In the long gone remnants of what I believe was once a moderately successful pizza franchise, Fung’s Kitchen, 3321 N. Classen, reigns supreme among the numerous Asian restaurants that run along the boulevard, continually offering the very best in Chinese eats from light weekday lunches to heavy Sunday Dim Sums; all that’s well and good, but what I believe truly gives Fung’s their dynasty status is a continued commitment to all things duck.
Last week, as the winds of winter began to pass through Oklahoma City, my body began to reject itself, a slight sickness coming momentarily over me. Medicinally craving the greasy skin and fatty meat of the winged waterfowl, I knew right then that the only remedy was a caustically large bowl of Roast Duck and Wonton Noodle Soup ($8.95), straight from Fung’s.
As I sat in their personable dining room, waiting for my ordered soup and gently sipping my tongue-scalding tea, I peered over at the many ducks hanging by their scrawny necks from behind the large glass window, silently lusting–gastrically, of course–after each and every one, manhandling in my mind their taut reddened bodies and breathing in their roasted perfume…
I was peacefully stirred from my quackful daydream by the waiter setting a large bowl down in front of me, the scent rising into my nose as the heavy steam performed a passionate dance of winged desire dedicated to this culinary romance; as I stirred the spoon around in the thin liquid, large chunks of duck, as well as fat wontons, thin noodles, green onions and whole leeks swam about, all vying for my edible attention.
With a broth that I could have ingested by itself, I hungrily gulped the bits of onions and noodles, the leeks far too big to fit on my soup-spoon; I used my fingers to bring a long leek to my lips, bits of brew splashing on my glasses as I slurped what I could, when I could. The wontons popped like deliciously sebaceous growths as I guided them inside my waiting mouth, the spicy innards a meaty delight to behold.
But it was the duck—that mighty duck!—that satiated every dabbling and diving need I’ve had as of late, the fatty dark meat from the webbed beast’s leg filling my waiting stomach, allowing the needed healing to begin; I also spent an inordinate amount of time, willingly, working over the crispy skin, gnawing on it like a wild dog that has successfully snuck upon and snatched his daffy prey of a lone drake.
As I wiped my soaked jaw with the sleeve of my shirt, I requested a container to take the rest of this soup home, to finish devouring it the way it should be: in the barely-lit privacy of my bedroom, under the covers and overly complacent. Cómpralo ya!