I am not, and have never been a chili type of person.
Doesn't matter whether it's red chili, green chili, or god-forbid, the small chili padi that people say kicks ass but am not and never have been a fan of.
I can't understand how fans can absorb that acute kick from the chili.
But then again I am the type who has avoided anything with chili since I was a child, and whilst today I have learnt to appreciate and enjoy dishes like curry, laksa, and assam laksa, whilst I have great delight in snacks like chili tapioca and skewered satay fish- both snacks are sweet- I still avoid this red vegetable in general.
My Achilles heel, however, is mala.
Doesn't matter how it is prepared, I cannot handle this small piece of a chili pepper.
Whether it be in malatang, or in the dish they call La Zi Ji- Sichuan Mala Chicken- it's still a challenge for me to fall in love with.
I like the chicken of La Zi Ji.
I just cannot handle the burn and the numb.
Goes without question then that my first experience of Sichuan Mala Chicken was overwhelming.
And for this reason I haven't had much of the numb ever since.
But couple of weeks ago a friend introduced me to this place near Chinatown MRT on Pagoda Street, said that the food here was pretty good, thought I ought to give it a shot.
At first I wondered.
But at that time I happened to be in a sort of mood where I was game to try new foods, and, not just that, needed, and wanted some extra kick in my life.
So I agreed.
Old Chengdu is this restaurant that sits on Pagoda Street close to the exit of Chinatown MRT, and to the Eu Tong Sen street side. It's one of the very first restaurants you see coming up, or down along the street, where, if you're coming from Chinatown Point, you'll see two well known places serving up Northeast Chinese cuisine before coming up to the Lim Chee Guan bak kwa outlet, and finally the Fragrance bak kwa outlet with its bright orange signboard.
Take a left at this junction, and two doors away you'll find Old Chengdu.
It would take two visits before I realized there was, in fact, an upper floor.
But this time we were directed to a table on the first floor.
What made it interesting is that the staff were wonderfully polite, cheerful, enthusiastic, and yet, not pushy to the extent that they hurried you to choose your dishes, or hovered near you whilst you tried making up your mind.
I had enough time to look through the whole menu.
There were dishes that at once caught my eye.
There were others that I might, or might not have, not because they weren't good, but because I wasn't sure what they were, I wasn't sure of their taste, and better they would be if I knew what (rural) traditions and rich (provincial) stories they were steeped in.
Have to say that the skewers attracted me.
Which, as I later found out, my friend did order- two of pork, two of beef- and one, I think, of lamb.
There were two other dishes we had for dinner this evening.
First one, let me say, has now become a new love.
A more popular version of this is the Shui Zhu Yu, or Water Boiled Fish, but this evening we decided to have the beef version of it, so Shui Zhu Niuit was.
It is a Sichuan specialty, as I have come to understand, and is prepared in a way that I (from the south) find incredibly unique.
One might think that this dish is cooked by simply throwing everything into the pot at different times (like double boiled soup), but, oh no, not at all.
One begins with the oil at the bottom of the wok, then there are ginger slices and scallions and Sichuan red peppercorns. The red color comes from the spicy bean paste that one places in the same wok. After that comes the soup stock, then the beef, and you're done.
But, not yet.
Here comes the clincher.
The oil.
The very reason why this dish is so tasty, stimulating, and appetizing all at the same time.
There's actually a layer of heated oil (3 tablespoons thereabouts) that goes on top of the soup, which then gets topped with more Sichuan peppercorns.
And this is what charmed me.
Seeing the glistening sheen under the lights I had thought the gravy would feel very oily.
To my surprise, it was not.
There was a bit, of course, but it didn't linger.
There was the spark, the stimulus, the numb, but even as I worked my way through the bowl, the oil seemed to disappear.
Maybe it sank into the soup itself.
Maybe it went into the heap of enoki mushrooms, and the other vegetables at the bottom of the serving bowl.
But it didn't linger on my lips.
It didn't make my stomach feel jialat either.
I loved the dish.
The beef was so tender.
The mushrooms and shoots and everything else inside were so soft.
And I found myself drizzling the soup nonstop over my portion of rice.
This is one dish I know I'm going to order again when I come back here next time.
Then there was the La Zi Ji, or the Sichuan Mala Chicken.
Now, I know I've said I am not a huge, die-hard fan of this dish- no fault of the peppercorns- I just not a strong chili eater.
But this one spoke to me.
I don't know if it were that the chicken pieces were huge or that they had mixed it in such a way that I found it easy to pick out the chunks.
It might have been that they'd modulated the level of spice to local palates and so I didn't have to struggle managing the numb.
Sure, I got the sharp, stimulating burst, but somehow- with some help from homemade iced lemongrass tea- it gradually began to disappear.
Will I say I enjoyed this dish as much as I did the Shui Zhu Niu?
Not quite.
Frankly I liked the first one better.
But I can, and will say, that out of all the La Zi Ji that I've eaten thus far (which isn't many), this place has the dish that I will return for.
If all this isn't already good enough, mainland Chinese restaurants have now begun to spring little surprises upon you.
At another place they might give you little bags of snacks and unlimited ice creams.
Here, at Old Chengdu, there're no little snacks, but they've got an ice cream soft serve machine, and upon payment, or just before leaving, you can finish off your dessert with a very big ice cream cone.