San Antonio’s Mian Noodles puts 2000 years of Chinese culinary history on fine display

Suggestion No. 1: Don’t wear your best silk shirt or blouse to Mian Noodles and Dumplings.

Suggestion No. 2: Order the Shanxi Stewed Lamb Noodles regardless.

Suggestion No. 3: Know that the restaurant is BYOB, or bring your own bib.

But for a couple of knee-jerk red paper lanterns, the strip center space that houses Mian Noodles and Dumplings is thoughtfully and almost minimally done.

The restaurant’s cuisine is equally focused, but far from simple.

There’s a window into the kitchen at Mian that suggests the possible witnessing of acrobatic slinging and stretching of noodles, but on my two visits I was only able to observe the methodical and meticulous stuffing of dumplings.

China’s Shanxi province, the namesake origin of a stewed lamb dish on Main’s menu, is in any case famous for its wheat flour noodles, boasting a history of more than 2,000 years and recognition by no less than Marco Polo. According to the all-knowing internet, the defining characteristic of the foods of the Sichuan-adjacent northern province is “fragrant spicy.”

Which brings us back to the lamb noodles. As the bowl of soup approached my table, it was first announced by an enigmatic aroma that suggested curry. The taste was more subtle, though — a cabinet of warming spices in which no one stood out. Cilantro, scallion and baby bok choy bobbed about on the surface, while silken and supple noodles lurked beneath.

Chopsticks are essential here, and those of us whose slurping skills could use some fine tuning will benefit from bringing the bowl as close to the mouth as possible. (Don’t worry, nobody’s watching.) Cubes of lamb act more as flavor enhancers than the main focus, which is the noodles, after all. Since the cubes have a tendency to drift to the bottom of the bowl, they also become a kind of sunken treasure.

After you finish, check your shirt for spots and stains — not that you can do anything about it at this point.

A certain degree of slurp-centric caution is also required with other noodles dishes. The Original Lanzhou Noodle are the godfather of them all, having originated in the Northern Chinese city of the same name along the fabled Silk Road. (Marco Polo, again.)

Some Chinese restaurants offer as many as eight varieties of hand-pulled noodles. Fortunately, Mian only has three — thin, thick, and wide — making the choice much easier. Wide got the nod for this bowl of clear broth topped with thinly sliced beef and scallions. The fragrance offered hints of subtle spices such as star anise. The noodles themselves were both slippery and pleasantly chewy. While we missed the advertised radish, the subtle broth was a delight in its own right.

Sesame Paste Cold Noodles do not come with a broth, lessening the splash factor, though you do have to use your chopsticks to vigorously toss the whole dish together to evenly distribute the paste. Sliced carrot and cucumber and shredded chicken offered appealing textural contrasts between the springy noodles — we chose thin for this one. A splash of the deep, dark and salty vinegar provided in a small pot is suggested for added flavor. Chili oil too.

That same vinegar is especially good with some of the smaller plates: Scallion Pancake, Sesame Pancake with Beef, Pork and Scallion Dumplings and even the Spicy Bean Curd Salad.

The scallion pancake with unnamed spices was good if you like a chewy version. Though the taste was fine, I personally prefer mine a little flakier.

The thick, seed-coated Sesame Pancake with Beef and “house special sauce” was a delight with its layered pastry and shredded carrot and cucumber. The beef was frankly the least of it, but a little of that vinegar perked it right up. Same goes for the Pork and Scallion Dumplings. They’re available either boiled or pan-fried — in which case, they have melded together with a lacy crust and are fine sans sauce. Try them first without.

The Spicy Bean Curd Salad deserves special attention due to the unique form of the curd; it’s not your usual block of tofu. Unfamiliar to me, the type used in this dish is a kind of tofu skin that forms at the top of simmering soymilk. It’s called yuba in Japanese and is layered, ribbony and springy in texture. Sliced carrot and celery provide crunch, and the minimal dressing has a kind of sneaky heat. Again, black vinegar and chili oil are your friends.

Mian may become one too.

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This article appears in Oct 30 – Nov 5, 2024.