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This week, our intrepid critic ventures again into the San Gabriel Valley. Why? Because he can. Because you perhaps should. No, not noodles, but xian bing, little stuffed pies that explain the name of the restaurant. No counters of apple pies and lemon meringue pies and cherry pies for you, at least not this time.
The menu warns you that it's hot, and the waitress warns you that it's hot, and the woman at the next table warns you, too, but there is probably nothing that can prepare you for the act of biting into a too-hot xian bing, when a jet of pressurized soup, as volatile as the steam from Old Faithful, arcs over your shoulder and drips harmlessly down the plate glass behind you.