Chinese food in Tucson (Or the lack thereof)

This was going to be a review of a local Chinese place. A bad review. A head-scratching review. But a review like that just wouldn't be fair. Why?

Because anything bad I say about this particular restaurant is the same thing I can say about every Chinese restaurant in Tucson. That is, it's not good. Not close to good. So why single this one out for the faults of the entire lot?

It's not like Tucson doesn't have a large and vibrant Chinese community. It does. And it's not like Tucson doesn't do Asian cuisine well. It does. I can point you to many fine Vietnamese, Korean, Japanese and Thai restaurants. But embarrassingly, whenever someone asks for good Chinese food, I usually aim them toward Pei Wei. And that's just sad.

Here's what I would like. One restaurant that would abide by the following:

1. No more golf ball sized hunks of meat shellacked with chewy, tasteless batter.

2. No more sauce with a corn syrup base. Please.

2. a. No more of that bright red sauce. Whatever that is. It's unnatural.

3. No more restaurants that attempt to recreate the food of the entire Chinese nation. Come on guys! Would someone eat at a Tex-Mex, American Italian, cheesesteak shop? Well, probably, but I don't want to. And I'm tired of walking into a supposedly Szechuan place and finding a page of Chow Mein on the menu. Which, by the way, is about as Chinese as macaroni and cheese is Italian.

4. No more buffets.

5. No more cold crab puffs. I know these aren't authentic. But when they're made with actual crab and they're actually hot, they're really good. Cold, they're a major disappointment.

6. No more buffets.

7. If it ain't really hot, don't label it as hot. I live in the Southwest. I'm used to chilies. If I order it hot, I expect it to clear my sinuses.

8. Actually cook regional, authentic Chinese food using fresh ingredients. This isn't 1955. American palates have grown beyond meatloaf and lo mein. We're ready for the real stuff. How do I know? I grew up in Philadelphia. I have some experience with Chinese food. I don't know if what I had is "real" Chinese food anymore than I don't know if a chicken burrito is "real" Mexican food. But I know when a restaurant is condescending to me, saying, "You couldn't handle the real stuff, so here's some crap we doused in sticky orange sauce." Don't do that. I'm ready. I promise.

Here's a great example of number 8. The wife and I stopped at a local joint for some dinner a few weeks ago. Shining in the center of all the soggy onions, tasteless shrimp and gallons of duck sauce was a pile of bright slaw; two or three shades of cabbage, some ground peanuts and a light garlicky, peppery dressing. The highpoint of the meal. And come to find out after talking to the owner, the only freshly prepared, authentic recipe on the table. He looked completely baffled that I liked it.

Looking around that place I saw a few, obvious regulars, grimly holding on to something that probably never was. I saw the owner's wife who looked like she might burst into tears at any moment. And I saw an owner who just couldn't figure out where the customers went.

They're down the street, seated on the floor, eating bool gogi. They're around the corner, squirting Sriracha into a hot bowl of pho. They're across town, quietly munching seared tofu off a plate of pad thai.

They're not going back to eating a plate of chicken as sweet as any breakfast cereal. And if you don't take the hint, they ain't coming back to your restaurant. Not ever.

I know I'm not.