Then came duck soup with baby turnips and beads of chili oil that distilled the intensity of a dozen slow-steeped birds. Chilled translucent noodles made from jellied bean flour segued into another Sichuan pasta classic, a warm nest of dan dan noodles twirled into crumbled pork and a heat-balm of chili oil and sesame paste. For some, it wasn't enough.
"Hey, I'm not sweating at all!" my Singaporean tablemate boldly pronounced. And he was right. Han was holding back - but not for long.
Flash-fried cubes of juicy chicken came tossed with a three kinds of peppers, each adding a different briquette to the flame. Pickled chiles, tea leaves, and ginger lent the curiosity of pork kidneys an unexpectedly irresistible savor. Tender pork belly ribbons tangled with fermented black beans and stir-fried leeks for another moment of vegetal sweetness, then - Boom! The beef in dry pot landed like a peppercorn grenade, each chew of tender meat and snappy bamboo shoot releasing a sinus-clearing burst of spice. A trickle of sweat rolled down past my ear. Somewhere in the room, a baby started crying.
And then came flounder in hot sauce, ratcheting up with peppercorn oil and chile flakes to yet another level of painful pleasure. And yet amazingly, despite the intensity of the sauce that smothered them, the sweet delicacy of those fillets was heightened.
Our mouth-numbing apex reached, our bellies well past full, the table erupted in a collective cheer of relief as Han appeared with the intended final dish: honey-walnut shrimp, a treat of crisply fried crustaceans glazed in a lemony sparkling wine-mayo so delicately sweet, it was the equivalent of candy.
Shrimp for dessert? An exotic feast for the ages in an Old City basement? The element of surprise may be Han Dynasty's most thrilling spice of all.
Next Sunday, Craig LaBan reviews Avenida in Mount Airy. Contact him at 215-854-2682 or claban@phillynews.com.
