My noodle hero vanished. I tracked him down in Oakland Chinatown

My son, Eli, and I like to choose restaurants just by looking at the outside. Are we getting good vibes?

In March 2023, Eli was in sixth grade and loved ping-pong. Every Saturday, I drove him to Alameda for lessons. One day, after ping-pong, we spotted a restaurant that advertised Chongqing-style noodles. The place looked slightly rundown, in just the right way.

Vibes? Off the charts.

Once inside, Eli ordered a beef noodle soup. Having recently been on something of a pho binge, I passed on the soups in favor of a “dry” dish — as in sauced, but no broth: #1 Chongqing Style Spicy Noodles.

As always, we shared. We enjoyed the beef noodle soup. But #1 Chongqing Style Spicy Noodles hit us on another level.

It seemed so simple: A twirl of thin wheat noodles flecked by tiny pieces of yubin yacai, a fermented mustard green, resting in a chili-forward sauce. Two pieces of bok choy. Peanuts and scallions on top.

But the flavors in #1 Chongqing Style Spicy Noodles were anything but simple. These noodles were peanutty, salty, sweet and vinegary — all at once. Spicy but not too spicy, numbing but not too numbing, they swaddled my tongue in an unctuousness so profound that I was ready to accept umami as actually being a fifth flavor, and not just a marketing campaign for MSG.

(A component of that unctuousness was lard, which I tend to avoid, but I was smitten.)

Charlotte Yu and husband Jian Chun Liu pose for a portrait while holding fresh dishes from their restaurant at Mr. Liu Noodle House in Oakland Chinatown. Credit: Estefany Gonzalez for East Bay Nosh

Back then, neither Eli nor I considered ourselves spicehounds, but #1 Chongqing Style Spicy Noodles delivered a spiciness we found new and thrilling — and it wasn’t just the numbing sensation. Here were hints of herbs and botanicals I never knew existed. The flavor combination was just so interesting.

That’s how I began describing it to friends: “interesting spicy.”

For nine months, Eli and I stuck to the same Saturday routine: ping-pong, followed by #1 Chongqing Style Spicy Noodles. Eventually, we also became fans of the dish’s sibling, #3 Special Zhajiang Noodles, which is the same as #1, but topped with a luscious ragu of ground pork.

Then, on Jan. 4, 2024, disaster struck. After ping-pong, I ordered #1 and Eli ordered #3. But the dishes that arrived at our table were nothing like the ones we had come to crave.

Yes, these bowls contained noodles and chili oil. And yes, we could see Sichuan peppercorns and peanuts and greens. But there was no magic. Looking behind the counter, I saw that the trim chef with a buzzcut who always smiled at us was gone.

Noting our distress, a waitress offered a glimmer of hope. “The chef said he’s looking for a job at another restaurant,” she said. But she didn’t know where that would be.

The noodle interregnum

For 10 long months, Eli and I wandered the Bay Area in search of the chef and his cooking. We discovered a few versions of #1, commonly known as Chongqing xiaomian (重庆小面, literally Chongqing “small noodles”), but they were all ordinary spicy, not interesting spicy.

We found many more takes on zhajiang noodles, but they hewed to the Beijing style, dominated by a pork sauce that’s milder and, in some cases, downright sweet.

We even tried making our own at home — sourcing yibin yacai on Amazon — with predictably disappointing results.

Then, in October 2024, just as Eli and I were about to give up hope, I happened to visit the food website Hungry Onion. Scrolling through, I noticed a new post praising a three-month-old restaurant in Oakland Chinatown that specialized in Chongqing-style cuisine.

“Lighter feeling than, and a solid cut above, competitors nearby and in SF,” the post read.

Street food x family secrets

Panting with excitement, Eli and I rushed over. Sure enough, there on the menu were photos of the Chongqing Spicy Noodles and Special Zhajiang Noodles that we missed so badly.

They were still labeled #1 and #3, respectively.

And behind the counter, smiling at us, was the chef with the buzzcut.

The author and his son have remained devoted to the #1 Chongqing Spicy Noodles (left) and #3 Special Zhajiang Noodles from Mr. Liu Noodle House. Credit: Estefany Gonzalez for East Bay Nosh

The chef’s name, I came to learn, is Jian Chun Liu. He’s also the owner of the new restaurant, which is called Mr. Liu Noodle House. “I like being my own boss,” he says.

Liu grew up in Chongqing (a part of Sichuan province until 1997), where he learned to cook from his father.

“My dad never worked in a restaurant,” Liu said, “but he always loved studying food and experimenting with recipes.” Liu’s first culinary venture was a hot pot restaurant in nearby Chengdu.

Liu describes his cooking as Chongqing-style street food imbued with spice blends concocted by his father. His chili blend, for example, draws on five chili varieties, each prepared a different way. “You can definitely taste the spiciness,” Liu says, “but it’s not the kind of heat that feels harsh in your stomach.”

Mr. Liu Noodle House opened in summer 2024 on 11th Street in downtown Oakland. Credit: Estefany Gonzalez for East Bay Nosh

In 2021, Liu emigrated to the United States with his family mainly to provide a better education for his daughter. He was drawn to the East Bay by a friend who runs a kung fu studio in Alameda, and a year later he scored a job cooking at the restaurant where Eli and I fell in love with his cuisine.

“I use 13 different seasonings in my Chongqing noodles and zhajiang noodles to create flavors that are very well balanced and layered in your mouth,” he said. “That’s why it’s really hard to find the same flavor anywhere else.”

‘Spicemaxxing’

Compared to the restaurant where we first encountered Liu’s cooking, Mr. Liu Noodle House is fresher and cheerier. Credit that to Liu’s wife, Charlotte Yu, who deftly manages the front of the house (when she’s not folding dumplings, answering emails, or running errands). Their 10-year-old daughter occasionally does homework behind the counter. On the back wall, a large-screen TV loops videos of Chongqing-area chefs and their creations; the food looks so good that, more than once, I’ve looked into flights.

Eli is now a freshman in high school. He’s less into ping-pong and more into electric bass, which he plays in a rock band that, in an incredible stroke of luck, rehearses just blocks from Oakland Chinatown. We devour several #1s and #3s a month, counting our blessings each time.

Chef Jian Chun Liu prepares noodles in the kitchen at Mr. Liu Noodle House. Credit: Estefany Gonzalez East Bay Nosh

Having found noodle nirvana and lost it, against all odds, we’ve found it again.

Eli recently declared that, thanks to Liu, he is now “lowkey spicemaxxing.” As a result, he’s become enamored of other Liu creations — #18 Chengdu Special Dumplings, in particular, as well as the fiery noodle soups. Eli says if you’re feeling adventurous and can handle the heat, he also recommends #24 Shredded Pig Ear or #25 Sliced Pork Heart in Chili Oil.

The day I stopped by to interview Liu, I was giddy to learn that an older man seated near the TV was none other than Liu’s father — the interesting-spicy OG! — visiting from Chongqing. Through a translation app, I asked the elder Liu if he was willing to share hints about his son’s 13 seasonings, or the five different kinds of chilis.

He spoke into the phone, then showed me the screen.

“I’d rather keep that a secret.”

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