Dragon slayer

A story of egg rolls and dashed cynicism

I found myself in the nether region between midtown and south Tulsa—hungry and alone with time to kill. 

I realized I was in the neighborhood of Royal Dragon at 51st and Memorial, one of Tulsa’s older Chinese buffets. It was the “fancy” buffet we’d go to if the family was celebrating a birthday or some such. We’d fawn over the live koi that swam in the stream that lined the entryway before we stuffed our faces with far too many eggrolls. 

On this particular night, I wanted some nostalgia, far too many eggrolls, and a drink. 

When I walked in, I realized it had been a really long time since I’d been to the Dragon. The stream is dried up; the koi, long gone. The cash-out counter now includes a display box full of jewelry, should you want to jewelry shop after slurping egg drop soup. Miraculously, the bar is still there. 

I was seated quickly, ordered a drink, and let loose on the six steamy tables. It felt uncomfortably tropical with steam billowing from the buffet area like a fog machine. I grabbed a plate and viewed the bounty. 

My heart sank as I saw a landscape of limp dishes and overly-fried whatnots. But there was no turning back, and nostalgia can go a long way. Royal Dragon also has a hibachi grill, which many people love. I looked over the standard hibachi ingredients and decided that “ringing the bell for service” was simply too much effort.

I dove in to the bufftet. The chicken used for the sweet and sour chicken was definitely overcooked, and you could crack a tooth on the pork, but the sweet and sour sauce was surprisingly superb. The sesame chicken’s coating had gone through all the phases of soggy—from mushy to hanging onto the piece of meat for dear life. 

Vegetables options are usually a decent fallback, but there were few here. The broccoli was an unnatural evergreen color, like the florets had caramelized under the heat lamp. The cabbage mixed with pork was floppy but pleasantly spicy. I looked longingly at the youngster with his plate full of chicken nuggets and ketchup. 

Two silver serving spoons stood upright in a warm crock of murky water near the steamed and fried rice pots. The water must make it easier to scoop out the rice, but no one wants to see serving utensils dripping with milky-white water. But, hey, this is a buffet, no smoke and mirrors here. Just lots of steam and, uh, mirrors. 

The one thing that was dynamite was the spicy mustard, which was the only thing that protected my taste buds from the fully-salinized, sinewy piece of meat I extracted from a crab leg. 

After a disappointing first volley, I challenged myself to find something I liked. So I loaded up my plate with alternative items. A beef egg roll—how come I’ve never seen this before? It was indescribably weird, and I’ll spare your imaginations the squished up mess that inhabited the vegetable spring roll. 

As I dragged my sleeve through hot mustard and began rethinking my life, I reminded myself what brought me here in the first place. I motioned to my server, a charming, gracious young lady, who quickly refilled my Pinot Grigio. 

As I sat there, judging every bite, I noticed a large family posing for a photo with one of the employees. A man who looked like the family patriarch asked the server, “How long do you think we’ve been coming here? At least ten years?”

He looked at his eldest daughter, hand-in-hand with her man, and back to the server. 

“He proposed over Christmas,” the dad said, gleaming. 

“They grow up so fast,” the employee said, touching his hand gently.  “Cherish it.” 

I was humbled; put in my place by the obvious affection built between two families, strangers brought together by a simple Chinese buffet. 

Sadly, after writing this, I learned that Royal Dragon had closed its doors, mere days after my visit. Word is that it will reopen in a few months in a new location. Hopefully the reboot will re-energize this beloved Tulsa institution.

For more from Angela, read her look back at 2016’s culinary happenings.