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"You had (Auguste) Escoffier, who promoted French cooking in Europe and America. We lack a figurehead from China. We really don't have someone to promote (classic) Chinese cuisine. Ken Hom is great at Chinese-Asian fusion with European cuisine. Martin Yan is a good figurehead of Chinese home cooking. But they're not the classic figurehead like Escoffier was with French cuisine in the early 1900s. We need one from China. We definitely will get that one person."
Upscale offshoot
In 1989, the man born Hu Xiao Jun graduated from the Sichuan Culinary Institute in Chengdu. He became head chef at a hotel restaurant, taught cooking classes at a local school, traded stocks on the side, got married and had a daughter. Life was steady and comfortable.
But America was a mountain to conquer. He would study the ways of the American ideal and after a year bring it back to China. One year became two, then three. It took four years for Hu to receive his green card. By then, he and his wife grew apart.
"I regret coming to America. It's my true thought," Hu said. "I love America a lot. But I had a very good family in China. I came to America, and our family separated. They say I'm successful in business, but I feel that I'm a failure. I lost my family. We had a very traditional family in China. I feel very guilty."
Around 1997, a restaurant owner friend named Tony Chan told Hu he should take his hurt and focus on his legacy instead. Chan told him America had the best schools. Bring his daughter here. It doesn't matter about the number in your bank account, Chan told him. If the people you care about are happy and healthy, that's all you need.
Hu Xiao Jun, so inspired by his mentor, took on Chan's name in tribute and became known as Tony Hu. His 20-year-old daughter is now a student at the University of Chicago.
"That's my proudest achievement."
But still: "I want to find a woman, fall in love and name a restaurant after her. I'm a total romantic."
What Hu can't make up for his immediate family, he directs his efforts at building his Chinatown family. Walking past his restaurant windows, you realize Hu has never met a camera he didn't like. But those posed photographs with Yao Ming and Bill Clinton and press clippings are as much about community validation as self-aggrandizement, that Chinatown is no longer an insular ethnic ghetto. It's open for business.
Eighty percent of his day is spent networking, hobnobbing with civic groups and business leaders. Ask about all the boards and committees he serves on and Hu will email you his resume: president of the Chinese-American Association of Greater Chicago, Chinatown Special Events Committee, board of trustees at Roosevelt University, so on, so forth. Last year, Hu was appointed to the city's Commission on Chicago Landmarks.
By surrounding himself with influencers who will bend an ear, whenever Chicago and China appear together in a sentence now, there's a good chance Tony Hu's name is involved. He accompanied Mayor Richard Daley during his 2011 trip to China and helped organize Chinese President Hu Jintao's visit to Chicago the same year.
"Tony Hu has earned the nickname 'Mayor of Chinatown' for a reason," said Mayor Rahm Emanuel. "He has blended his passion for great dining with a steadfast commitment to his community. Of all his accomplishments in the kitchen, that is the unique recipe that has made Tony a valued leader in our city."
Hu and I sat at his original Lao Sze Chuan. A fire in 2010 closed the restaurant for five weeks; the remodeled space features giant pictures of pandas staring down at customers. The staff brought out a new dish he called Boiled Seafood Combination Sichuan Style. It's got pieces of fish, baby octopus and scallops submerged in a deep bowl of chili oil. Hu wiped his forehead with napkins repeatedly.
I told him if there's one complaint to lodge about Hu's restaurants, it's consistency of service. I've dined at every one of his places, sometimes two in a night. The wait staff can be overly attentive at one and ignore you completely at the other. Dishes come out hot and fast in the order they're cooked, which can lead to illogical sequencing: Side dishes appear before entrees, say. Menu descriptions are also vague, and the language barrier (almost all servers are Chinese immigrants) means some are more apt at articulating the dishes' contents than others. Hu agrees with the assessment but says there's a different expectation in Chinatown.
"People here come to Chinatown and pay attention to the food," he said. "In River North, we'll have to pay attention to the food and service."
River North refers to Lao 18, the upscale offshoot Hu plans to open at 18 W. Hubbard St. in December. Adapting to service standards of Western restaurants will be a challenge. It's one reason why Hu has placed his hopes in his 24-year-old nephew, Ryan Hu, to carry on the family name.
Ryan Hu began as a busboy in 2005 while still in high school. He recently graduated from the University of Illinois at Chicago and now manages and co-owns Lao Mala, Hunan and Yunnan. Ryan Hu's a natural English speaker, a finance major, and might be the bridge his uncle needs to break out from their niche ethnic restaurant image.
"When I started at Lao Sze Chuan, we were criticized, even from the Chinese community. Our servers didn't have passion. They said hello, they take your order, and they go. Now, it's not perfect, but compared to before, our service has changed a lot," said Ryan Hu. "You walk into a French restaurant, and the whole process compared to a Chinese restaurant is a huge difference. We want to enrich that side and learn their way of the serving process. To interact with customers, let them know what the food is, where it comes from."
Tomorrow, the world
Behind our table at Lao Sze Chuan sat a non-Chinese customer, a white gentleman who lunched by himself, reading the newspaper. He told Tony Hu he's been coming here twice a week for as long as he could remember. He has tried every dish on the several-hundred-plus menu and puts his faith in ordering a dish he has never tried.
After the customer paid, Hu sounded like a proud teacher whose students aced the test.
"I want to make people realize real Chinese cuisine is so wonderful," Hu said, drawing out the word "real." "When this customer you just met said he tries everything, I was very happy and very proud. This kind of moment, I call a million-dollar moment. I think Chinese cuisine is like Sleeping Beauty; it's starting to wake up. In the future, we'll conquer the whole world. That's my dream."
kpang@tribune.com
Twitter @kevinthepang
Upscale offshoot
In 1989, the man born Hu Xiao Jun graduated from the Sichuan Culinary Institute in Chengdu. He became head chef at a hotel restaurant, taught cooking classes at a local school, traded stocks on the side, got married and had a daughter. Life was steady and comfortable.
But America was a mountain to conquer. He would study the ways of the American ideal and after a year bring it back to China. One year became two, then three. It took four years for Hu to receive his green card. By then, he and his wife grew apart.
"I regret coming to America. It's my true thought," Hu said. "I love America a lot. But I had a very good family in China. I came to America, and our family separated. They say I'm successful in business, but I feel that I'm a failure. I lost my family. We had a very traditional family in China. I feel very guilty."
Around 1997, a restaurant owner friend named Tony Chan told Hu he should take his hurt and focus on his legacy instead. Chan told him America had the best schools. Bring his daughter here. It doesn't matter about the number in your bank account, Chan told him. If the people you care about are happy and healthy, that's all you need.
Hu Xiao Jun, so inspired by his mentor, took on Chan's name in tribute and became known as Tony Hu. His 20-year-old daughter is now a student at the University of Chicago.
"That's my proudest achievement."
But still: "I want to find a woman, fall in love and name a restaurant after her. I'm a total romantic."
What Hu can't make up for his immediate family, he directs his efforts at building his Chinatown family. Walking past his restaurant windows, you realize Hu has never met a camera he didn't like. But those posed photographs with Yao Ming and Bill Clinton and press clippings are as much about community validation as self-aggrandizement, that Chinatown is no longer an insular ethnic ghetto. It's open for business.
Eighty percent of his day is spent networking, hobnobbing with civic groups and business leaders. Ask about all the boards and committees he serves on and Hu will email you his resume: president of the Chinese-American Association of Greater Chicago, Chinatown Special Events Committee, board of trustees at Roosevelt University, so on, so forth. Last year, Hu was appointed to the city's Commission on Chicago Landmarks.
By surrounding himself with influencers who will bend an ear, whenever Chicago and China appear together in a sentence now, there's a good chance Tony Hu's name is involved. He accompanied Mayor Richard Daley during his 2011 trip to China and helped organize Chinese President Hu Jintao's visit to Chicago the same year.
"Tony Hu has earned the nickname 'Mayor of Chinatown' for a reason," said Mayor Rahm Emanuel. "He has blended his passion for great dining with a steadfast commitment to his community. Of all his accomplishments in the kitchen, that is the unique recipe that has made Tony a valued leader in our city."
Hu and I sat at his original Lao Sze Chuan. A fire in 2010 closed the restaurant for five weeks; the remodeled space features giant pictures of pandas staring down at customers. The staff brought out a new dish he called Boiled Seafood Combination Sichuan Style. It's got pieces of fish, baby octopus and scallops submerged in a deep bowl of chili oil. Hu wiped his forehead with napkins repeatedly.
I told him if there's one complaint to lodge about Hu's restaurants, it's consistency of service. I've dined at every one of his places, sometimes two in a night. The wait staff can be overly attentive at one and ignore you completely at the other. Dishes come out hot and fast in the order they're cooked, which can lead to illogical sequencing: Side dishes appear before entrees, say. Menu descriptions are also vague, and the language barrier (almost all servers are Chinese immigrants) means some are more apt at articulating the dishes' contents than others. Hu agrees with the assessment but says there's a different expectation in Chinatown.
"People here come to Chinatown and pay attention to the food," he said. "In River North, we'll have to pay attention to the food and service."
River North refers to Lao 18, the upscale offshoot Hu plans to open at 18 W. Hubbard St. in December. Adapting to service standards of Western restaurants will be a challenge. It's one reason why Hu has placed his hopes in his 24-year-old nephew, Ryan Hu, to carry on the family name.
Ryan Hu began as a busboy in 2005 while still in high school. He recently graduated from the University of Illinois at Chicago and now manages and co-owns Lao Mala, Hunan and Yunnan. Ryan Hu's a natural English speaker, a finance major, and might be the bridge his uncle needs to break out from their niche ethnic restaurant image.
"When I started at Lao Sze Chuan, we were criticized, even from the Chinese community. Our servers didn't have passion. They said hello, they take your order, and they go. Now, it's not perfect, but compared to before, our service has changed a lot," said Ryan Hu. "You walk into a French restaurant, and the whole process compared to a Chinese restaurant is a huge difference. We want to enrich that side and learn their way of the serving process. To interact with customers, let them know what the food is, where it comes from."
Tomorrow, the world
Behind our table at Lao Sze Chuan sat a non-Chinese customer, a white gentleman who lunched by himself, reading the newspaper. He told Tony Hu he's been coming here twice a week for as long as he could remember. He has tried every dish on the several-hundred-plus menu and puts his faith in ordering a dish he has never tried.
After the customer paid, Hu sounded like a proud teacher whose students aced the test.
"I want to make people realize real Chinese cuisine is so wonderful," Hu said, drawing out the word "real." "When this customer you just met said he tries everything, I was very happy and very proud. This kind of moment, I call a million-dollar moment. I think Chinese cuisine is like Sleeping Beauty; it's starting to wake up. In the future, we'll conquer the whole world. That's my dream."
kpang@tribune.com
Twitter @kevinthepang
