The thing that usually keeps me from popping into Mecha is how popping it usually is. At peak times, which can be anytime, the floor of the ramen and pho bar looks staggeringly busy, a roiling human mirror of the ceiling’s densely forested two-by-fours. And I think to myself that it’s just too much.
Then I happen by when it’s relatively calm, and I go in, and I remember why I keep wanting to go in.
I started with dessert, sort of: a cocktail called the Mango Sticky Rice ($14). As I’m a sucker for a tropical-sounding drink, this one had me at mango—also coconut, pandan, cachaça and even “caribe,” a mystery ingredient I nonetheless have to believe is something islandy. Ironically, a first note of zippy lemon rind didn’t feel islandy at all, but the rest of the flavors did: coconutty vanilla, turfy banana, funky pandan and of course some mango, which, despite its top billing, blended in rather than standing out.
For food, I began with the Shiitake Bao ($5), hold the mayo. The dough was fluffy and delicate, the hoisin sweetly funky and punchy, the mushrooms juicy and meaty. Scallions and cucumbers added levity and crunch, and the whole small thing disappeared within a few addicted bites.
A generously portioned bowl of the Herbed Edamame ($9) took much longer to take down. At first impression it seemed quite rustic, with big, oblong pearls of confited garlic and bigger, oblong bulbs of confited shallot, both clearly demanding that something more be done to them. Meanwhile, the edamame was more al dente than ideal, and the “herbed” part seemed oversold, as I maybe picked up some advertised sage but definitely no rosemary.
And yet… I ended up really loving this dish. It was salty, oily and indulgent but also felt healthful to eat. I embraced the mess and stopped treating the melt-in-my-fingers garlic and shallots as mere garnishes, no matter how many self-serve napkins I might destroy. And though it would’ve been a good value at regular price, the bowl was an amazing value for me, since I ordered it between 3 and 6 on a weekday, when the menu’s whole “Munchies” section is half off.
Wondering whether I’d be able to finish it, I shifted to my entree, the Curry Laksa ($17.50, no chicken), whose sunset orange broth lapped at a painterly archipelago of tofu, greens, mushrooms, scallions and fried onions. Fragrant from a foot away, the broth by itself was spicy and acidic, more so than expected, and the fry on the tofu was unseasoned and heavy, requiring conscientious dunking to infuse some flavor. Better were the bok choy, sized like the baby kind but flavored like the adult, with a lovely mature bitterness and an almost crispy crunch, as well as the noodles, my very favorite part, supple yet chewy.
However, like the edamame, the sum here was greater than the parts. The true beauty of the dish snapped into place when I stopped trying to analyze components and just started eating them together. The tofu, noodles and bok choy beveled the edges of the broth, which, by the end, when it was the only thing left, I was drinking straight from the bowl. Before then, I repeatedly and, despite nearing a full stomach, ravenously squeezed as much variety as I could between my chopsticks, with what felt to a food reviewer like dangerous abandon.
It was a nice mental break, and a delicious one too.
Written and photographed by Dan Mims.
