tofuwatch.com

In Seattle’s International District, an inexpensive – and good – place for tofu

 

Stroll through the Little Saigon section of Seattle’s International District and keep an eye out for this large Chinese character for good near South Jackson Street and 12th Avenue South.

That is, if you want affordable soybean cake and a shopping experience that can be as crowded, gritty and chaotic as grocery stores in Asia. In Mandarin, the character is pronounced as “hao.”

Because inside How How grocery store and in a refrigerated area next to fish sitting on ice and near frozen fish balls, you’ll find these gems:

 

 

Over the years, I’ve found that How How manages to have some of the most competitive prices for soybean cake in the Seattle area.

The selection is not the largest. But for all the basics – bean curd in a tub of water, fried tofu and dry, pressed tofu – I’m pretty impressed.

When I took these pictures recently, the fried tofu was selling for $1.69.

And on some days, you’ll also spot huge, fresh and fried chunks of soybean cake – unwrapped, ready to cook and just like it was done decades ago before food had bar codes.

On this day, these fried tofu chunks were $1.35 per piece.

 

 

I like How How also because it’s as genuine of a store as you can find in any Chinatown or Asian neighborhood in the United States.

As we know, there are U.S. grocery stores that only sell “Grade A” produce – you know, all the apples are shiny, round and uniform. But you pay for that premium.

At How How, the place is as real as it gets. It has street theater appeal.

My wife and I have bought vegetables there, including green onions and cilantro. We buy some food items at other stores. Like everywhere you shop, it is probably a smart idea to check the produce before you buy it.

The place draws customers who are on the hunt for food at good prices and Asian foodstuff that they can’t find elsewhere.

Outside in its parking lot, a huge blue tarp covers the area normally reserved for cars. But boxes of fruit and vegetables sit beneath it.

In one area outside, there are soft French rolls used to make those delicious Vietnamese-style sandwiches.

On days with heavy rain or high winds, I often wonder if that tarp is just going to come crashing down. You can watch it flap around and the rain just spill off.

The woman who I think is the boss can be found standing inside, near the row of cash registers, talking with employees and customers and signing papers for delivery people.

I’ve heard her speak Vietnamese, Cantonese, Mandarin, English and Spanish. You quickly get the sense she runs the place.

We’ve seen some cashiers clean small mounds of vegetables when they weren’t helping customers. Like I said: It is what it is.

And it looks like the boss stores food across the street in other buildings.

Throughout the day, store employees wheel boxes of food in the crosswalk. Or a worker drives a loaded fork lift across the street - the same one that public buses and semi-trucks use.

Concerned about appearance?

No, no. This is where the storage space is.

I haven’t figured out how the store came up with How How as the English translation.

In mainland China, people would spell the store’s name as ”Hao Hao.” Even in Cantonese, good is often translated into English as “Ho.”

The owners might have picked a spelling that’s popular and I just haven’t heard about.

Overall, How How is a sight – even if you don’t buy anything.

There must be something with Asian supermarkets. I like visiting them, including the more spacious, uniform and popular Uwajimaya.

Years ago, when I lived in Washington, D.C. and felt bored, I would visit its small Chinatown.

I would stop at a Chinese market, stroll through the aisles and pick up a few items.

My Chinese cooking skills weren’t the best back then. But I felt comfortable with ingredients in hand.

“OK,” I would think to myself. “I can go home now.”