What a lovely room. Who would have guessed? From the outside, Ping's Café looks like a dilapidated hole in the wall. A grubby red sign, the remnant of a previous tenant after which this new restaurant is named, is partly obscured by the rusted steel shell of a bare awning. The front windows are fully frosted. The faded façade is not the least bit inviting.
But once you step inside and pass through narrowly parted curtains, a dapper dining room is dramatically revealed. We actually stop in our tracks, momentarily entranced by the ethereal effect of a pressed-tin ceiling painted white, benches covered in pleats of dove-grey felt and curvy porcelain pendant chandeliers suspended in black-and-white clusters like flocks of birds. It's minimalist and modern, sombre yet whimsical.
It almost feels like an art gallery - which is apropos given that co-owner Josh Olson is a production assistant for the artist Rodney Graham (one of Mr. Graham's giant teardrop paintings is mounted beside the bar). But then we take a seat and are immediately reminded that beauty often involves suffering. Even with all that pleated felt, the benches still pinch.
My friend Tallulah is not impressed by the zinc table tops stained with glass marks. She thinks they look dirty and can't believe the choice of material was intentional. The waitress - after dropping off tap water that comes in plain green wine bottles, and two glasses of house wine served in gold-painted Persian tea cups - tells us the porous zinc tables were indeed deliberately chosen and will gradually develop a distressed patina, one beer drip at a time. I'm finding the whole concept somewhat puzzling.
Ping's is a yoshoku restaurant that serves Japanese-influenced Western foods such as "hambagoos" (succulent beef patties glistening with a brown-sauce demi-glace), Ping dogs (grilled Bratwurst with daikon ponzu, a grated radish and citrus-based sauce) and fries sprinkled with dried seaweed flakes. And although there is an undeniably strange disconnect between the haute décor and the downscale cuisine, the restaurant isn't trying to be ironic.
This home-style comfort food is actually commonplace in Japan, where Salisbury steak is on the menu at many restaurants. Born during Japan's Meiji Restoration in the mid-19th century, a period of rapid modernization after two centuries of economic and cultural isolationism, yoshoku cuisine includes such dishes as Napolitan (spaghetti stir-fried with vegetables and ketchup) that are so deeply integrated in the country's diet that most people don't even consider them Japanized Western food any more. They're now traditionally Japanese.
Other than the restaurant's mismatched collection of vintage plates (remember those floral stoneware sets that used to be given away at gas stations and grocery stores?), there are no extra lashings of kitsch. The back of the house (overseen by Olson's aunt Hiroko Yamamoto, who is also an owner) boasts a real Japanese kitchen with a Japanese chef. And the menu is mostly drawn from standard classics in the yoshoku repertoire.
From a foreigner's perspective, however, yoshoku can be difficult to grasp. The Japanese nuances are often subtle, but essential. Take Mama's potato salad ($5). The dish is chunky, creamy and packed with chopped boiled egg and sliced carrot. For potato salad, it's pretty good. But other than the carrot, it looks and tastes an awful lot like my mom's Italian-Canadian version of potato salad. I'm not sure why it's considered uniquely Japanese.
"It's the mayonnaise," says Tallulah, who lived in Japan for three years and gives the salad two thumbs up. "Japanese mayonnaise is more vinegary." This time it's me who's not entirely convinced. But at least I now have a better understanding of why all the izakaya restaurants (Japanese tapas bars that serve small dishes) in Vancouver serve so many mashed potatoes.
I wasn't thrilled by most of what we ate. Kinpira ($5), a crunchy salad of julienned burdock and carrot, is lightly sautéed in sweet mirin and salty shoyu. The texture, Tallulah informs me, is usually tender. Korokke ($6) is a panko-crusted croquette of kabocha squash drizzled with a thick, brown tonkatsu sauce (redolent of HP). The patty isn't at all greasy, but the pumpkin is incredibly dry. It could use some butter or cream.
The Ping Dinner ($19) is much more pleasing, and probably the best bet for those who would like to sample several dishes. The plate comes with hire tonkatsu (remarkably juicy pan-fried pork cutlets with more of that tangy brown sauce), ebi furai (deep-fried shrimp with tartar sauce), hambagoo, potato salad, coleslaw and rice.
The food doesn't make me want to rush back. Tallulah thinks it's all style, no substance. And at the end of the night, we are both still confused. With its underground conceit, Ping's appears to be targeted to hipsters in the know. Seriously, though, is it cool to pay $5 for a bowl of edamame that costs $2 anywhere else? The restaurant certainly doesn't seem family-friendly (they don't even have dessert), yet there are two tables with kids on either side of us. And this makes me think that Ping's will probably do very well.
Like any worthwhile piece of art, the overall concept gives us plenty of food for thought. It's avant-garde for Vancouver. And much like the zinc table tops, I imagine it will develop a steady following, one curious customer at a time.
Ping's Café: 2702 Main St.;
604-873-2702.
agill@globeandmail.com