Can Chicken Feet Be Cool?
By Caera Learmonth and Olivia Stephani
On a sweltering Sunday in June, the sidewalk of Elizabeth Street was filled with would-be diners braving the 100-degree midday heat, hoping to get into Jing Fong, a restaurant that seats up to 800 customers. A man rushed out and sighed with disappointment to his friends, “It’s a 25-minute wait.” Inside, the foyer was packed, and a tiny worker stood on a stool clutching a microphone, swarmed by the throngs clamoring for a dim sum meal of dumplings and aromatic chicken feet. She wore a small earpiece that allowed her to communicate with workers on the upper floor, who advised about the prospects for the poor souls waiting outside. The lucky folks who finally gained access rode a massive escalator up to a bowling-alley-sized dining ballroom, adorned by a large golden dragon and equally large sparkling phoenix, symbols of harmonious bliss.
Jing Fong is New York City’s largest Chinese restaurant and among its most popular. Founded in 1978, the eatery has witnessed the neighborhood change around it as artists move in where there used to be Chinese sweatshops. Situated on Elizabeth Street, just blocks away from where hipster boutiques are opening, is Jing Fong, seeking to find its place in the altering Lower East Side.
Enter Leo Yeung. As he moves to sit at a big round table, his suit jacket shifts to reveal a superhero T-shirt. The 32-year-old DJ was hired by the restaurant’s owner to bring in Western tourists, hipsters, and other trendy new residents of the Lower East Side.
“Business is going down in Chinatown,” comments Yeung over a spread of har gow and noodles. He pauses to speak to a waiter in Cantonese. “One major change [in Chinatown] is the younger generation of Chinese people moved out to the other boroughs, even me.”
Since Yeung immigrated to New York City in 2002 at age 16, two other Chinatowns have grown to surpass Lower East Side’s Chinatown in size. Flushing, Queens and Sunset Park, Brooklyn have a steady flow of new residents. Furthermore, the Manhattan Chinatown population has shrunk from 84,840 people in 2000 to 47,844 as of 2010 (according to the US Census).
Despite the out-migration in population, Yeung hopes to draw a new crowd to Jing Fong with the help of his quirky, engaging personality. In a sea of orange vested workers murmuring in clipped tones into their walkie-talkies, Yeung stands out with his bold, crimson Oxford shoes, and giant grin. Unlike much of the staff, Yeung speaks exceptional English that is peppered with a musical laugh and self-deprecating humor. A question about how many customers the restaurant brings in annually prompts this quip: “Sorry, I’m bad at math. I’m basically not Asian.”
Although math isn’t his strong suit, nor other subjects — Yeung dropped out of high school — Yeung has found himself to be better at communicating; he was even a radio host at a cantonese radio station in college.
“I also do sound engineering, like recording and mixing, and occasionally I record my own songs,” he says over the din of clanking plates and chatter of nearby customers. “I was also in a rock band where I played guitar and was a vocalist.”
Yeung is the Marketing and Events coordinator for the joint, which means he is in charge of creating and managing events to bring in tourists and new customers. In fact, organizing a meal for high school students through the School of the New York Times is one of his activities in pursuit of wooing new customers.
Yeung views himself as a ‘black sheep’ of Asians, for his lack of scholastic and professional ambition. As a 32-year-old, he is still studying at Queens College, while working at Jing Fong. “One thing I like about America is that you can go back to school whenever you want,” he paused. “In Asia, not a chance at all, the whole environment will let you feel old.”
Yeung marvels at the changes wrought in Chinatown, a place his parents often took him for meals after they immigrated to the States. He prefers the modern-day to the rough patch of the 1980s and 90s, when the City’s economic fortunes were in a downswing and violent gangs dominated their turf. Ever the salesman, Yeung asserts that today’s tranquility makes for a more pleasant dining experience.
“[Chinatown] has changed from the very bad time it used to be,” beams Yeung. “We have a peaceful environment to enjoy the nice food,” he says as he motions to a waitress zooming past with a cart of dumplings.
Whether or not Yeung can succeed in attracting a new, younger demographic, Jing Fong still has a loyal base of fans.
“We heard about it eight years ago. I don’t live in New York anymore but, every time I come to visit I come here. When I lived here we came almost every single week,” says Keith Hooper, 30, who now lives in Washington, DC.
Micah, 28, who declined to share his last name, cherishes the atmosphere of the restaurant. “[Jing Fong] reminds us of home. I grew up in Hong Kong so coming here is like homesickness food.”
Many of the Chinese waiting in line appeared to share his enthusiasm, if their stoic patience while waiting for a table was a way to judge.
However, some newcomers felt Jing Fong’s popularity was actually a strike against it. Tourist Geoff Arnold, 31, was told by his hotel this was the place to catch some good dim sum. But the difficulty of getting a place at the table was driving him crazy.
“Here we are, in 100-degree weather, very hungry and not happy that there’s a 25-minute wait,” griped Arnold.
Nick Thomas, 29, was similarly wilting alongside three hungry friends. “I don’t know whether we’re going to wait 25 minutes,” he muttered, crossing his arms with annoyance. “[But] probably, because by the time we make a decision it’s gonna be 25 minutes.”
