在東風餐廳找回唐人街逝去的記憶

Once there was a woman on Mosco Street in Chinatown who made nothing but egg cakes, spheres of dough like a waffle’s dimples turned inside out. Each had a near-crisp shell and chewy guts, with a puff of steam cradled between. There were other vendors, other cakes, but hers were the ones everyone lined up for and, when she retired, mourned.

以前，唐人街的莫斯科街(Mosco Street)上有個女人，她只做雞蛋糕。與華夫餅的凹痕正好相反，她的雞蛋糕是一個個圓圓的突起——外殼微脆，裏面黏軟，中間裹着一股熱氣。街上的其他攤鋪也賣蛋糕，但只有她的攤鋪前排着長隊。她退休後，大家甚是懷念。

At East Wind Snack Shop, which opened in February in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn, the egg cakes — called Hong Kong hot cakes on the menu — arrive not as separate balls but conjoined, like a mutant pancake or Bubble Wrap reimagined as dough. They are just seconds old, peeled out of a cast-iron mold and carried a few feet from the narrow open kitchen. Eat them quickly, while there’s still a pulse of heat, and you’ll know what the egg-cake lady’s faithful knew.

今年2月，東風餐廳(East Wind Snack Shop)在布魯克林的溫莎臺(Windsor Terrace)開業。這裏菜單上的雞蛋糕叫香港熱香餅(Hong Kong hot cakes)，它不是一個個單獨的，而是連在一起，像變了形的薄煎餅，形狀類似起泡包裝膜。它一做好，就從鑄鐵模具上被取下來，從狹窄的開放式廚房端到幾英尺外的餐桌上。趁着冒熱氣趕快吃，你就能體會到雞蛋糕女士忠實信徒們曾經有過的美妙感覺。

Chris Cheung, 46, the chef, grew up half in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, and half in Chinatown in Manhattan (back then, the only one in New York City), where his grandparents lived and his mother worked as a seamstress. East Wind Snack Shop is a homage to the neighborhood’s bygone working-class coffee houses, run by immigrants who, like Mr. Cheung’s grandparents, came from Taishan, in Guangdong Province. These were often cramped, dingy storefronts with plastic fans stuttering above, strategically hung fly paper and a lot of (happy) yelling between tables. They offered unlimited tea and limited food, the likes of har gow, colossal char siu bao and glossy braided sesame buns.

46歲的大廚克里斯·陳(Chris Cheung)在布魯克林的本森赫斯特和曼哈頓的唐人街長大（當時紐約市只有一個唐人街），他的祖父母曾住在那裏，母親曾在那裏做裁縫。這個街區從前有不少移民開的工薪階層餐館，陳的祖父母來自廣東省臺山市，他們也是這樣的老闆。那些餐館大多狹窄骯髒，塑料電扇在頭頂突突作響，滅蠅紙巧妙地掛起來，食客們經常大聲（高興地）寒暄。餐館裏無限量供應茶水，食物種類卻很有限，就是大叉燒包和光亮的花式芝麻饅頭之類的食物。東風餐廳正是向這樣的餐館致敬。

This may be Mr. Cheung’s culinary heritage, but his training was at the higher end: He started out at Nobu and Jean-Georges, then took detours through Ruby Foo’s and, most recently, the short-lived Cherrywood Kitchen. At East Wind, “I’m not trying to elevate the food,” he insisted. Yet here are pot stickers packed with dry-aged beef from DeBragga, the meat emphatically rich. He grinds Niman Ranch pork in-house for dumplings and makes the skins from scratch, thin enough not to impose but still sturdy.

這可能是陳的烹飪傳統，不過他接受過更高端的培訓：他從“信”餐廳(Nobu)和讓-喬治餐廳(Jean-Georges)起步，而後在紅寶石傅餐廳(Ruby Foo’s)工作，開餐館前是在短命的櫻桃木廚房(Cherrywood Kitchen)工作。他堅稱，在東風餐廳，“我不想改進食物”。不過，這裏的鍋貼塞的是DeBragga肉店昂貴的風乾牛肉。他做餃子用的豬肉來自尼曼農場(Niman Ranch)，他自己絞肉，自己做出薄而結實的餃子皮。

From his menus at previous restaurants, Mr. Cheung has reprised sweet-sour ribs, well shellacked and juicy, cut into short batons than can be held with one hand. He devised the foie gras bao years ago as a riposte to the DB Bistro burger, stuffing it with gold leaf and truffles. “I’ve calmed it down,” he said. Now there’s just a dab of pâté, sealed inside a house-made steamed bun of impeccable pallor, fluffy and springy, suggesting sweetness without surrendering to it.

陳借鑑老東家的菜單，在東風餐廳也推出糖醋排骨，它爛熟多汁，切成小段，可用一隻手拿着吃。多年前，爲了與DB Bistro餐館的漢堡抗衡，他設計了鵝肝醬包，裏面塞滿金葉和塊菌。“我已經把它變得更溫和了，”他說。現在他只往裏面塞少量肉醬，包子皮白得無可挑剔，鬆軟有彈性，微甜而不膩。

The same bread in less voluptuous form is used for what Mr. Cheung calls a “gwaco,” a version of gua bao with caramelized pork belly not tucked in but laid atop an unsliced bun, as if it were a tortilla. It’s dainty in comparison to its hulking counterparts at the Momofuku restaurants and Baohaus, almost a canapé, but also slightly cheaper and less sweet, with pickles that lean both East and West and trails of crispy garlic, fried shallots, dried mushrooms and sesame seeds.

另一種包子同樣鬆軟而不太奢侈，陳稱之爲“gwaco”，它是一種刈包，焦糖色五花肉不是包在裏面，而是放在未切開的包子頂上，類似玉米粉圓餅的做法。與Momofuku旗下的餐館和“包好吃”包子鋪(Baohaus)粗笨的包子相比，它顯得更精緻，有點像法式吐司(canapé)，不過價格較爲便宜，味道也不那麼甜，裏面加入融合東西方風味的鹹菜以及少量爽脆的大蒜、煎圓蔥、幹菇和芝麻籽。

At certain old-school Chinatown restaurants, vegetarian dishes often seem begrudging. Here, Mr. Cheung adds fermented tofu, with its whiff of deep sea, to stir-fried water spinach, long beans and bok choy and to cabbage, to little avail. Better are the tight cigarillo spring rolls, dusted with salt intensified by five-spice and crushed dried mushrooms, among other fine intrusions. I can’t give away more because Mr. Cheung has a running contest in which a diner who names seven of the salt’s ingredients (aside from salt and pepper) gets free dumplings.

在某些老式唐人街餐館裏，素菜通常不太令人滿意。陳在炒空心菜、豇豆、白菜和捲心菜時會加入帶有一絲深海氣息的豆腐乳，不過收效甚微。更好吃的是緊實的小春捲，上面撒着椒鹽，椒鹽里加有五香粉和碎幹菇等細小配料。我不能透露太多，因爲陳正在舉辦一場競賽，能說出這種椒鹽其中7種配料（鹽和胡椒除外）的食客能免費得到一份餃子。

True to the shop’s name, the shelves are stocked with snacks beloved in East Asia: Yan Yan biscuit sticks, almond-crusted Pocky. Perhaps someday there will be dried cuttlefish, too. For now, the most bracing flavor comes in lemonade steeped with salted plum, sweet, sour and briny, indulgent and chastening at once.

誠如店名，貨架上堆滿東亞人喜愛的零食，比如Yan Yan餅乾棒和杏仁塗層百奇棒(Pocky)。也許將來還會有幹墨魚。目前，最受歡迎的是話梅檸檬水，它又甜又酸又鹹，既放縱又收斂。