What I did not find was the little Chinese place that I ate lunch at off-and-on for 18 years. It was not elegant and, if it had a name at all, did not have one that was particularly interesting or relevant. You ordered your food at a counter and then either picked it up or had it brought to your formica table. The bathroom was always kind of grungy, and you often had to compete with the kitchen crew to even get into it. The waitstaff was perpetually exhausted and always bordering on surly.
After a point, however, the waitstaff, particularly the woman the front counter, recognized me every time I came in — even if it hadn't been for a long time — and even made a point of chatting with me. They even started automatically giving me chopsticks and stopped giving me grief over asking for extra napkins. And, perhaps more relevant than any of that, they served one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten: Kung Pao Lamb. I have never found this delicacy anywhere else and, for the last several years I ate at the place, never ordered anything else, because I knew I would just be disappointed. Even their Mongolian Lamb could not compare to the mass of greasy lamb slices, broccoli, and bamboo shoots in Kung Pao sauce, which I would further enhance with chili-infused oil from a little container on the table. Hot tea and cold water were available in two huge urns and you could have as much of either as you wanted for the price of getting up and serving yourself.
The clientele was special, too, and I was cognizant of being one among a number of distinct regulars. One of my favorites was a guy who looked exactly like Dick Cheney, except that he had a long ponytail and was typically attired in a tropical shirt and straw hat; it could actually have been Dick Cheney in a rudimentary costume, and I always liked to imagine it was his non-evil twin. The other co-diner I remember was a horrible looking little Asian guy, about four feet tall and with a face like a toad; I think he even might have had one leg shorter than the other. But he was always surrounded by three or four hot Asian chicks and smiling from ear-to-ear (as befits a hideous guy lucky enough to be accompanied by a bevy of hotties). I always imagined he was their pimp and a colorful player in the seedy Franconia underworld but actually think that they worked at the post office down the street.
Sadly, I found none of that today. But, you can't eat nostalgia, and if you find yourself between the Springfield Mall and Kingstowne Plaza you probably won't do better than Kumo. But you won't find Kung Pao Lamb there.
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