Get Out! Goes West: Peking Palace

Peking Palace
11110 East Sprague Ave.
Spokane Valley, WA
www.pekingpalacespokane.com

(originally appeared on Making Flippy Floppy blog in 2005)

It's been woefully said by many Coeur d'Alene folks that there just aren't any really great Chinese joints in this town. Whether or not you agree, there truly are limited options here, ranging from fairly digestible to just plain scary. I won't name names here. The point is, in order to really satiate that nagging craving for the perfect Chinese meal, we must go west to the Chinese Restaurant Mecca of Spokane. Just drive up Division Street alone and you will run into at least 30 places where you can eat Moo Shu and Kung Pao to your hearts content.

Although I have yet to try all the Chinese places in Spokane (is it even possible?), I've eaten at quite a few and so far the best of the best is the divine Peking Palace, out in the Valley, located conveniently near Castle Adult Superstore on East Sprague. We've been making pilgimages to the Palace for many years now, and I have never once left hungry or unimpressed. The place itself has a certain over-the-top regal quality. Its clear the owners take pride in their establishment. There are two huge dragon-dog statues that greet you with huge, leering smiles as you enter the lobby.

You can waste a few dollars playing pull-tabs while waiting for your table (the place is always packed.) Or browse the curiosity cabinet full of happy little Buddhas, ivory chopsticks, and other fun tchotchkes. The main dining room is resplendent with ultra-classic Chinese kitsch. The booths are velveteen pink and overstuffed. The ceiling is carved with dragons and lilies and colored in gold. The lanterns are huge, crisp and white with long red tassels. If you're lucky, you'll arrive on one of the nights they show Chinese TV on the huge pull-down TV screen. Otherwise, absorb the chaotic noise coming from the kitchen, where hurried chefs and waitresses yammer away loudly at each other in Mandarin, and pots and pans beat each other up. With the insane amount of audio-visual stimulus happening here it can be a bit overwhelming, but once the food arrives, everything else in the world melts away.

Ahhhh, the food. That's why we make the twenty-five-minute trek time after time. The menu is monumentally extensive, featuring 28 combination dinner options alone. Let's take the No. 21, for example (a regular order of ours.) First of all, this is the only Chinese place I've ever been to here in the Inland Northwest that gives you the option of choosing Egg Flower or Hot and Sour Soup. Naturally, we always choose the Hot and Sour (since its Egg-Flower-only virtually everywhere else.) Sometimes it can be a challenge to make it though one little cup of this concoction, so intense are the flavors. The thin threads of pork, bamboo, and shitaake mushroom mingle in a soup that first sweetly seduces the tastebuds, then pleasantly tortures them with an afterburn of hot pepper. Warning: this is a sinus-clearing soup that will make you sweat and cry. It's never much of a wait before the main platter comes.

The No. 21 features six (six!) different food items on a plate bigger than the keyboard I'm currently typing this on. It's a giant amount of food, and a colorful feast for the eyes as well since everything looks incredibly fresh and mouth-watering. The almond chicken is chunks of tender white meat fried in a perfectly cooked light batter and covered in a rich and boldly flavorful almond gravy, then sprinkled with a generous amount of almond dust. The same gravy makes an appearance here on the Egg Foo Young, perfectly complimenting the steaming patty of egg and greens. The sweet and sour pork is actually tender (too many places serve tough pork) and is covered in a deep red sauce complete with sweet pineapple chunks and a maraschino cherry on top.

The fried prawns (4) are plump and meaty, and most importantly, de-veined (I am usually leery of prawns for that reason.) The egg roll is always cooked to perfection, with no accompanying puddles of grease, something unusually hard to accomplish. Cocktail sauce and eye-wateringly hot mustard are provided for your dipping pleasure. Lastly, no No. 21 would be complete without a ball of fried rice, covered generously in BBQ Pork shavings and scallions.

Hardcore is the only world that can describe the sheer power and size of a meal like this. So vast are the portions that I have never been able to finish my entire meal, and even Lou has only finished his once. It's not a problem, since a take-out box just means you get to re-live the experience in a few hours. All this for just a bump over ten bucks, plus free hot tea. Worth mentioning is the fact that the service is always fast, fuss-free and efficient. A lovely but English-deficient waitress once stood at our table agog at Lou's rice-eating skills and remarked "Ohhhh, you give good chopstick!", a phrase I've repeated back to him many times since. Your bill comes printed out of the machine in black chinese characters, which is pretty darn cool.

After letting your food settle, you might want to waddle over into the fabulous Peking Palace Lounge, which serves the cutest little (but strongest) rum and cokes, and has a dark and seedy not-remodeled-since-the-60's sort of vibe. Also, I hear they put on a pretty rowdy Karaoke on Thursday and Friday nights. In a pinch, we will occasionally settle for Chinese dinner here in CDA (usually Canton, god bless 'em.) But even with gas prices hovering below $3.50 a gallon, its quite worth the short trip over to the Valley to satisfy that unique Peking Palace jones.

Get Out! Local Establishment Obituaries

Scott-Ja-Mama's BBQ, located at 206 N. 4th in downtown Coeur d'Alene died recently of unknown causes. It was born on July 1st, 2005 to owner Jeff Woolsey, who had high hopes for the place after relocating here all the way from his hometown of Minneapolis. His uncle Scott had a BBQ place over there, and that provided the original inspiration. The main draw at the restaurant was the homemade sauce and the big portions of slow-cooked meats.

There was quite a buzz when the place opened, everyone telling me "Oh god, you've got to try Scott-Ja-Mama's, it's just great!" I remember my friend Mark raving about the cole slaw saying "I totally hate cole slaw, but they've got the best cole slaw I've ever had." He always had a tub full of the stuff for a while when he was tending bar at Mik-n-Mac's.

On my one and only visit, I ordered a pulled pork sandwich to go. It wasn't anything to write Condoleeza Rice about, but it was alright. It was totally deadsville in there and it seems that was the usual thing - every time I drove by there it was empty. I was kind of rooting for the place, I liked the bald-guy logo. But ultimately, I had a gut feeling it wouldn't last long in it's slightly off the beaten path location in a building that seems a bit cursed anyway.

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The Rock Joint, located on Hayden Ave. in Hayden died recently of bad ownership and mismanagement. It was born on June 15, 2007 to owners Trace and Randi I-Can't-Remember-Thier-Last-Name. Oh, how it held such promise, but save for a night or two, it turned out to be nothing but a an over-hyped money pit, eventually ending in disappointment and disaster.

I attended the pre-opening "shake down cruise" with a few friends and was so incredibly impressed with the food and service it resulted in a column that was so flowery with praise that it had readers accusing me of accepting payola. But it really was great at first, and who could forget sexi-mexi waiter Curt (see pic), who ended up bailing off the sinking ship very early on. My sister-friend Colleen got a job booking shows out there and that's about when things started to go south. The owners had spent a jillion dollars on setting up the place: leather couches, red velvet walls, collectible rock star stuff, dozens of huge TV's, and a state of the art sound system.

Problem was, they had NO IDEA how to run a nightclub. The crowds never really came. They'd fail to advertise shows for bands they wouldn't even listen to before booking them, then chase them offstage as soon as they decided they didn't like what they heard, leaving what little audience they had angry and confused. An outdoor daytime death metal music festival resulted in venomous hatred from the residential neighbors, and piqued the interest of police officers, who made it a habit of stopping by to harass customers most nights from then on. After a disastrous food bank benefit show at which the owners shut down a capacity Scatterbox gig (one of the Northwest's most famous punk acts) after two songs because they "didn't know they were getting a punk band", the fate of the Rock Joint was sealed. No one ever returned and the owners bailed, selling the name "Rock Joint" to a bar in New York City and going into hiding still owing their employees money.

Rockin' Robin Cafe

Rockin’ Robin Café
3650 N. Government Way, Cd’A

The jukebox at the Rockin’ Robin does not like quarters. My breakfast buddy Niko discovered this the hard way after plugging in a few and getting no credits in return, just an ominous thud from somewhere inside the beasty machine. Fortunately, someone had already left behind a few credits, but in his attempt to conjure up Diana Ross and the Supremes a wrong button was punched, resulting in the unexpected harmonies of the Beach Boys’ ”God Only Knows.” “Ugh! I hate the Beach Boys,” he groaned as he retreated back to our table. “Oh I know, me too,” I agreed and we began loudly discussing the various reasons why we just couldn’t stand the popular sixties group. I looked up across the cozy dining room and realized our conversation had earned us a purple death glare from a fifty-something gentleman in a Hawaiian shirt.

A short while later, a teenager who was seated with Mr. Aging Surfer Dude approached the jukebox and started dropping in shiny quarters. Ka-thunk. Ka-thunk. Niko piped up: “Um, that machine just ate my money; I think it only takes dollars.” The kid ignored us until the waitress came over and handed him a buck, “Here honey, try this.” He punched in a handful of tunes and returned to his table. Moments later the machine whirred into action and what else but “Don’t Worry Baby” came clamoring out of the tinny speakers. When this was promptly followed by “Kokomo”, one of the most annoying songs possibly ever committed to magnetic tape by the Beach Boys or anyone else, I knew for sure we’d been sabotaged. We had to chuckle a bit as the Surfer family gave us a final dirty look from the front counter as they settled their tab and exited.

The jukebox is the centerpiece of the generic rock-n-roll memorabilia displayed in every cranny of the Government Way restaurant. There are the obligatory framed portraits of Elvis and airbrushed posters of classic Cadillacs and Chevys. Then there’s the old 45 records tacked willy-nilly on pink walls, the life-size cardboard cut-out of James Dean lurking suspiciously by the back door, and a beat up guitar and lonely trombone hung above the dining counter. The overall effect is not so much a fifties theme exactly, it’s more of a “fifties in the eighties” theme, the elements that defined the original era boiled down to their pop essence and then exaggerated through the plastic gaudiness of the neon years.

The fifties might seem a little fake at the Rockin’ Robin, but the chow certainly doesn’t. When our waitress came to take our order, I told her I’d heard the place had come under new ownership recently and wondered if any big changes were in the wind. “Not really,” she said, “we’re just working on the food for now, a little portion control, just trying to make it better.” Make it better? It was already pretty darn fantastic, and it’s hard to fathom why anyone would need to fool with the good juju that former owner/cook Diane Horn created and perfected during the many years she reigned over one of Coeur d’Alene’s most singular and beloved hash houses.

The menu itself doesn’t seem to have changed a bit, and it really shouldn’t. The Rockin’ Robin menu has provided many much-needed moments of sunshine on certain bleak and cloudy mornings after. Would you like a Big Bopper Omelet? A buttered Fats Domino Biscuit? The humor of Gladys Knight & the Pips Pancakes or Little Richard Hot Sandwiches never fails to put at least half a smirk on grumpy morning faces. The menu is large, filled with pretty much any type of classic breakfast fare you would expect from a diner of this stripe; among the highlights are a humongous breakfast burrito and some truly dank Belgian waffles with fruit topping and vanilla ice cream. Lunch options include a long list of “Chubby Checker Burgers”, Haystack salads, and “Fonz Specialties”, which include fryer fare like chicken strips, shrimp, and hot beef sandwiches with mashed potatoes and gravy. I don’t recall the Fonz ever going fat like Elvis, but if that’s what he liked to eat, surely he must have.

Niko, who has recently been making a successful attempt to live a vegan lifestyle, surveyed the menu and announced “wow, with burgers like this, I’d probably go meaty” and actually followed up on his sudden carnivorous urge by ordering himself a nice, juicy Bacon Cheeseburger. It was after noon, but I was still in breakfast mode and knew from experience that a nice Chicken Fried Steak with all the sides would be the most perfect way to cause myself to go crawling back to bed on a lazy winter Sunday.

It seems like some of the endearingly seasoned waitresses have been slinging plates here since around the last time Chuck Berry had a hit song. They’re an entertaining bunch, a flashback to the days when Alice, Vera, and Flo sassed the customers at Mel’s Diner on TV. Our server was comparatively perky and new, and she brought our meals out almost as fast as it took for the jukebox to yodel “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”.

My breakfast arrived impressively spread over three plates. The chicken fried streak was tender inside with a breaded skin cooked to crispy perfection and smothered in country gravy. The same deeply rich gravy was also laid bare across my hash browns, which along with some masterful scrambled eggs tasted delicious, but were nearly cold by the time they arrived at my table. I’d suggest to the cook to serve everything on heated platters. Not only is the food kept warmer longer, but a “careful, hot plates” warning from the server can add some fun drama to the dining experience.

Niko immediately inhaled his pile of fries and made it about halfway through his burger before his inner vegan rebelled and he declared it to be “too beef focused”. I laughed and asked him what else he might expect a burger to be and he cryptically explained that it was too much of a “burger man’s burger, not grandiose like a Red Robin burger, which hides its true beefiness with all the random stuff they put on there.” I guess he’d hoped all the lettuce, tomato, pickles, and onion would divert him from the fact that he was enjoying a poor innocent cow, but the savory ground beef patty won out. Coming from him, I think that might actually be some kind of backwards compliment.

The Rockin’ Robin Café is open daily at the unthinkable hour of 5 a.m. and closes following the lunch rush at 2 in the afternoon.

Wednesday Local Music Radar: Daddy Banana Bread

Snarly teenagers shouting, abusing guitars and destroying sacred cows. They've been doing it since who knows when and we'd miss them terribly if they weren't out there expressing angst and disgust with corporate America and the powers that be, etc. Rathdrum's Daddy Banana Bread are three high school gents who thrash through their songs like a hot knife melts through butter, recorded raw in the garage on an old boombox. Naturally, they list their influences as "bands that preps dont listen to". Some of the songs posted on their MySpace page verge on average, but with "Kurt Cobain Ain't No Saint", they've come up with a fun little scorcher that expresses a sentiment bound to give pause to those who still worship the tortured spirit of Aberdeen's most famous son.

Daddy Banana Bread MySpace

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Downtown Coeur d’Alene Music Walk

It’s a little known fact that President Lyndon Johnson, in a creative moment of frustration with then Congressman Gerald Ford, famously quipped “he’s so dumb he can’t fart and chew gum at the same time.” The press, used to sanitizing the potty-mouth President’s verbal output, reported this as “Gerald Ford can’t walk and chew gum at the same time.” Somehow, the phrase slipped into popular vernacular and is still used to describe someone who might fall one fork short of a full table setting when it comes to wit and brains.

Even those who consider a nice evening stroll to be challenging when mixed with sticks of Juicy Fruit should have no problem walking and listening to music at the same time for the new year’s first Downtown Coeur d’Alene Music Walk, which takes place starting at 5 p.m. on Friday January 25th. The nine-venue event is sponsored by the Coeur d’Alene Arts and Culture Alliance, and happens the last Friday of every month through March. The music is free, although I’d imagine you’ll want to bring some cash for appetizers and drinks. I think “loitering” is the term used by restaurant owners to refer to those who say “Oh, I’m just here for the music” and take up valuable seating space and don’t order anything except ice water and saltines.

The Music Walk starts at Calypso’s Coffee, a new shop located at 116 E. Lakeside Ave. Owners Michell Remley and David Ivy have transformed the place into a homey hang-out spot for all ages, with a large kids’ play area, a 24-seat conference room, and desks with internet-accessible computers. Menu options include in-house roasted coffee drinks, a variety of fruit smoothies along with fresh deli sandwiches, soups and yummy desserts. Remley says its the shop’s goal to be open 24 hours on weekends by summer, a welcome concept in a town desperate for late night options besides Denny’s.

Calypso’s will be regularly hosting a variety of live music, with the night of the Music Walk spotlighting local folk duo Tom Husby and Barb Yaniga. Tom also plays guitar in local Americana band B-4 and does cabinetry by day, and his partner Barb teaches math and they moonlight by playing what they call “good music for a good life.” Their performance takes off at 5 p.m. and may or may not last until Calypso locks the doors at midnight.

Next, shuffle a block down to the Coeur d’Alene Resort Plaza Shops and check out the mellow sounds of jazz guitarist Robert Vaughn. Vaughn, like crab cakes and orange rolls, is a long-time staple at Beverly’s Restaurant, providing an appetizing musical accompaniment every weekend for Resort guests from around the globe. “I just got lucky and get paid to do what I love” says Vaughn, whose 2005 CD “Back on Track” continues to win accolades nationwide.

The Million $ Hillbilly Band plays old-timey country music that conjures up echoes of the legends: Willie Nelson, Johnny Cash, and Merle Haggard. A self-description on the band’s MySpace page says it best: “Sounds like a beer stained voice and a pawn shop guitar”. The organic acoustic sound of this Harrison, Idaho act is refreshingly miles away from the overproduced output of mainstream country radio. Additionally, Million $ Hillbilly songwriter Tom Copley injects songs like “She Took the Dog” and “Trailer Lady” with a certain amount of wry lyrical humor and free spiritedness that makes seeing their performances such a memorable experience.

During the Music Walk, they’ll be holding down the fort until 10 p.m. at the Coeur d’Alene Brewing Company, but show up early to take advantage of the $2 pint special during happy hour. With such a bargain on distinctive local brews like Lakeside British Ale and Bourbon Vanilla Stout, a fun selection of appetizers, and a boisterously accommodating staff, it’ll be tempting to just settle in for the night and forgo the rest of the Music Walk.

But no, there’s more walking to do, more music to hear, and if you spend all your money at the Brewery, you won’t be able to buy an Absinthe at Brix Restaurant on Sherman , the next stop on our musical trek. To my knowledge, Brix is the only place in town that serves the legendary herbal green liquor. Actually, they serve an Americanized knock-off of the real-deal European Absinthe, which contains the outlawed-in-the-states psychoactive herb Wormwood. Still, it’s a tasty and rare treat, the perfect thing to accompany the relaxing ambience of the Classical and Jazz pianists scheduled to provide entertainment to Brix patrons that evening.

Head half-a-block up 4th Street to Studio 107 and let the warm, fuzzy effects of the Absinthe wear off as you take in the sights and sounds of this “urban-inspired” art gallery. “Lonesome” Lyle Morse will be in house until 9 p.m., singing and playing acoustic guitar and harmonica inspired by the immortal blues of Robert Johnson and Muddy Waters. The music continues across the street at the Moose Market Lounge, another new venue on the Music Walk roster for 2008, and a great place to relax with a nice espresso or glass of wine, sample some gourmet cheese or some of the multitudes of local gourmet food products on hand. Music will be provided by guitarist Mark Holt, who plays “Americana roots music with a bluesy edge, and a little bit of Cowboy Yodeling for good measure.”

Cricket’s Bar & Grill is always hopping on a Friday night, and the promise of an appearance by “eclectic acoustic groove” musician Eric-E should pack the place to the rafters. Eric’s voice has been described as “as clear as water” and he’s toured the globe opening for a diverse lot of acts including Jay Leno and Air Supply. According to his website, he will “perform at request any Top 40 song from any year in the last nine decades”, an impressive claim which begs to be tested with perhaps martini-fueled requests for random pop gems from “Fernando” to “Fergalicious”.

Facing Cricket’s across the way, Bill Parsons will be filling the Angel Gallery with the sounds of jazz piano to accompany the gallery’s exhibition of the art of Michael Carson, a nationally known artist whose intriguing, impressionistic work strongly emphasizes the relationship between light and dark. Finally, slink down to the candle-lit chill zone of Barrel Room No. 6 for some live jazz by an as-yet-to-be-determined act. While you’re there, you may want to take the opportunity to treat your refined palette to some of the finest wines made from grapes grown in Pacific Northwest vineyards. But be careful; don’t take too many samples from the cellar, because mixed with the microbrews, the absinthe, and the martini’s you won’t be able to walk at all, regardless of your gum chewing status.

Wednesday Local Music Radar: Josh Hedlund

Josh Hedlund's voice is fraught with a twisted sort of delicacy, intriguingly ageless and genderless, and filled with a very rare and delightful form of soul indeed. So many musicians trawl the local coffee and wine circuit armed with nothing but an acoustic guitar and a head full of post-modern angst, but few do it with the startling glory of this young Sandpoint troubadour. The four tracks he's had up on his MySpace forever are just a tease but they do show off well Hedlund's fantastic songwriting and brightly portentous voice.

"Polar" is a mellow and melodically sweet examination of Hedlund's seemingly slightly fried emotional state. Lyrically, it describes a surreal, bitter impression of lovesick hunger, with the ponderous refrain "I'll just wish in one hand". "I'll Fall Apart" is charming for the surprisingly polished, layered vocal sound that pops up to surprise attack you after the rough start of some studio chatter ("Dude!") at the beginning of the track. Nice touch.

Live, Hedlund's voice has a captivatingly dramatic quality that these recordings fail to fully capture, and his demeanor on stage is as warm as toast . His appearances have been rare of late, so point yourself toward Sandpoint this Saturday 1/19 and catch him in action at the Pend Oreille Winery. He's booked for two sets, starting at 5 and 7 p.m. I'd imagine Josh's tunes would go perfect with a nice bottle of 2004 Cabernet Sauvignon.

Recommended if you like: Devendra Banhart, Elliot Smith, Jeff Buckley, Hunky Dory-era David Bowie

Josh Hedlund's MySpace

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Get Out! Goes West: King Yen

King Yen
3004 N. Monroe
Spokane, WA
(509) 327-7339

(Note: I'm cleaning out the old Making Flippy Floppy Archives, so I'll be resurrecting some old reviews that will never make the paper but that I didn't want to lose forever. This one is from May, 2005. I haven't been back to King Yen since, but I've heard it's still worth a visit.)

It was a tough call: should we indulge at our old favorite Peking Palace or should we branch out and experiment. We opted for the latter, leaving the Value Village parking lot on Boone and deciding to hit whatever random Chinese restaurant happened to just pop up. We headed north on Monroe and stumbled upon the King Yen Restaurant. We only found it because we were looking really, really close and paying attention, otherwise we would've slipped past this nondescript little grey brick building without a thought. I was leery, but there were quite a few cars in the lot, and that's always a good sign.

The May sun beat down hard, and across the street a sweaty, ultra-skinny, shirtless and be-mulleted Spokanite weed-wacked his way around piles of rotting garbage. Despite this, we held tight to our appetites and made our way in. A cool breeze hit us as we made our way into the foyer of one of the most absolutely starkest Chinese joints I have ever seen. It looks like they remodeled a while back, then forgot to put everything back up. Only a simple red lantern hanging in the corner and a framed print of the great wall indicate what type of cuisine you might end up with. In fact, if they were forced to switch genres and become a Jewish deli, it would take them about ten minutes to make the switch.

Aisles of forest green chairs and tables gathered in a flat, open space with crisp white walls and overhead fluorescent lights create a cafeteria style atmosphere. Very clean, albeit quite boring. Bonus points for the inclusion of real plants rather than the usual dust-gathering plastic palms. Also a nice touch was the Chinese bubblegum pop music on the soundsystem, beamed mysteriously in from the other side of the globe. Unfortunately, the ample windows also provided a clear shot of the yard-working Spokanite, a disturbing fact that I somehow managed to tune out since I was so extrordinarily hungry.

From the looks on the faces of other diners, we were in for something fine. The menu (online here) here is mindbendingly expansive for those looking beyond the usual combination platter. Not I. I picked the Number C, ripe with the promise of Lemon Chicken, Egg Roll, Combo Fried Rice and Soup. Here they offer the option of Egg FlowerHot and Sour, a rarity here in the great Northwest, and something I love. Naturally I had to try the Hot and Sour.

Our lovely waitress never made it very far into her English lessons, but that's what pointing is for, I guess. Apparently unfamiliar with the phrase "Fried WonTons", I actually had to open the menu and refer to the Chinese text, making little frying-and-eating triangular motions with my hands until she began nodding with understanding. "Ah! Fly-uh Wah-Tah. OK!" Fried WonTons are different everywhere and King Yen has some of the best. Perfectly sizzled in hot oil and filled with a cream cheese filling, these were just the thing to whet our appetites, all drizzled in the sweet red sauce they were served with.

The Hot and Sour Soup was equally impressive. I thought the heat was adequate, but Lou had to jazz his up with a small scoop of hot chili sauce. Ouch. I thought it was odd that each item in our combination dinners arrived on a separate plate, family style, but that turned out OK because we just decided to share each other's main dishes. The glaze on my Lemon Chicken was fine, and served with real lemon wedges, but nothing to scream and moan over. The chicken itself was a bit overcooked, sadly, making it a little on the chewy side. Lou's Schezuan Beef was better, strips of medium beef with chunky green onions and chili peppers, just the right amount of spiciness in the potentially addictive sauce. The egg roll was good, and served with its own plum dipping sauce and with a very thin, crisp shell, vietnamese style.

Our timing was superb, because just as we were served, in walked a family-reunion style group of about forty hungry Asian-types, all yammering away in an undetermined language, complete with screaming kids. Suddenly the tranquil atmosphere was shatterered and we struggled to finish our meal as fast as possible and get the heck out of there.

As I dumped my poor never-to-be-finished chicken into a Styrofoam to-go container, Lou swiftly paid the $17 tab (not bad!) and we left the brightly lit King Yen chaos behind, waving goodbye to Mr. Mullet as we sped off. Overall, the food was decent for a good price, and they could certainly use your business so they can afford to splurge on some more decor.

Top Of China Buffet

757 W Appleway Ave
Coeur d'Alene, ID 83814
(208) 676-8888
Get directions

In the ongoing battle to feed my addiction to Chinese cuisine, I’ve experienced everything from the highest-rated Dim Sum restaurant in San Francisco to the lukewarm take-out of Safeway’s China Express.

With Dim Sum, elegantly dressed servers circulate from table to table with trays of small but delectable streamed and deep-fried goodies and even dessert, each item added to your bill as you choose it. In a way, the Chinese Buffet is the concept suburbanized, with greasy egg rolls in lieu of delicate shrimp dumplings and vanilla soft serve ice cream acting as a bland substitute for rich mango pudding.

Unfortunately, here in North Idaho we’ve yet to see the opening of a nice Dim Sum joint, but for those with the proper amount of bravery and intestinal fortitude, there are a handful of Chinese Buffet options to explore. Honestly, I’ve never had very good experiences at any of these places, but it was with an open mind and a growling tummy I recently decided to revisit the Top of China Buffet in Coeur d’Alene.

Right away, I noticed that the atmosphere had become less intensely surreal since my last visit, which was quite a few years ago. I seem to recall dozens of black and white clad hosts and hostesses standing silently at attention amid the gigantic backlit murals of the Great Wall, waiting anxiously for the next person to swallow their final bite of food, so they could swoop in immediately and snatch the dirty plates away.

Their faces blank and expressionless, they would emerge from the kitchen like Twilight Zone zombies to replenish the buffet and scan the room for empty soda cups to refill. They’d respond to my repeated attempts at mirth and conversation with nods and chilly stares. These host-bots seem to have dwindled away, replaced by what appears to be a large family unit, who while not exactly warm and fuzzy in demeanor, seem quite a bit more relaxed and unafraid to let the occasional smile cross their faces.

The buffet restaurant has replaced the neighborhood coffee shop in our culture as the place for seniors and retirees to hang out and gab at each other, and I could tell some of the patrons here were very regular regulars. The hostess chose to seat me directly in the middle of their zone, and they eyed me suspiciously like I was riff-raff from the city invading their pastoral morning coffee klatch. I sheepishly ordered a tall Coke and headed up to the buffet to begin the culinary self-abuse.

I decided it’d be a good idea to take a “try a small bit of everything” approach. I had arrived early in the lunch hour so everything appeared to be fairly fresh and there were no slow-moving can’t-deciders to work around. I decided to ease my way into things gently on my first trip through, choosing items from the colorful fruit and veggie area.

When I returned to my table, the regular regulars had resumed their conversation, which from what I could gather was about the tragedy of horse incontinence, which when blended in with the blare of Celine Dion on the music system, made for a considerably harsh dining atmosphere.

Luckily, I was hungry as a Shanghai tiger as I bit into my Chinese sugar donut. So white and starchy, I adore those fattening little greaseballs, and wouldn’t mind paying the price of admission to eat nothing but them. The bananas in mystery red goo were passable, but the cherry jello squares had an inedible chewy layer – yuck. Methinks it takes some effort to make bad jello, and Top of China duly succeeded. The veggie salad was actually quite tasty, but what isn’t when it’s swimming in Ranch Dressing? The coleslaw was uninspired and the deviled egg wasn’t devilled at all, just plain ungodly, merely a hard boiled egg with a fraudulent sprinkling of paprika.

The “sushi” rolls, while not anything to really write mama-san about, were surprisingly acceptable. The shrimp roll was coated in what appeared to be an actual layer of bright orange roe and tasted very fresh, brought alive even further when soaked in plenty of wasabi and soy. At first I was a little cheesed out by the rolls consisting of BBQ pork instead of seafood, but it turned out to be a brilliantly tasty innovation.

For my second run through, I set about conquering some soup and main dishes, plopping just a taste of each item on my plate. Each time I returned to the table, I was pleased to see that my Coke had mysteriously refilled itself, the only logical explanation since I never once actually saw anyone do it. Taste wise, the hot and sour soup wasn’t either, instead it was oddly sweet with a hint of smoke and with none of the sinus-shattering bang that makes the dish normally so great.

I had picked up four varieties of chicken to sample, and the best was the coconut pineapple chicken, which had a great flavor but the undercooked coating had a cruel raw pancake effect. Then, in descending order of edibility, lemon chicken (overcooked and jerky-like), almond chicken (gravy recipe: flour, water, salt), and hot pepper chicken (rubbery with jaundice yellow pallor). How the almond green beans tasted fishy I don’t know, since there were no fish dishes nearby, and the fried rice was blah. I topped off the round with another Chinese sugar donut – I simply cannot resist them.

I decided to dip in a bit to the “American” table on my third and final foray. I took one bite of the pepperoni pizza before giving up in despair and the steamed cabbage and carrots were so salty that one bite made me guzzle my entire Coke. I felt like I was being a little risky when I took some of the baked salmon, but it turned out to be the highlight of the entire meal. Simultaneously lemony and peppery, it was moist and cooked to a flaky perfection.

Finally, for dessert was a small dollop of vanilla soft serve atop a pink-frosted piece of cake that had the same texture (and flavor) as a small chunk of tempurpedic mattress foam.

I sat spacing out to a Mariah Carey ballad, twenty-odd different food items suddenly battling it out in my confused and distended belly. The hostess brought me back to earth with the delivery of my check and fortune cookie, leaving me with a grimace-like smile and a quick “thank you!” My fortune read “Q. What is contained within everything? A. Wisdom.” In other words, “that which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, even bad jello.”

Bread Crumbs: Random Bits

Total Eclipse of the Tart: Regular readers already know I'm a full-on Jamba Juice junkie, and I was a big happy clam this morning when I noticed some new smoothies gracing their menu. So this morning, I decided to forgo my usual selection of a power size Matcha Green Tea and try the new "3G Energizer". Its bright flavor reminded me of a term my pal Char and I coined years ago for a particularly tangy vodka-and-juice cocktail we accidentally invented one day: "Ka-twang-a-licious!" The 3G Energizer is actually a little on the tart side, with real lemonade and fresh raspberries and strawberries commingling to make a mouth puckering but very delicious experience. More importantly, it contains a healthy 120mg of caffeine and plenty of B6 and B12 vitamins to provide even more buzz. As if that weren’t enough, the addition of a free Green Caffeine Boost really sends this smoothie over the edge of cracked-out-ness. I was again impressed by the fast service they provide here too, which is a big plus in the morning when I’m rushing to work. From payment to delivery was probably less than a full minute, just long enough to read the entire Coeur d’Alene Press from cover to cover.

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Stray Cat Strut: Music trends come and go, but one that never seems to fizzle out entirely is good old fashioned Rockabilly. Since the 1950’s, pompadour-sporting hepcats and Betties with bangs have been revving their hot rods and jiving to the music of everyone from Elvis to the Stray Cats to the Paladins. Nowadays, it’s a subculture closely associated with tattoos and punk rock, pink hair and sideburns, black leather and red lipstick. If this sounds up your alley, you’ll be excited about the new Hot Rod Hump Day happening on the second Wednesday of every month at Cruisers in Post Falls , brought to you by Monster Booking. Each night features local Rockabilly-Punk faves Boneyard Butchers and the Backstabbers along with different opening acts and even classic theme movies like “Christine” and "From Dusk 'til Dawn" that should keep the adrenalin pumping and the energy level high. The next Hot Rod Hump Day happens tonight, January 9, so get all greasy, buy some Marlboro Reds and fire up the old-time Cadillac and check out this unique entry into the local nightlife scene.

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Double Soy Chai, please: Considering the glut of coffee slingers in the downtown area, and the fact that not all of them manage to exist for very long, the owners of the new Calypso's Coffee are quite brave to throw their hat into the ring. Filling the seemingly cursed building on Lakeside Ave. that once housed Priano’s, then the wonderful but ill-fated Cuisine Cargo, then Erlendson Art Glass, Michell Remley and David Ivy would like to make Calypso's the hippest all-ages hangout spot in town. In addition to the in-house roasted coffee and fruit smoothies, they’ll be serving breakfast pastries, soups and sandwiches for lunch and dinner, and homemade decadent desserts. There’s a large play area for the wee tots, a computer zone for internet junkies, and a conference room that seats twenty-four. Something that makes Calypso's a little different than many of the other coffee shops in the area, and something that could contribute to their success are their late night hours; midnight on weekends and 10 p.m. the rest of the week. Most of the other places lock up at 8 p.m., if not earlier, and it’ll be nice for night owls to have a place to haunt. I still think downtown would benefit from a 24-hour joint, something like the great Satellite in downtown Spokane .

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Sad News Dept: My first job was washing dishes in the hot, hard rocking kitchen at Henry’s Restaurant, located where Dan Davis Realty is now on Sherman Ave. Henry’s was a major part of my family’s life – it was owned by Joe Chapman, who my mother had dated in high school, and was managed by Sharon, one of my mother’s best girlfriends. My mom even worked there as a hostess for a while, and when my parents divorced (I was 18), she started seeing the bartender, a slightly temperamental but fully charming gentleman named Hap Fehrmann. Sadly, Hap passed away January 3 after a heart attack at the age of 56. Anyone who ever spent any time at Henry’s back in the day should remember him, dressed in a crisp white shirt and bow tie, his dry wit and sarcastic demeanor entertaining the many Henry’s regulars night after night for around 20 years.

I got to know him pretty well when he dated my mom, they even lived together for a while. He definitely liked his whiskey and it didn’t always gel so nicely with his personality causing him to run his mouth a bit, but he was never physically cruel and always apologetic later. He was a huge music person and a Beatles maniac, as was I, and we could talk about the subject for hours. Amusingly, he refused to upgrade from vinyl to CD technology, and said he would never switch, a vow which he kept to the end. He remained a family friend even after my mom split up with him, and I was fortunate to see him several months ago at a birthday party and we were able to catch up. I wish I’d told him how much I appreciated his presence in my life over the years. Cheers to you Hap, hope you’re sneaking whiskey shots in Heaven…this town will be significantly less interesting without you around.

Obituary and video tribute

60's In Cd'A Provided Some Eye-Popping Events

Somehow, I’m a little doubtful about my mother’s claim that the “hippie movement” of the sixties had arrived pretty much complete and on time up here in North Idaho. Certainly, the more pop aspects of the era were inescapable anywhere; The Beatles’ classic Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band obviously blared from lo-fi phonographs in basement rooms thick with incense smoke where human be-ins were planned and many tie-dyed shirts and macramé plant holders were made. However, I’d imagine that many folks in a town of Coeur d’Alene’s size forty years ago would have been reluctant to really embrace the more intense free love, pro-drug and anti-establishment values that came with the onset of the counterculture.

Nevertheless, my mother remembers witnessing firsthand an event which sounds like it could be described as North Idaho’s own miniature Woodstock. Bored one hot afternoon in the late sixties, my slightly naïve grandparents packed the family into the station wagon and headed up to Farragut State Park to check out a concert they’d seen a little ad for in the newspaper or somewhere. Laying out the picnic blanket and settling in, they were stunned to realize they were, as my mother puts it, “the only sober, normally-dressed people” in a crowd of thousands of half-naked hippies openly drinking beer, passing joints, and dropping acid to the throb of psychedelic hard rock. “The girls were running around completely topless,” she recalls. “Your grandfather’s eyeballs were practically bulging out of his head!”

Such hedonism was likely rare in these parts and most young folks in Coeur d’Alene pursued more innocent flights of fancy, such as the dances in the gym at North Idaho Junior College. Admission was a dollar, and every weekend would bring a different band, each with increasingly silly, sixties-ish names: “The Wilson-McKinley”, “Honolulu Fruit Gum Orchestra”, and my favorite, “Peach & the Pits”. Cruising Sherman Avenue was also a major craze at the time. A series of burger joints where all the cute, popular girls worked served as gathering points along “the loop”, starting with Paul Bunyan on the west end, and with Dairy De-Lite, Topper, and Arctic Circle rounding out the middle. The parking lot of The Boat Drive-In on the east side of town was the place to get a chili dog and rev up the Mustang before spinning out impressively and heading the other direction again.

The drinking age at the time was 19, so the kiddies didn’t have to wait too long before they could start frequenting night clubs and bars like the infamous Rathskeller’s Inn on East Sherman. The Goss family ran this notoriously uproarious beer and pizza joint, and for many years, it was the default hang-out spot in town for both college kids and the underage teens who managed to sneak in through the side window. Known affectionately by patrons as “Rats”, the bar featured live rock-n-roll bands, go-go dancers, pinball and pool tables. Longtime resident Virginia Balser shared with me a slightly twisted but entertaining memory about Rathskeller’s. “It was known to not have sufficient rest rooms for the patrons,” she explains, “and every weekend there were a number of gentlemen arrested for ungentlemanly behavior in the bushes outside.” Sounds like a situation that really reeked.

The Diamond Cup hydroplane races that once packed the shores of Lake Coeur d’Alene with thousands of rowdy fans had begun to peter out by the late sixties, due to malaise caused by the massive drunken riots and civil disobedience that would inevitably accompany the events. My mother tells a great story about one of the last times the races were held, when she and her best girlfriend got dressed up in evening gowns and made fake beauty pageant sashes to wear which read something like “Miss Hydroplane Princess 1966”. Of course, there was no such title or pageant and the whole thing was merely a clever ruse enabling the girls to spend an evening being wined and dined for free by all the visiting hydroplane honchos at the Athletic Round Table, the elite lounge located within the elegant Desert Hotel.

Also on the classier side of the nightlife scene at the time was the North Shore Restaurant & Lounge, located in the footprint of what is now the Coeur d’Alene Resort, as well as neighboring Templin’s Waterfront Lodge. According to legend, Templin’s was the popular place for local business and politics bigwigs to have drinks because it was so dimly lit that they could avoid being seen by wives and busybodies while sneaking out on the town with their mistresses.

Further down Sherman was the Brunswick Café where, as witnessed by Coeur d’Alene’s Gary Ingram, the city council would meet for lunch on meeting day to decide what would be discussed at the meeting that evening. “This practice was the genesis of the Idaho Open Meeting Law”, says Ingram. Balser remembers having coffee breaks at the Brunswick with the Chief of Police and others. One day one of the regulars noticed that the menu included “Baked Owl with Dressing.” A prankster at a nearby business had managed to sneak away the menus over time and alter them, adding the unsavory “daily special”. According to Balser, “several people were outraged and finally the cook announced there was no ‘damned owl’ being served. The rest of us had great delight in this antic.” The Brunswick’s trademark “Awful Awful” burger is still served at the location, which is now The Iron Horse, but unfortunately I hear the burger is now just plain awful.

By the late sixties, Coeur d’Alene’s northward expansion had created a small strip of dining establishments on Appleway, near the town’s first indoor shopping mall, which was anchored by Buttrey Food & Drug and Montgomery Ward and was a huge deal at the time, despite only having about ten stores. The place had a distinct odor I can still almost conjure in my head which was specific to shopping malls of the era, a pungent mix of cafeteria fumes, new plastic shoes, hot popcorn, and artificial air. Nearby were both Elsie’s Dakota Café and Marie’s Coffee Stop Café, satisfying hungry mall shoppers who lined up at the lunch counters to have some soup and a sandwich and gaze longingly into rotating displays of pies and cakes. Both diners were run by big, loveable ladies who always sat in the back and treated all their customers like family.
Further west on Appleway, the Log Cabin Restaurant was considered fairly elegant at the time, boasting an extensive salad bar, perhaps the first of its kind in the area. Along with perennially popular favorites like Chicken Fried Steak and Spaghetti & Meatballs, menu options included more dated fare such as Liver & Onions and a Monte Cristo Sandwich (my favorite item you never see on menus anymore).

Cedar’s Floating Restaurant had recently opened its doors quite literally on the lake near the newly completed US-95 Bridge, and although it was well-known for it’s incredible steak and baked potato special and “soft lights” cocktail lounge, it wasn’t for the seasickness prone. I have some old photos of my parents and friends ringing in the New Year in 1968 out at the ultra-kitschy Happy Hour, which was just west of town on Seltice Way where The Grail sits now. The place looks smoky and cave-like, the depressing wood paneling and burgundy velvet wallpaper contrasting sharply with the florid hues of their outfits and dazzling party hats. Here was the local mecca for buffet-style dining, with a Wednesday all-you-can-eat Chicken Dinner and a splurge-worthy $2.85 Seafood Smorgasbord with 8 different seafood items including Alaskan king crab, lobster tail, and grilled fillet of Mau Mau Fish. Wait a second, wasn’t that the name of one of the bands playing down at the junior college?