All kinds of golian
December 4th, 2005When I was still in college, word got out about this Chinese restaurant that had an all-you-can-eat buffet style chow line. You got a bowl and loaded it up with frozen beef, chicken and/or pork and then stacked it up with vegetables, noodles, sauces and toppings. It was a steal. You could go through as many times as you wanted for $5, no doggy bag. I’d never heard of Mongolian barbecue, but I dug on it from the first bite. The cooks had 30-inch bamboo sticks that they’d tap and scrape the food around on the circular grill. I probably ate there 3 or 4 times a week. The only problem was that you stood and waited while the cooks took your bowl and cooked it. It smelled fantastic. Driving by in the summer at dinner time was just asking for trouble.
Some people made the stacking into an art form. We’d stop in after practice and have a band lunch, comparing and contrasting our various stacking and bowl loading styles. All of our friends were forced to go at least once. Some took to it, some didn’t. My boy Patatomic, he LOVED it.
When I moved away, I never found a place that was clean enough to risk the Mongolian bbq. Even in San Francisco. I knew there had to be a place somewhere, but by the time I was willing to explore, a coworker introduced me to Korean barbecue (the best one was a pink building on the south side of Geary in the early avenues that I think was called, surprisingly, Korean BBQ). Plus, living so close to Haight Street meant a quick walk to Citrus Club, which had enough punked asian groove to make me lose interest in exploring.
I had made a few attempts to create my own Mongolian at home, substituting a wok for the large round cooking surface. I did not use the bamboo stick to cook with as my kitchens in SF were never large enough. Maybe if I would have opened a window….
When I moved to Los Angeles and started dating Heather, she made it known she wasn’t a big Chinese food fan, but I wanted to make her my version of Mongolian, which I had renamed Jongolian barbecue. I did and she loved it. I figured all the cabbage would solve some of her lower gastric issues and I wasn’t wrong. I’ve made it a dozen times or so since we’ve been together, even perfecting the recipe for serving up to four people and providing a community service for gastric systems everywhere.
Last Friday we went out for dinner. Going out is a big deal for us. We generally only get out a couple of times a month for food, and I suggested we try a Chinese place that used to be good, but it had moved and I hadn’t eaten there since well before moving to California in 1998. We met up with Patatomic and Mrs. Patatomic and before we could sit down, Pat busts out, “Yeah, so it’s pretty much the Mongolian barbecue, right?”
I thought he said Mongolian Beef. Then I Tivo’d the last sentence and replayed it, pausing it between each word. Pat. Just. Said. Mongolian. Bar. Be. Cue. The Matrix dissolved into vaguely Cyrillic green CRT characters and I saw both Keanu and Carrie Ann running sideways against all surfaces, totally wailing and throwing rice noodles into their bowls while whooping it up. Damn fine. While the cooks cooked with woks and without the bamboo, it was better than the college place. More sauces, more noodle choices more meat choices. More everything.
It’s been quite awhile since I’ve dined at a place that the moment I finish, I start plotting when I can make the next visit. The best part: Heather wants to go back as well.
I’d give the name of the place, but the nutburgers out there would totally yell “sell-out” because I’m not indie enough and I’ve got Christmas holiday shopping to do and I’m going to have to spend some time plotting about when I can get back there to eat again.
Actually. Fuck the nutburgers. o
Yahbut if you fart after Mongolian BBQ, can you tell what you had to eat?? Is it like asparagus pee?
Kudos on the farting 10 minutes into your first date with Heather – possible that you were separated at birth from my second husband.
First husband – we never uttered that eff word nor did we ever do it around each otherl; we were so dainty that mutual acquaintances declared they weren’t surprised at the divorce.
Second husband? Ha! A total 180. He will fart anywhere, anytime, any hour of the day. I am thrilled, however, to announce that I hold the record for the fart of the longest duration in our household.
If you’re ever in Ontario, you’ll have to give JB’s Mongolian Grill (http://www.mongoliangrill.com/) a try. Spent a lot of time there during university honing my stacking skills.
mmm…
i live close to a mongolian barbecue that’s actually called mongolian barbecue- naperville, ill. they got chicken, duck, rib eye, skirt steak, shrimp, crab meat, and scallops.
it’s art.
Yes, one of the things I miss about Provo is the Mongolian barbecue. One of the few places that filled me up. I loved standing in line waiting to get my food cooked smelling that sizzling food being scorched to perfection. Now I live in Asia and get it all the time.
SL has Al Fornos. Another fav when I could afford it.
We have a number of BD’s Mongolian BBQ in Michigan. My delight when they finally built one here in Flint was probably unseemly. I love to get crawdaddies. Mmmmmmmmmm.
The thing with this stuff is, if your food sucks, you can only blame yourself.
We have no Mongolian BBQ here. : (
Would you post your recipe for Jongolian BBQ so we can eat good, too?
is a nutburget kind of like a furburger?
i was just reading this and thinking yum, chinese and mongolian food and my bestie txted me to ask if i wanted chinese for dinner. too weird!!!! i think we see too much of each other.
Man, it’s been ages since I got to eat Mongolian BBQ. Living overseas has its upsides and downsides. One of the upsides is there is a great Mongolian BBQ. The downside is that it’s so expensive you want to lick the flucking plates to make sure you eat every last morsel. AND they don’t allow you to practice the artful task of stacking.
Nutburger. Spewed tea out my nose on that one.
I think that the streets of Salt Lake City need to be a tad bit more perpendicular…
Nutburger is to furburger as testicle sandwich is to vagina taco.
I hope I wasn’t too subtle for anyone.
My god, it took me so fucking long to work out why you called it Jongolian Barbecue. I was thinking it somehow had something to do with Erica Jong. And then as I was driving home from work last night, it hit me! It’s because your name is Jon! I swear, I didn’t need to have the headlights on; the lightbulb going off over my head was so bright at that moment.
Oh
My
Gawdddd
nutburgers, furburgers – fair enough. but now we’re into testy-sammies and giny-tacos?
I
CANNOT
drink tea
WHEN I READ BLURB OR DOOCE.
Enough of the liquids burning the inner lining of my nose. No need for nose-hair-clippers anytime soon – not that I wanted them(!). I won’t mention the state of the finish (or what’s left of it) on my [previously beautiful] desk.
BD’s is by far the best Mongolian BBQ I have had. I am from Royal Oak, MI where the first BD’s was, when I moved to D.C. I was delighted to find out that we had one here as well!
Ironic, just got to this post. My girlfriend and I go to a wonderful Mongolian place in Pocatello, Idaho called Lee’s Mongolian BBQ. We haven’t even looked for one here in SLC. My Dad had open heart surgery on monday so we were up for a week… without question we had to go to lee’s… it’s always a treat.
Jessica, I’ve eaten at that very Mongolian Grill! I went to school in Guelph and my bf at the time and I ate there a lot. For any Canadians wanting to check out this MBBQ thing, Mongolian Grill is the way to go…
Wow… I didn’t realize that Mongolian bbq was a style of cooking/eating. I went to a restaurant called Mongolian BBQ (clever) in Cleveland back in my young Ohio days when I wouldn’t eat anything but mom’s cooking and TGI Friday’s, and I was unimpressed. Scared, actually. But now that I’ve lived in LA for almost six years and fear nothing, I must find a Mongolian bbq and partake in the goodness. Apparently.
I recently had a friend introduce me to a chinesse restaurant in my home town that has the same set up. I was a little intimidated, but afterwards, I was glad I went there. It was so worth it just to watch them cook it and to know that I can put a bowl of food together that isn’t offensive to the senses.