Pick up a copy of the takeout menu for Jiang Nan Spring and it says at the top, in large red circles, “Michelin 2020” and “Michelin Bib Gourmand 2021.” You’ll find the same on both the front and the back of the business card.
Drive up to the restaurant, and there’s a banner in front declaring the blessings of the Michelin Guide. And chewing on an order of crunchy Shanghai fried shrimp, all that Micheliniana gave me reason to consider my attitude toward the Michelin concept. Which is far more sour than the broth in the hot & sour soup.
The Guide was born a century ago, when the Michelin tire company created a travel book for France, to encourage drivers to burn more rubber, journeying across the countryside. For many years, it dealt exclusively with France, becoming the sine qua non of Gallic guidebooks, with its restaurant ratings of one, two or three stars.
For decades, it was the bible for those who lived for meals of larks’ tongues in aspic, and baked ortolan. For those of us who eat moules, marinière and a roast chicken with pommes frites on our trips to Paris, it had little reality. It was written for those who ate with their pinkies in the air. It was snobbishness incarnate.
So much so that some years ago, after going international, the director of the Guide declared they would not be including Los Angeles, where he found the food to be less than “serious.” When he left, the new director reinstated LA, and sent his team of obsessively anonymous tasters out to find wonders — both starred, and more casual — under the Bib Gourmand heading.
And therein lies my problem. I like to know the taste of those writing about the food I’m planning to consume. In a book called “The Inspector Sits Down at the Table,” former Michelin taster Pascal Remy described his life as one of “lonely, underpaid drudgery … dining alone, under intense pressure to file detailed reports.”
He made it sound joyless in the extreme. The pleasure of dining was removed. The joy of a meal was neutered. Why I should have any faith in a Michelin review is a mystery.
I have no idea if the inspector who came to Jiang Nan Spring, a Bib Gourmand, has ever eaten Chinese food anywhere but Panda Express. I don’t know if they’ve enjoyed the dumplings at Mama Lu’s, or the spice at Sichuan Impression. I don’t know if they’ve got a thing about MSG.
What I do know is that what they wrote about the restaurant has largely removed any sense of their taste preferences: “Shanghai cuisine does not feature the bold, tongue-numbing sensations of Sichuan food or the rowdy energy of a dim sum house filled with roaming carts. It is its own style and celebrated, happily so, at Jiang Nan Spring.”
Furthermore, “The menu is maddeningly long, but gracious servers are more than eager to point out regional highlights. Their guidance should take you down a road of sweet vinegars and fresh seafood, most apparent in plates like tender chicken with sweet wine sauce as well as an irresistible platter of tilapia fried in a tempura-like batter flavored with seaweed. The oddly named ‘smoked and fresh pork warm soup,’ bobbing with knots of bean curd, is a sleeper favorite. With hardwood floors and high ceilings, the airy space befits this elegant cuisine.”
I should mention that the world of rolling dim sum carts is slowly vanishing. That the menu, with some 125 dishes, is no longer than any number of Chinese restaurants in the SG Valley — and shorter than some. That the setting is not especially elegant, compared to newcomers like Array 36 and Mountain House.
And, while the food is certainly good, I wouldn’t call it “elegant.” “Elegant” is the table-side Peking duck presentation at Array 36. That’s an Instagram classic.
For me, Jiang Nan Spring is a satisfying Shanghai dining experience. A place I go to for the lunch specials menu, with dozens of dishes priced at $11.95, $12.95 and $13.95. (“Includes steamed rice,” says the menu.)
I’m cheered by all the chow mein and fried rice dishes — which are as nostalgic as they are good. Ditto the hot & sour soup … and the wor wonton. The Shanghai baby ribs are a chewy pleasure. The lamb with hot peppers approaches ma-la spice levels. The walnut shrimp with mayonnaise makes me wonder, as always, how mayo found its way into Chinese cooking.
That said, the staff on this particular visit seemed too rushed to offer much guidance. The room was notable for its many modern chandeliers, and for its gleaming white tablecloths. If anything, I’d say this is a better than average neighborhood restaurant. But otherwise, I think the inspector needs to get around more. There are so many wonders in Alhambra. Jiang Nan Spring is good. But with all those Michelin banners, I’m looking for something great.
Merrill Shindler is a Los Angeles-based freelance dining critic. Email mreats@aol.com.
Jiang Nan Spring
- Rating: 2.5 stars
- Address: 910 E. Main St., Alhambra
- Information: 626-766-1688; www.jiangnanspring910.com
- Cuisine: Shanghai Chinese
- When: Lunch and dinner, every day
- Details: Beer and wine; reservations important
- Prices: About $30 per person
- On the menu: 11 Cold Dishes ($5.95-$17.95), 16 Soups ($12.95-$23.95), 9 Poultry Dishes ($17.95-$20.95), 4 Spicy Boiled Dishes ($18.95-$20.95), 4 Spicy Dry Pot Dishes ($19.95-$20.95), 13 Pork Dishes ($17.95-$26.95), 5 Beef & Lamb Dishes ($18.95-$26.95), 26 Seafood Dishes ($18.95-$20.95), 6 Dumplings ($4.95-$15.95), 12 Vegetable Dishes ($13.95-$18.95), 7 Tofu Dishes ($12.95-$18.95), 22 Rice & Noodles ($1.50-$15.95)
- Credit cards: MC, V
- What the stars mean: 4 (World class! Worth a trip from anywhere!), 3 (Most excellent, even exceptional. Worth a trip from anywhere in Southern California.), 2 (A good place to go for a meal. Worth a trip from anywhere in the neighborhood.) 1 (If you’re hungry, and it’s nearby, but don’t get stuck in traffic going.) 0 (Honestly, not worth writing about.)
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