Flavors from the food, not the sauce
Remy, Disney-
But there's nothing cartoonish about the food that Hua and co-owner Hong Tan are serving at their 2 1/2-year-old restaurant. The menu is built around Hua's more than 20 years of experience cooking in Taiwan; Taiwanese food is different from the food of mainland China, Tan explains through an interpreter.
"Taiwanese cooking uses less oil," she says. "And there's a lot more prep work, more seasoning of the meat. The Taiwanese dishes don't rely so much on a lot of sauce for flavor."
The cuisine also uses herbs and spices, such as basil, that are not as common in mainland China, explains Tan, who is from Beijing. She considers the cooking unique.
And the way it's prepared here, it's delicious, too. Dumplings are house-made, which is clear not only from the slightly irregular shapes, but also from the amount of filling bursting out of them. Vegetable dumplings ($5.95 for 12) are filled with a spinach, egg, and tofu mixture. They're steamed, so nothing interferes with the delicate flavors.
Almost everything we try has subtle and surprising flavor combinations. Eggplant with basil ($8.95) is cut-up baby eggplant in a savory dark brown sauce that tastes of soy and sesame oil. (Tan would say only that the sauce has seven ingredients. "It's one of the chef's secrets," she offers with a smile.) Thai basil gives the dish an undertone of tingly flavor, until you bite into a piece, and then the taste explodes on the tongue.
Salted crispy chicken ($6.95) comes in strips, which have been deep-fried in a peppery, salty coating. (Tan and Hua use a spice mixture from Taiwan.) The chicken strips are crisp but not hard, and not at all oily. They are ridiculously addictive; Tan says they are typical of Taiwanese street food.
Coral pink shrimp nestle among large spears of light avocado-green squash in sauteed shrimp with Chinese squash ($12.95); it's as pretty as an Impressionist painting. The white sauce has a light sea flavor, and the Chinese squash is slightly crunchy with a taste somewhere between a cucumber and a summer squash. The textures and tastes are pleasantly complementary.
Fish fillet with dry bean sauce ($16.95) relies on contrast. The mild white boneless fish is silky smooth, while the dry bean curd is dark and crumbly, with an earthy, almost meaty flavor. At our table, it's a big hit; the combination produces sighs of contentment, and a couple of scuffles as we all try to get at the dish at once. The dry bean sauce is another Taiwanese specialty, Tan says.
Only Mongolian beef ($10.95) gets thumbs down. Bland slices have been stir-fried with strips of onion. Our resident Mongolian diner (really, he's from Mongolia!) shakes his head and says he has never seen the dish back home, and another diner comments that it looks like filling for a fajita.
If you're not Asian, you'll find yourself in the minority among the customers in MuLan's simple, airy 70-seat dining room - a good sign of the food's authenticity. The only decorative touches are a couple of wall hangings, some sleek pendant light fixtures, and the food itself.
Dishes emerging from MuLan's kitchen look so vibrant, they're worthy of that other Disney production.
