Ovaltine in the Chinatown ID? Must be the Purple Dot
The artist formerly known as The Artist Formerly Known as Prince, dressed in full Purple Rain regalia, would not look out of place at this "unique style of Hong Kong cafe." Nor, for that matter, would Barney.
But those Chinese grandmothers? Surely they must be wondering what's up with the purple walls and the tabletops that take their design cue from a lava lamp. What must they make of waiters with highlighted hair serving frothy cantaloupe bubble tea in brandy snifters? Or the silent MTV screens where hip-hopsters grab their crotches to the beat of a Top 40 soundtrack?
What must they think of the globe-spanning menu featuring Russian borscht, French toast, Cajun chicken wings, spaghetti with meat sauce and — Ai ya! and Oy vay! — corned beef sandwiches?
I'll tell you what they must think: "Hey! I can bring the whole family here, endear myself to my snarky teenage grandchildren, give the toddlers something to visually impress them, treat my offspring to congee with pork liver and kidneys or a $12.50 filet mignon and — Wow, would you look at that! — there's bitter melon and black beans in the cod casserole! Six people can easily stuff themselves silly for $50 and tote home leftovers? I'm coming back to this place."
I, too, will return to Purple Dot, if only for its entertainment value. And the shui kau noodle soup, whose delicately wrapped dumplings, plump with shrimp, black mushrooms and pork, whisper of sesame oil ($4.95). But I'd come armed with knowledge, having learned a lot about the Dot.
Just as forks and knives share the table with chopsticks, the global menu with its popular who'd-a-thunk-it combos (ham and chicken in cream sauce on spaghetti! baked seafood with spinach and cheese!) is offered along with a separate Chinese menu. Together they encompass nearly 300 items, an impractical number that goes far toward explaining the kitchen's negligence where nuance is concerned.
The Chinese card is the restaurant's strong suit. But you could walk around the corner and find umpteen cafes that do a better job with such basics as Chinese broccoli (tough stalks sauced with bitter garlic, $7.25); fried noodles with flavorless "jumbo" shrimp ($9.50); and dry-fried green beans (plenty of ground pork, too much oil, $7.95).
A walk around the dual dining rooms proves that in addition to a smoking section — part of the as-yet-unlicensed bar — the draw is what one loquacious manager calls "American food interpreted in the Chinese style." A style that greatly resembles the roadhouse cuisine I've encountered along the Alaska Highway, beloved for its hardy portions, complete-dinner specials, multitude of starch options ("Do you want rice, spaghetti or fries with that?") and commercial-grade dressings, dips and sauces.
I've learned that it pays to double-check and ask for a recitation after placing your order, having requested soup noodles with barbecue duck and gotten barbecue pork instead (I considered it a favor: the pork was delicious).
I've ordered onion sauce and ended up with a goopy orange-garlic sauce to complement the mixed grill — a ridiculously generous assortment of meats including a thin-sliced steak, a whole pork chop, a chubby, marinated chicken thigh and lean pink bacon ($10.95).
And I've asked for rib-eye steak "medium rare" ($11.95), noting, when the bill arrived, that the cook wasn't at fault when the slender slab, draped over a heap of diner-style crinkle-cut fries, was "medium": It had been ordered from the kitchen that way.
Baked lobster bisque is a best seller — despite its 20-minute preparation time. Disguised as a pot pie, the bisque is appropriately rosy and creamy, its bronzed pastry toque a surprising hit at my table.
But if you're wondering, as we were, how they can put so much lobster into a bowl that sells for $4.95, here's the rub: It ain't lobster. Langoustine? Jumbo shrimp? False advertising also plagued the Russian borscht ($2.50), an uninspired vegetable soup whose beet component was AWOL.
Purple Dot's imperfections aside, let's face it, where else could you show up on a Saturday night at 2 a.m. and down an iced Ovaltine along with panko-coated deep-fried mushrooms ($3.95)?
I'm getting the munchies just thinking about it.
Nancy Leson: 206-464-8838 or nleson@seattletimes.com.
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