Recently, a near-monsoon and the flooding that resulted from it had threatened to strand Kay and I in the East End one evening upon quitting time, giving us a perfect excuse to wait out the storms by sampling one of the shooting stars in Pittsburgh's culinary scene: Everyday Noodles.
Shimmering interiors, a lovely hostess, communal seating arrangements, and ringside-seat kitchen action immediately lifted the gloom from our weary, weeknight shoulders.
Our laid-back, long-locked server, one who reminded us of a musician friend of ours in appearance and comportment, took our orders via a pencil-and-paper order form system much like Burgatory does. Once our choices were circled and confirmed, the circus of taste, smell, and sight began.
Having researched the menu days before after a featured Yelp review arrested my interest, I knew I had to begin with something quite alien, new, and therefore immensely intriguing to me: The Taiwanese Pork Belly Slider.
The gelatinous bun that contained the uncannily unctuous, meaty, and flavorsome pork was quite simply not of this earth. Possessing the texture of marshmallow, a meringue, raw dough, and a hamburger roll all at once, it seemingly absorbed the taste of the hog in the same way a tofu would. The possibilities of what to place inside this futuristic bread are infinite. Chipped ham? Mozzarella? Mortadella? Nutella? Whaddya say, fella?
Next in line was an octet of something I've only seen Bourdain relish reverentially on television: Soup Dumplings of the pork and crab variety.
While not as large as those I've seen in the media, the pouches of painstakingly housemade dough that arrived to our table in a steam basket had me convulsing rhapsodically as Long Tall Tony has done whenever eating something favorable for your entertainment (envy? vicarious pleasures?). Eschewing the traditional method of biting a piece from the top and vampirically slurping the internal fluids out of each defenseless, quivering packet, I merely allowed them to cool, lifted them towards my mouth with the spoon provided, and consumed them with one bite, the broth flooding my palate with warm ambrosia as my teeth lacerated the exterior, the meats barely requiring manducation.
Served at precisely the same time was my Oxtail Noodle Soup Consomme, complete with an ornate, occult-looking wooden ladle. My father has long sworn never to eat oxtail again in his days for reasons that remain unclear. For that reason, oxtail has been one of those animal parts that has always held a forbidden mystique to me. Just what does it taste like? Why does dad revile it?
As every stock-soaked beef morsel fell from their shamrock-shaped bones and withered into sweet nothingness onto my tongue, I thought amiably only of one thing: Corned Beef. Oh what a Beef on Weck or French Dip one could make with oxtail. In this context, however, I had to settle for having my oxtail chased down with a sea of dark and darkly savory Oriental bouillon in which tender, lovingly scratch-prepared noodles bobbed and drifted.
Dessert was a doublet of delight. The Crispy Creamy Mini Buns were just that. Ideal in their glazed glory, they immediately brought to mind donuts, particularly those from a wildly popular chain that expanded too quickly for its own good. The Sweet Egg Yolk Steamed Buns, though, were where horizons were expanded. Built from the same, surreal substance as the buns involved in the aforementioned pork belly sliders, the three orbs with canary irises were filled with a neon yellow custard that was an exercise in saline vs. saccharine alchemy. One bite had me dreaming of eggs on Sunday morning. Another would take me to dessert that same evening.
Everyday Noodles is somewhat of a misnomer in that this isn't "everyday" Chinese. Rather, what's being served up here is exactly the manner of Chinese cuisine I'd been craving for all too many moons; the dishes I'd never heard of before and never knew existed. While I'll continue to enjoy General Tso's Chicken and Crab Rangoon as much as my fellow countrymen, Everyday Noodles has certainly broadened the local landscape of Asian fare by simply elevating and introducing to Pittsburgh palates those (well-executed) dishes that were formerly obscure to us. For that I thank its staff and ownership.
P.S. Speaking of ownership, the restaurant's co-founder Mike Chen came to our table to chat briefly with us as we dined. Until he told me, I had no idea that Mr. Chen also owns Tamari. Ironically, while EN's pork belly was superb, Tamari's wasn't quite as good (read: dry. look up my review. it was one of only two gaffes).
P.P.S. All of our dishes were affordable, easily shareable, and conducive to varying levels of hunger. Be it a quick bite or a grand feast you're searching for, EN has a meal for you.
P.P.P.S. The service and atmosphere were both stellar all around. Break out of the box of Americanized Chinese food and make time for Everyday Noodles. read more