Words by Cecily Pregerson SC ’29 Graphic by Sonia Sidhu PZ ’28

Since leaving New York City and my favorite dim sum restaurants behind for Scripps College, I have experienced a distinct lack of good Chinese food. Sure, the dining halls offer some inspired dishes, but most are unable to scratch the particular itch that a plate of orange chicken and green beans dripping in garlic oil does so well. However, I was recently brought to Cachanilla Chinese Restaurant, an oasis only a short drive outside of the high walls of the Claremont Colleges.

From the outside, Cachanilla Chinese Restaurant does little to disclose the treasures lying within. Only their bright yellow sign, speckled with both English and Spanish advertising, points you in the right direction. We stood in the parking lot, ruffled and expectant, like geese hungry for grain. Finally, the door swung open and in we went.

Being mid afternoon, the restaurant was practically empty; the only other diners were a pair of quiet women. The remaining tables sparkled with the sheen of a recent wash and looked unnatural in their nakedness, as if they were used to being clothed in an interchangeable pattern of dishes. We were guided to a large round table, framed by eighteen chairs. In the center of the largest lazy Susan I have ever seen was an arrangement of pink orchids. Above, a bright, elegant light cast a spotlight on the table.

Soon, we were passing around expansive and daunting menus. Like children flipping through a storybook, we ogled the images of noodles, stir fries, and rice. Finding my way through the new terrain, I found a page advertising vegetable dishes. In my experience, the most memorable dishes are those with simple vegetables soaked or sauteed in layers of flavor. It is harder for me to wrap my mind, or more accurately tastebuds, around dishes with many components; the sides are where I can truly deduce the expertise of a restaurant.

Our servers, who were kind and unafraid even when met with an overpowering group of customers, brought us tea and icy water. The tea was mellow in flavor and did not hold my attention for long. Around our table, we buzzed and shifted in our chairs. Greater things were on the horizon. We placed our order. 

The first dishes to come out were the cream cheese and crab wonton (芝士蟹肉雲吞) and the egg flower soup (蛋花湯). I steer clear of seafood, but I was happy to try the soup. Glistening like fresh olive oil with spirals of egg caught in the broth like petals in a stream, the soup absolutely glowed in its white bowl. When tasted, there wasn’t much to it flavor-wise, so I added some chili oil. With that adjustment, its potential for comfort was expertly met, although it could have used more salt.

Quickly, more and more dishes littered the periphery of the lazy Susan. A server stood at one side of the table and commanded our attention: with the press of a button, invisible to us humble eaters, the food began spinning before our eyes. Hypnotized and hungry, we filled our plates. A dulcet silence settled around the room, which any observant foodie recognizes as the mark of a truly delicious meal.

I sampled the Peking duck (北京鴨) first. My friend passed me a drumstick, which was not my preference. However, later on in the meal, a server came by and remarked that we had made the right choice; the large, boney piece symbolizes luck for the recent Chinese New Year which passed only a couple days before. Still, when the duck came around again, I selected a thin piece with sufficiently crispy skin. This was snuggled into a velvety bao bun lined with hoisin sauce. Biting into the soft, then crunchy almost-taco, I let the flavors and textures blend together and the trials of my first year at college seemed to ease a little bit. 

Before I knew it, plates were filling up and I could no longer see the bright porcelain bottom of my own. We joked that we had gone to war because our chopsticks seemed to fly through the air and eagerly puncture the unsuspecting dishes as if in combat. In a hushed daze, we continued to eat without registering anything besides the pleasing flavors of our food. Some true stand-out dishes were the salt and pepper tofu (椒鹽豆腐), orange chicken (陳皮雞), sauteed spicy string bean with dried shrimp (乾扁四季豆), and ma po tofu with pork (麻婆豆腐). 

However, I could not write an honest review without mentioning the szechuan style eggplant (魚香茄子). The eggplant, intermingled with peppers and onions, melted in my mouth as if it had never been there, yet I could not forget it if I tried. This dish was the very best of them all, in my opinion, and cannot be left out of an order.

With the lazy Susan still spinning languidly, we found ourselves mournfully full. The near empty plates seemed to taunt us, but we could not fit in another bite. As a sugar-oriented person, I thought back to the dessert menu, which I remembered being surprisingly short in lieu of the savory expanse. Cachanilla Chinese Restaurant offers ice cream and creme brulee. Although delicious in their own right, neither option was tempting enough following such a feast. That was when the servers brought a silver plate piled high with fortune cookies. The perfect end to such an extravagant banquet: sugar and destiny. The sounds of shattering cookie shells and rustling paper filled the air and soon we were crunching and reading and laughing at each other’s fortunes. Good humor was brought back to a previously placated party. 

Then sadly, we stepped away from the table, leaving behind a graveyard of crumbs and forgotten noodles. Before the meal, I had expected to feel overfull and lecherous after eating so richly following weeks of dining hall salads. However, walking away, I felt neither bloated nor uncomfortable. Perhaps that is due to the freshness of the food. There was not a single dish that lacked the flavor of good ingredients and attentive preparation. Overall, my experience at Cachanilla Chinese Restaurant was exceedingly positive, due to the food, service, and company.