Finding Comfort at Chopsticks

I had a bad week. Sub-freezing temperatures certainly didn’t help. The only thing that might have improved matters would have been the ability to return to the main menu and hit "start over."

In such situations, a little bit of comfort food may often have a therapeutic effect. It’s no secret that good macaroni and cheese soothes all manners of ailments. In this case, however, I needed to call in the big guns. Namely, a dose of neon-red sweet and sour pork and the old standby prescribed by Dr. Kung Pao.  And for this, I headed straight to in Edmonds to sulk over a mound of pork-fried rice and other American Chinese favorites.

The first key facet of my treatment plan was that Chopsticks is not conducive to moping. Its large front windows make for a dining room filled with cheerful natural light even on a snowy day. What’s more, on a 1 to 10 scale of warmth and attentiveness, my server scored somewhere around an 11. Gracious with a genuine air of caring, I soaked up both her pleasant demeanor and the plentiful refills of ice water.

My healing was furthered by one of the most potent elixirs, hot and sour soup ($1.25/5.75). The cup was well-stocked with tender mushrooms, cubes of tofu and egg ribbons in a thick broth striking perfect balance between tang and heat. The spice wasn’t scorching, but was enough to give me a set of sniffles totally unrelated to being glum.

The sweet and sour pork ($8.25) was exactly the hue I'd expected, somewhere between the color of molten lava and that of a fire engine. The dish was decidedly more sweet than sour, though not tragically so. Most impressive to me was that the meat’s fried coating tasted buttery and fresh, not of over-used cooking oil. I speared crunchy pieces with my fork, the irony being that I wasn’t offered any chopsticks with my meal.

Kung Pao chicken ($8.50) presented itself as a veggie-heavy plate, the celery and bell peppers fresh and crisp yet tender. Unfortunately the dish seemed completely devoid of spice, not at all characteristic of a proper Kung Pao potion. Similarly disappointing was the orange-flavored beef ($9.75), its pleasant coating of spice and citrus not enough to remedy the meat’s toughness.

As all the other dishes I ordered were protocol for an American Chinese menu, I ventured into new territory with the crispy eggplant with honey sauce ($10.75). Although a sturdy coating of batter tended to overpower the soft eggplant, tangy notes blended with sweet honey for an appealing bite.

Of course, I did get my plate of pork-fried rice ($6.50), but I didn’t end up sulking over it as planned. The grains well-seasoned with soy sauce and mixed with ample bits of meat were just one more dose of comfort.

The portions at Chopsticks are extremely generous, and while waiting for my ample leftovers to be boxed I confirmed I’m not the only one who believes in the healing properties of good Chinese soup. A woman popped in to pick up a take-out order of egg flower, explaining that it was for a hospital-bound friend who said the soup was the only thing that tasted good to her.

As I gathered my things to leave, my server cautioned me to drive safely on the frosty roads. Sometimes the kindness of a stranger is powerful medicine. Fortune cookies don’t hurt, either.

At each turn, Chopsticks proved an antidote to my blues. I’m not sure whether it was the extraordinarily kind service or the fine hot and sour soup, but I left the restaurant feeling lighter despite my hearty meal.