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Monland Hot Pot City

251 W. Bencamp Street
San Gabriel, CA 91776
(626) 289-4889
Roughly $20 per person to gorge yourself

It’s all about the condiments. A trio of fish paste, peanut sauce, and red berry glaze stand guard at each table, the only things other than porcelain and bamboo that hold prominence. The boisterous sounds of Mandarin, Cantonese, and even, occasionally, English permeate the room while a witches’ brew of stock and spices starts to simmer away.

Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and cauldron bubble

Half of the ingredients are hardly recognizable by western standards: small, tan Kubocha squash-looking peppercorns, shriveled peanut-like objects (dried jujube), and something that looks like a twig? Surely, some things are best left a mystery. A red broth gurgles to the right, bespeckled with Szechuan peppers and hot chili oil, its caustic aroma attacking anyone unlucky enough to sit downwind — unlucky, that is, unless you like that sort of thing (I know I do). But a yang without a yin to keep it company would be oh so lonely…so a traditional white broth is included on the left, reserved, perhaps, for timid first-timers and the burn-averse.

Hopefully, none of this sends you running for the hills, oh thou intrepid diners, because it’s really very simple:

Cook things in boiling water. Eat them. Try not to burn your mouth.

Usually, only two of the three goals are met, which is why hot pot is a communal activity; it is only fair that others share your scalded misery. Everyone, in turn, feels a bit better about themselves. You certainly can’t say the same about chicken soup in the wintertime.

In my family, I suppose it was my mother’s way of introducing my brother and me to the joys of cooking. Fresh Napa cabbage, meats, tofu, mushrooms and a host of other fresh ingredients are dumped in to cook and commingle, not just absorbing some of the soup’s flavor, but also giving some back. What might start as a neutral medium boils down and is concentrated as the night progresses, finally leaving a potent elixir to be mixed with vermicelli and slurped ceremoniously in recognition of the evening’s efforts.

Then ,for a moment, your face turns flush, you let your guard down, and you forget your troubles — not because you feel good, but because you’ve just inhaled a whole red pepper and the only thing on your mind is mortified panic. Your lungs burn only in that place you can’t ignore as reflex usurps good judgment. All is well, though, because as you cough yourself to tears, the laughs and smiles all around remind you that things are going to be just fine.

sneakypeteiii is a doctoral student in Chemistry at Caltech. He has been eating since he was a child, and reckons himself quite good at it. (see more of his posts).