Bird with a Buzz

Get your chicken spiked with Szechuan peppercorns and do some tongue tripping

Katy Zang, the stylish Chinese woman who owns Szechuan Garden restaurant on Westheimer, came over to our table to help. Our waiter wasn't getting it -- I had asked for kung pao chicken off the Anglo menu, but with whole Szechuan peppercorns added. The owner had to explain our special request to him in Chinese.

My tablemates, Press editor Cathy Matusow and food writer Eric Gerber, had never tasted Szechuan peppercorns before. I was all excited about turning them on to this rare spice.

When the spiked kung pao arrived, I fished a couple of the tiny spice bombs out of the chicken and put one onto each of their plates. Eric looked a little shocked as the woody bud began to numb his tongue. Cathy didn't get off on one, so I gave her another. She chewed them both up and after a minute or so she said, "It's like chewing a Sweet Tart."

After kung pao chicken with Szechuan peppercorns (front, with moo shu pork), the fizzy tongue sensation doesn't go away.
Troy Fields
After kung pao chicken with Szechuan peppercorns (front, with moo shu pork), the fizzy tongue sensation doesn't go away.

Location Info


Szechuan Garden

9013 Westheimer Road
Houston, TX 77063-3603

Category: Restaurant > Asian

Region: Outer Loop - SW


Hours: 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. Tuesdays through Thursdays; 11 a.m. to 10:30 p.m. Fridays; 11:30 a.m. to 10:30 p.m. Saturdays; and 11:30 a.m. to 9:30 p.m. Sundays.

Pan-fried dumpling: $4.25
Kung pao chicken: $7.95
Orange beef: $8.95
Szechuan style beef: $8.95
Moo shu pork: $7.95

9013 Westheimer, 832-252-1888.

Szechuan peppercorns look like miniature cloves. They are actually the buds of an Asian shrub called prickly ash. They were banned in the U.S. in the late 1960s as a possible carrier of citrus canker. Last year, a heat treatment that eliminates the disease was discovered. After 40 years off the market, Szechuan peppercorns have been legalized again.

The spice is popular all over Asia, where its bizarre effect on the taste buds is relished. It's hard to describe what the peppercorns taste like because different people taste different flavors. You might think it tastes like mint, pepper, oranges, licorice or all of the above. They also impart a numbing, tingling sensation to the tongue, a quality known as ma in Chinese.

The problem is that once Szechuan peppercorns get hold of your tongue, they don't let go for a while. No matter what you put in your mouth, it tastes like fizzy mint or orange, or whatever. And all you can do is sit back and enjoy the trip.

Luckily, we had already finished a dumpling appetizer and some moo shu pork pancakes. The pan-fried dumplings were nothing special. They were overbrowned and tough from spending too much time in the frying pan. I liked the forbidding-looking dark brown dipping sauce that came with them, though. It had a bright orange halo from all the chile oil they put in it.

The moo shu pork was quite elegant. Shredded cabbage, onions, spices and pork were stir-fried together and served on a platter with a side plate containing thin pancakes neatly folded into quarters. The waiter kindly spread hoisin on one pancake, loaded it with the pork and cabbage stuffing and gave it to Cathy. The males were left to roll their own.

Since there were only four pancakes, politeness dictated that we each get one. So I loaded mine with all the pork and cabbage it could possibly hold and rolled it up like an oversized moo shu burrito. It barely fit in my mouth -- which probably defeated the whole politeness thing. But it sure tasted good.

A dish called Szechuan beef was delivered at the same time as the kung pao with peppercorns. It looked good, but we couldn't really taste it. Eric and Cathy were both a little perturbed after ten minutes because the fizzy tongue sensation wasn't going away. No matter how much beer or ice water we gargled with, our mouths kept sparking.

"It's weird, all right, but what's so great about it? I can't taste anything," Cathy said with displeasure. I felt guilty, like I had slipped something in her cocktail. "What do you like about it?" she wanted to know.

I tried to explain the appeal of a long-forbidden psychotropic spice like Szechuan peppercorns to culinary adventurers. But she just rubbed her lips with her napkin and looked annoyed.

Eric wasn't exactly delighted either. "I had to get some ice cream at home later to tone down the buzzy-buzzy I still had on my tongue/lips from those peppercorns..." he wrote in an e-mail the next day.

I first tried the magic peppercorns at a Szechuan restaurant on Bellaire [see "Psychedelic Peppercorns," June 9, 2005]. Ever since then, I've been looking for other Houston Chinese restaurants that serve them. But they remain a rarity.

I was delighted to find them at a clean and shiny new eatery like Szechuan Garden. The restaurant has only been open for six months, but it's already becoming popular in the Asian community for its authentic Szechuan cooking. Still, it wasn't easy to talk them into serving me the peppercorns on either of my visits. On my first visit, three employees visited my table to try and figure out what I wanted. I had asked the Chinese-speaking waitress if any of the dishes on the English language menu contained Szechuan peppercorns. She didn't understand, so she sent over Katy Zang's English-speaking daughter, Linda.

Linda recommended I order from the more exotic Chinese-language menu. "Three pepper chicken" sounded like what I was looking for, so I ordered some of that. But then her mom came over and quizzed me further, asking if I was sure I wanted Chinese-style chicken. I said yes, figuring the only difference was the peppercorns.

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