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URBANBELLY
GIMME SOME KIM(CHI) / March 2009
I have a confession to make. I’ve fallen in love with a strip mall restaurant.
That’s right, this fast food-snubbing, rating-worshipping, self-proclaimed culinary elitist has been swept away by a noodle and dumpling shop where the dishes top out at a measly 13 bucks and the closest attraction is the Laundromat next door. That an epicurean gem could be nestled beside a business that functions exclusively on quarters seems unlikely, sure. Thing is, once you taste the food, it also seems irrelevant.
urbanbelly is just. so. good.
And as the brainchild of Bill and Yvonne Kim, it’s really no wonder. Both of Trotter tutelage, the pair bring years of experience – including stints at Trio, New York’s Bouley, and most recently, Le Lan – to the communal table, coupling their fine dining sensibilities with Asian staples to the effect of unpretentious gastronomic success. In the few months it’s been open, urbanbelly has garnered a near cult-like following. And as my last visit indicated (p-p-p-packed on a frigid Wednesday), these aren’t fair-weather fans.
Perhaps it’s because the menu at the Avondale eatery reads like a triumvirate of pan-Asian deliciousness. The dumplings – like, say, the duck and brandy duo – are simple, yet refined. The fried rice – gimme the melt-in-your-mouth short rib selection any ol’ day – is innovative with respect for tradition. And the noodle soups – the rice cake with chicken, mango and Korean chili sauce is so totally my jam – are like steaming vessels of soul-satisfaction. Oh wait, and then there’s the seasonal Kimchi. Amazing.
Like, crave it for weeks on end (I have), want to sip it straight from the bowl (I do), finish the entire thing despite the fact that it’s the size of your head (every time) kind of amazing. I think I consumed my body weight in soba the last time I was there. Maybe the time before that, too. Um, worth it.
The space is warm, if minimalist, a single room lined by four Chinese Elmwood tables with an ordering counter at the back. And while the C-word has become borderline ubiquitous these days – everywhere from Duchamp to Sepia to the Publican offer the opportunity to dine and discuss with strangers – at urbanbelly communal chowing isn’t an option, but the standard. You sit where there’s an available stool, sip on your soup, and inevitably, start chatting.
Yvonne describes it as “very L.A.,” and it is. The room feels open and relaxed, and so, too, is the conversation; you’re as likely to witness a couple debating Steppenwolf’s greatest as you are an industry strategy sess over how to defeat the graham elliot staff in football (true story)…and I’d be lying if I told you I hadn’t disclosed some rather scandalous sexcapades at a full table. There’s just something about noodles and communal that seems to make people feel unfettered. (And, ok, taking advantage of the BYOB policy probably doesn’t hurt.)
But for me, the real magic happens in the kitchen window, where chef Bill Kim – donning a bandana and perennial air of amusement – parks himself each night. Ever the gracious host, he wears an expression that seems to say, “yeah, this is the house that I built.” And I’m sitting there, like, “I know, and it is the coolest.”
Recession-friendly, robust and rife with revelry, urbanbelly is, in a hyphenated-and-semi-fictitious word, Über-Bingeable. It’s also responsible for popping my strip mall-eatery dumpl-- I mean, cherry.
And I have another confession. It felt good.