Tag Archives: San Francisco Chinatown restaurant

Bow Down to Four Kings

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The signature fried squab at Four Kings. Only 15 are offered each night.
The signature fried squab at Four Kings. Only 15 are offered each night.

The food of my childhood has been stunningly reinvigorated at the new Four Kings in San Francisco’s Chinatown.

If you’re Chinese American and of Cantonese heritage like myself, one taste of the dishes here will take you back nostalgically to many a celebratory Chinese banquet meal of long ago, as well as just plain ol’ homey weeknight gatherings with family at Formica-topped tables at local hole-in-the-wall joints.

Four Kings, which officially opens to the public on March 14, is the brainchild of chefs Michael Long and Franky Ho, former sous chef and chef de cuisine, respectively, of Michelin-starred Mister Jiu’s a block away. The duo, along with Millie Boonkokua, general manager of Liholiho Yacht Club in San Francisco, and Long’s wife, Lucy Li, an accountant, pooled their money along with that from friends and family to open this brick-and-mortar, following a series of sold-out pop-ups last year.

The open kitchen with counter seating.
The open kitchen with counter seating.

Last week, I had a chance to snag an early pre-opening reservation at the u-shaped counter that surrounds the open-kitchen — the best seats in the house if you enjoy seeing all the action up close.

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Mister Jiu’s Heavenly Parisian Dan Tat

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Just-baked Parisian Dan Tat that's like a giant Portuguese custard tart.
Just-baked Parisian Dan Tat that’s like a giant Portuguese custard tart.

When I was a kid, my dad would often tote home a pink box tied with red string from his shopping trip to San Francisco’s Chinatown.

Inside could have been anything from pudgy dim sum dumplings to triangles of airy buttercup-yellow sponge cake to a double-crust apple pie so shiny and bronzed that it nearly looked lacquered.

More often than not, though, what was hidden inside was a custard pie.

It had a simple crust, which honestly, wasn’t anything to write home about. The real star was the smooth, eggy custard filling, almost the pale hue of eggnog, soft and just barely jiggly, and with a taste of both comfort and lavishness all at the same time.

It was my dad who gave me my first taste of this nostalgic pie, proferring an affection for it that I still possess to this day.

So, when I baked this “Parisian Dan Tart,” I couldn’t help but think of him immediately.

No doubt he would have loved this majestic version of a custard tart.

And no doubt he would have been tickled to know that its origins are also from Chinatown.

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