They brought over a chilled bottle of Tsingtao for each of us, and we toasted to an awesome meal to come. Wo Hop sells beer, but you need to know to ask for it. I glanced up from the menu to the smiling picture of Joe Biden, added to the collage on the wall. My Dad taught me how to use chopsticks at a very young age, and our entire family feels that it adds to our Chinatown street cred every time we turn down an American fork. He attempted to hand me a fork, but with a big grin on my face I asked for chopsticks instead. The waiter immediately brings over glasses of hot tea and water, as we glanced over the menu. An elderly couple sat to our right, big group of middle aged adults to our left, and four very stoned college kids across the room. The booths are relatively filled at most hours of night, including 9:30pm on a Monday, attracting some of the most diverse crowds. The decor of the restaurant always makes me smile, with signed photographs, stickers and anything else creating a collage on every inch of the walls. I walked down the cement stairs to find Mike sitting inside the small open room. If you didn’t know that this was the spot, you would walk past its entrance, located down a flight of cement stairs. When you make the final turn onto Mott, the bright glowing sign for Wo Hop lights up the streets. The nearest subway stop sits at least eight blocks away, if not further, causing you to walk through the dimly lit streets, with neon Chinese signs as your only guide. Located on Mott Street in the more hidden area of Chinatown, this spot is completely off the beaten path. When my friend, Mike, told me he had never been to Chinatown, I made it my duty to remedy the situation, and where better to take him then my beloved Wo Hop. On my first flight home from Madison, I landed at Newark Airport and my Dad promptly drove into the city, at any time of night, making his way downtown to Wo Hop to satisfy my Chinese food needs. I quickly realized that in the Midwest, the quality of Chinese food would never live up to my high expectations set from days eating in Chinatown. I have been going for as long as I can remember, with a tradition forming once I started college in Wisconsin. My Dad has made his way down the dark steps of Wo Hop since his days at NYU.
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