about town

Restaurant Review: Tu Lan

There are many "new" things that come with a change in employment (bedtime, transit route, topical rashes, rationalizations for weeknight drunkenness) but none with as much the delighted anticipation of a virgin slate of neighborhood restaurants to be ferreted out and devoured. Finding myself these days at Civic Center at lunch, it's been a regular noontime Tenderloin Wonderland for me, flush with every bit the splendor that image suggests. Within a given radius from UN Plaza, though, there are a number of interesting eating options; thriving tacquerias north of Market in that tenderest part of the loin, diners and tourist hofbraus toward Union Square, and the occasional upscale haut-fusion joint with $9 lunch specials. There is also an abundance of intriguing hole-in-the-wall "spoons", and when exploring this niche it will not take you long to discover the off-Market vietnamese Tu Lan, such does its reputation precede it.

Julia Child ate there, as documented by Herb Caen, a fact made virtually inescapable by their online presence and by the reprint of his Chronicle column on the cover of their menu. A bit of eye-rolling advert, maybe, but effective; Julia's imprimatur was reason enough for me to seek them out.

Don't go to Tu Lan expecting comfort or ceremony, it embraces every imaginable stereotype. The space is beyond small, and "lunch counter" rather than "restaurant" is not an unfair description. Immediately behind the counter, balding, middle-aged Asian men cook dramatic stir-frys, flames shooting up along the back wall, as sweat visibly drips down their cheeks to the wet towels wrapped around their necks. The rice noodles come in dried cubes and are stacked along the wall like bails of hay, with the same golden brown color. The rhythm of the place caters to regulars, tersely tolerating the unfamiliar without seeming unfriendly. Brisk waiters seat you abruptly, without fanfare, at a table of strangers if that's where the open seat is. Before the tendons in your legs lowering your body into your seat have relaxed, the waiters are upon you for your order, a palpable pressure hanging while you look over the menu.

Then the food arrives, suddenly and unexpectedly soon. My first choice was Julia's, the Lemon Beef Salad ($4.95). Sliced cabbage and carrots mix with ginger, lemon zest, and wok-fried beef strips, capped with a pile of chopped peanuts and a cilantro garnish for a light, consistent, and flavorful combination. With water to drink, the bill totaled $5.37.

Today, my second visit, inspired to directly test exactly how great my culinary discovery, I decided to challenge the menu. I'm quite particular about restaurant chicken, intolerant of (and vaguely revolted by) any noticeable tendon or sinew, usually choosing to steer-clear of it altogether in Asian spoons. So today it was to be the Ginger Chicken ($5.95). Served in a dark brown sauce, the chicken slices met expectations. The ginger's presence was formidable, with stalk strips as well as root chunks, paired well with chopped white and green onion.

It's difficult to gauge which is more arresting about Tu Lan's entrees, the level of quality or the heroic portions. Heaping, in towering piles, and served with a bowl of rice approaching meal-sized in its own right, it's really two meals for the price of one; one does well to finish half and take the rest to-go.

I specifically take late lunches on my Tu Lan days, but the discouraging lines spilling out onto 6th Street move quickly, and are worth it at any rate. The food's cheaper than it should be, the ingredients are fresh and lively, and so is the mixed crowd of viet ipod kids, Nordstrom-chic shoppers too hip for Panda Express, and scraggly street people all packed in for some of the best dollar-for-dollar vietnamese food in the city.


Tu Lan
8 6th Street @ Market
11am - 9:30pm
monday to saturday