Jai Yun resides on the western fringes of Chinatown and only has six tables. Nanjing native Nei Chia Ji opened the restaurant in 2000, specializing in Chinese banquet dining. The name translates into English as “home.” Jai Yun is only open for dinner and doesn’t have a printed menu. Nei Chia Ji prefers to prepare whatever he finds on his daily strolls through neighborhood markets, and what he finds constantly changes. Diners who reserve tables understand that their stomachs are in his hands. We were all first-timers, and interested to see what that meant.
The space is “decorated” with Christmas lights year-round, a still-life painting of fruit, and colorful ribbons. That’s about it. Thankfully, we weren’t eating at Jai Yun for high-design.
These placards hung on the wall above our table. We tried to decipher if it was the menu or not. We figured the bottom level was lower-priced, and the top row was high-end. Turns out the cards have been there for five years. It’s a menu frozen in time. Though a few of the dishes that appeared on our table sure resembled some of the dishes advertised on the cards.
Our waitress offered us meals with price points ranging from $45 to $150 per person. Our waitress recommended the $55 option, but my father is all about trying things, so he upped the ante to $65. It was unclear whether the extra $10 per person made a difference.
Minutes after we ordered, the cold courses started arriving in four-plate waves. Our waitress announced each dish succinctly. “Cucumber, “Smoked Fish,” Jellyfish” and “Tofu.” Since she didn’t speak English, we couldn’t ask follow-up questions, and were left to extrapolate possible ingredients and preparations.
ROUND ONE
Razor-thin cucumber slices came capped with half a Maraschino cherry.
Luscious slabs of smoked fish arrived in a stack.
Whispy jellyfish strands were ethereal, nothing like the chewy rubber bands I’ve eaten at other Chinese restaurants.
I’ve always been an opponent of tofu, but Nei Chia Ji may have changed my perspectie with these pull-apart sheets of fried tofu.
ROUND TWO
Our waitress announced our second round selections as “Tofu,” “Beef,” “Mushrooms” and “Lotus Root.”
Finely diced tofu was simply tossed with cilantro and a little oil.
Thin-sliced beef hid a base of al dente baked beans.
Enoki mushrooms arrived in a heap and had a nice crunch.
Marinated lotus root was thin-sliced and snap-fresh.
ROUND THREE
Our third course dishes were titled “Radish,” “Relish,” “Cabbage” and “Duck.”
Tiny marinated red radishes had a nice crunchy texture and a mild sweetness.
Relish featured finely chopped green peppers and onions.
Crisp cabbage strands were tossed with chile oil and julienned red chilies.
Sliced duck was served on the bone, skin on and luscious.
We began with 12 cold dishes, and finished with a dozen more HOT DISHES:
Thin-sliced abalone was scrambled with egg whites and incredible. Abalone is a highly-prized ingredient in China, though I’ve never understood why, until now. At Japanese restaurants, the only abalone I ever tasted was overly-chewy. This abalone was miraculously tender.
Slices of Gluten, wheat that’s been stripped of its starch and pressed, were tossed with green and red peppers, leeks and ginger slivers. By the second or third bite, I began to appreciate gluten’s unfamiliar sponge-like texture.
Shrimp were simply sauteed with garbanzo beans and green, red and yellow peppers. Garbanzo beans aren’t typically included in Chinese food, but they worked well with the shrimp.
Soy beans were prepared with razor-thin strands of tofu, greens and jujubes, the tiny red Chinese dates.
Silky hacks of fish, possibly cod, were sauteed with corn kernels, peas and red peppers, a nice summer preparation.
This square of winter melon was fairly pungent, topped with ground pork, chilies and fermented shrimp and plated atop strands of seaweed. Coming off the mild fish, I liked the dish’s aggressive flavor, though Jane called this her “No Dish.”
Pork leg in brown sauce was kind of like a pork osso bucco, with one-inch layer of fat protecting the tender nuggets of hog meat.
Crispy Chinese celery was tossed with julienned tofu, red pepper and purple onion. After the rich pork leg, this dish offered relief.
Kung pao chicken featured purple onion and yellow pepper and was spicier than the typical version.
Translucent flat noodles were stir-fried with scallions and rich, thin-sliced barbecue pork. The pork featured concentrated hog flavor, which I really enjoyed.
Eggplant was cooked with brown sauce, sesame seeds and chile oil until crispy and caramelized at the edges and achingly tender at the core.
Our final dish featured two varieties of mushrooms, one of them enoki, plus bok choy. It was a light but flavorful conclusion.
After twenty-four dishes, we were all impressed with Nei Chia Ji’s less-is-more approach. It was obvious that the ingredients were impeccably sourced. It was also impressive how the chef alternated rich and light, mild and spicy. Nei Chia Ji did such a good job in the kitchen, he even managed to convert me to tofu. Well, for one night anyway.
No Comments Yet
You can be the first to comment!
Leave a comment