambled egg was quite tangy, a result of forsaking the ready-made ketchup. Neither was there the pronounced hints of spices, of the likes of garlic or green onion. It could be anything for anyone really, but it is definitely not a misnomer. Tomato and scrambled eggs: no more, no less. The spicy tofu, however, was a different story. While one would definitely notice the slight tingliness on the tip of the tongue, possibly from Fagara pepper seen in Sichuan cuisines, such as Sichuan poached fish, the tofu was not spicy at all. As for the braised pork rib, despite it being greatly browned, did not command enough attention as a protein should. The flavor resembled the stereotypically more savory tradition of northern China. What was surprising, however, was the soy milk. While it wasn’t rich and “milky”, the watery, diluted texture balanced out the entire meal.

Overall, Zuo Jie isn’t particularly life-changing, yet at the same time, it is only seven dollars. Everything was bland, mediocre and none of the dishes have too much of a presence. While the rice sometimes sticks together as if it is trying to transcend into a mochi in its afterlife, nothing was too bad to incite xenophobia, just as nothing was too good to alleviate it either.

photo via appledaily