BY RACHEL SUGAR

In print | Published November 3, 2005

I had never eaten Burmese food before, but if it’s all like what’s served at Philadelphia’s Rangoon Burmese Restaurant, then I’m moving. Burma, nestled between India, China and Thailand, seems to have the best of all possible worlds, culinarily if not governmentally. The menu is laden with curries and coconut milk, tomatoes and mango sauces, and Rangoon’s renditions might be unbeatable. (I wouldn’t know, of course, since Rangoon proudly proclaims itself “the only and the best Burmese Restaurant in Philly’s Chinatown,” and a quick Google search verifies that indeed Rangoon may be the only Burmese restaurant in all of Philadelphia).

Rangoon’s Web site boasts “a wonderful dinner and unforgettable experience,” and while the un-food-related experience was forgettable at best, every dish set before us seemed to top the last — wonderful is a vast understatement of the quality.

From the outside, Rangoon looks kitschy, with green wood paneling and tall yellow letters. The playful outside in no way prepared me for the sterile inside, however, which has both the precision and the charm of a hospital. Booths and tables, all upholstered in a sickly rose, are neatly set; requisite “Asian artifacts” line the walls, seeming more to fulfill expectation than to offer personality.

In keeping with the barren precision, our orders were taken quickly and nearly wordlessly, but when the food started to arrive, the miracles began. We began with the Shrimp Lemongrass Soup for two ($6.50), which promised “shrimp, mushrooms and lemongrass in a hot and sour chicken broth.” I’d expected the same clear, spicy soup with stuff in it that seems to come off a conveyor belt and get distributed to lower-end Thai and Chinese restaurants. Instead, I was presented with a tomato-laced broth, laden with tomato chunks, lemongrass stalks, meaty shrimp and mushroom slices, the mild flavors serving as a welcome contrast to the “hot and sour” base. We drained the bowl, lapping up even the shrimp-less dregs of the broth, addicted to the insidious mix of unfamiliar flavors — the result, presumably, of the tomato/lemongrass combination.

For the main course, we ordered the Rangoon House Noodle, described as “flat rice noodles served with diced chicken, onions, tomatoes with a red bean sauce” ($7.50) along with the Mango Tofu, “tofu with onions, bell peppers, and fresh mangos in a spicy mango sauce” ($8.95). The noodles were delicious, substantial without being greasy. Though the sauce was strong and somewhat thick, it accentuated, rather than muted, the natural flavors of the chicken and vegetables. With every bite, I tried to dissect the flavor, and with every bite, I couldn’t do it: Rangoon’s dishes are seamlessly constructed and perfectly proportioned (save salt, of which the noodles had a bit much).

The Mango Tofu, with steamed white rice, was cubes of lightly sautéed tofu, substantial slices of mango and sticks of sweet red pepper in a sticky red sauce. At a less committed restaurant, the dish would simply be sweet and sour tofu with extraneous mango accents. Rangoon’s sauce does have similarities with run-of-the-mill sweet and sour sauces, but Rangoon’s version transcends expectation. It is sweet without being saccharine, has punch without drowning out the complexity of its flavors in sea of crushed red pepper. The tofu has bite, the mango is ripe, the peppers are sweet and the sauce is a balancing act worthy of Carnegie Hall: Rangoon’s Mango Tofu is perfection of a plate.

And then it was time for dessert. While the portions aren’t heaping, and you certainly can’t count on them to feed a small village (as you can at some of Chinatown’s hotspots) they are substantial, and by the time we got to dessert, I wasn’t sure I could be enthused about more food. And then the Thousand Layer Bread with Coconut Syrup ($2.95) arrived. It stole my heart. The bread, which appears in several places on the main menu, is comparable to Indian naan, only thinner and greasier. Topped with coconut syrup, sweet and milky, it was like a dessert crepe only better — chewy and flaky, sweet but not cloying: Save room.

Rangoon may not be the warmest joint in town. The wait staff is helpful enough, but no one went out of their way — we poured our own water and served our own soup, and the atmosphere was nothing to write home about. But any lapses are easily forgiven when the food appears, each dish more delicious than the last, and if the evening had a tragedy, it’s that I didn’t have more leftovers to bring a taste of Rangoon Burmese Restaurant back to Swarthmore.

WHERE TO FIND IT
Rangoon Burmese Restaurant
112 North 9th St., Philadelphia
Take SEPTA to Market East

« RETURN TO LIVING & ARTS

« PREV ARTICLE | NEXT ARTICLE »