The Yuan and the Restless

So there are some service kinks to work out, but the place is so likeable that I didn't give a damn. Chao's menu listed four versions of the restaurant's namesake fish, and Marilyn wanted the whole red snapper, steamed Hong Kong-style, with lots of ginger and scallions. "I hope they take the head off," she announced before the dish arrived. But the fish head is a delicacy at most Chinese restaurants here, so naturally it was part of the presentation. I covered the offending portion with a clump of cilantro so Marilyn could go to work on the flaky fish without cringing.

Chao also put a seafood spin on the ubiquitous General Tso's chicken, letting diners order the crispy, deep-fried and garlic-chili-glazed dish with shrimp. And we all shared a bowl of "shrimp ravioli" floating in a udon broth -- they weren't ravioli, of course, but rather the same shrimp-stuffed wontons from the other soup.

On a different night, dining with my friends Bob and Ron, I fell in love with a dish that the menu called a Mandarin Meatball. It turned out to be a dozen fried pork patties drenched in brown sauce and served with crunchy Napa cabbage, zucchini and bamboo shoots. I also took a liberal helping of Ron's fiery version of the red snapper, deep-fried with fresh basil, jalapeño peppers and garlic. I added fuel to the fire with a side order of kim chi, a hot-chili-laden Korean favorite made of pungent fermented cabbage that had me wiping the sweat off my brow by the end of the meal.

In an effort to cool down, I ordered green-tea ice cream as well as a confection imported from the Blue Bunny dairy, a frozen something called a "Friazos." The menu promised "ice cream layered with rich mousses, decadent sauces, and crunchy candy or cookie toppings," but what arrived was chocolate ice cream with a sprinkling of crushed chocolate cookies on top. Another import, a slab of wonton-wrapped cheesecake, was warm but incredibly boring. The best dessert is a banana wrapped in a wonton, dipped in tempura batter and fried, then drenched with honey. The banana turns into a steaming custard inside that crunchy pastry shell, and it's wonderful with a scoop of the jade-colored green-tea ice cream.

It's only fitting that, in Chao's stylish and daring restaurant, the best dessert is the one he prepares himself.