August 16, 2017
Before we start day three …
Anyone who’s been to the Bruce Hotel for their famous steak dinner knows that amazing food can be found in some pretty odd places. Yet while you might expect a small rural hotel in Alberta could deliver an epic steak, who would imagine finding world class Chinese food in a tiny farming community where, where beef is roasted in big slabs, and supper menus are inspected by the local council to ensure protein levels are sufficient for weight lifters, alpine sherpas, and Alberta ranchers.
Helen greeted us when we arrived in her simple little diner, The Lucky Dragon, which sat at the end of Main street in downtown Oyen. She had the kind of smile that said she knew something you didn’t. Somewhere between a playful grin and mischievous smirk. The place was simple, typical, but for the very nice Chinese art that covered most of the walls. We started with some idle chat – “The hotel up the road mentioned this place …”. Helen was surprised at this and probed us to learn more. What hotel? What did they say? In retrospect maybe I should have been more concerned.
“They say the food is really good”, I said. Helen eased out a sideways smile.
“Really”, she said slowly.
Well isn’t your food good? asked my Dad.
“Hmmm”, said Helen. “How about if you tell me?”
In the conversation that followed Helen asserted not only that her food was good, but amazingly good. She hinted of mind-blown locals and a growing following for her fare.
Game on! Clearly it was time to roll out my travelling culinary geek show. I began to lament about how I had scoured the land in search of great chow mein. I described in technical detail what was needed in a great chow mein. I used every word I had learned from every British cooking show (omitting all the curse words, of course), and a lifetime of interrogating Chinese chefs for their secrets. In short, I annoyed the hell out of Helen, yet she absorbed it all with that same sly smile.
Somewhere along the way I had to ask Helen where she was from.
“China”, she said.
“It’s a big country, where in China?”
Another big smile. “Canton”, she said.
I was beginning to think we were in a very good place.
She complimented my selections and after heading off to deliver our order to the kitchen she returned briefly to apologize, in advance, for ruining my life. She explained it was a common problem. Such good food, so far away.
Oh Helen, don’t taunt me so. I waited patiently with my father, slowly scanning the tired old diner, fully prepared to be underwhelmed. I mean, it was quite a build up. Helen returned again, placing a teaser of prawn crisps on the table. They were light, delicate, perfectly crisp, with a subtle flavour that seemed to evaporate on the tongue. Touche, Helen. Good start.
But patience wasn’t needed. In less than 10 minutes she returned again with our first course, Cantonese Chow Mein. The common form of chow mein most people have come to accept is at best a homogenous rendition of noodles, vegetables, and some form of protein. But in it’s highest form Chow Mein is an art that challenges the chef’s control of flavour, temperature, and timing. Helen’s Chow Mein was art. From the perfectly crisp yet tender noodles, to the succulent prawns, chicken, and BBQ pork that smothered the plate.
We barely had time to finish raving about the first few bites when the next dishes arrived in unison. First, the Szechuan Beef, amazingly tender strips of beef in a paper thin, crispy coating, all tossed in a dark, rich sauce of red pepper, ginger, and just enough secret ingredients to render me both jealous, and amazed.
Finally, the sizzling hot plate: tender chicken in a rich black bean sauce. Helen’s eyes lit up when I order it, now I could see why. The heat of the dish tried to keep us at bay, but some things are worth the risk. Snapping crisp peppers and onions, and tender, perfectly cooked chicken, all in a sauce that was dark, smoky, and just sweet enough to balance the black bean.
Everything was amazingly hot, obviously fresh, and full of flavour. No one-dimensional tastes from bottled generic sauces, this was the real deal; or at least as real as I’ve had.
It turns out it’s not so surprising. We learned that Helen and Ken (the invisible gnome in the kitchen that created the food) had been partners for over 30 years. After closing down a restaurant in Ontario, they came west to spend more time with her 94 year old father. A ‘restaurant-sitting’ opportunity came up, and they opened three weeks prior to our visit.
In the end I had to admit Helen was probably right. I once ate Black Bean Sauce Chow Mein for lunch almost every day at the same place for three years straight. If I could, I’d probably find to way to spend a lot of time eating at the Lucky Dragon. I googled Edmonton-to-Oyen, it’s four hours if I don’t speed. It’s a long trip.
I’m already looking for a reason.