I've been thinking a lot recently about how the names of Chinese foods vary so much between China and the US.

One example is lemon chicken. In Southern China, lemon chicken usually means a whole bone-in chicken, steamed, chopped up, and served with a light lemon sauce. In the US, you'd get perfect cubes or slices of breast meat that has been fried and coated with a thick lemon sauce. (In other words, more like this.) A few places, like this takeout spot in Park Slope, may serve you something that looks like a lemon chicken kit that you put together: breaded and fried chicken with little seasoning, on top of some iceberg lettuce, and a container of something that's more or less lemon simple syrup.

Another example is Mongolian beef. In Beijing, Mongolian-style lamb or beef is stir-fried with toasted cumin seeds and whole red chilis. In the US, what has become Mongolian beef lacks any whole spices, but is pretty tasty in its own right. The only thing similar to its mainland Chinese cousin is the thinly sliced steak and abundance of leeks. The sauce, when done well, is pretty terrific. The beauty of Mongolian beef sauce is that none of the flavors stand out on their own, but rather, come together (as the Chinese would say) "harmoniously".

Every once in a while I get an craving for greasy Chinese food that's different from what you can find at your everyday takeout stand.

Some of you may remember my Caribbean-Chinese party from two years ago. The theme had been inspired by the wee bit of my childhood that was spent in Puerto Rico and the hybrid dishes I remember eating at Chinese restaurants there, like chicharrones de pollo and pineapple shrimp. I had also added some Jamaican influences as well, including jerk chicken wings and a cocktail made with hibiscus tea. It was a fun event, but needless to say, Caribbean-Chinese food never became a steady part of my diet.

Flash forward to 2010. Today I found myself in Crown Heights at De Bamboo Express, one of the two or three Jamaican-Chinese restaurants I know of in the city. Objective: a cheap but filling lunch.

The place is pretty spartan, with a couple of wall-lined counters, a few tables, and enormous menus highlighting their $5 lunch specials. (The one cook in the kitchen appeared to be fully Chinese, not happa. You have to wonder whether he grew up cooking Chinese-Jamaican dishes, or switched over from more straightforward Chinese food.) I picked up a jerk chicken lo mein to go and a lime rickey soda. 

These days, you can get almost anything off a food truck. Progressive-sounding ice cream, Asian hot dogs, cow feet, you name it.

However, as I've lamented before, what New York really needs is a banh mi truck. Say you are really craving a banh mi, but happen to be lunching outside Chinatown or the East Village. Say you're in, for example, the East 50's. I'm sure many office workers on these Asian-sandwich-deprived blocks would flock to something different from the usual halal vendors (as addictive as white/red sauce is.) Whoever starts driving such a truck would make a killing.

Likewise, someone should also start a pork belly sandwich truck. Gua bao (刮包) is a Taiwanese "burger" that consists of a slab of pork belly in a mantou, or steamed Chinese bun. In Taiwan, at least, the toppings usually include caramelized onions, cilantro, and crushed peauts.

In New York outside of Chinatown and Flushing, variations have sprung up at places like Momofuku and Baohaus. But again, they are nowhere in Manhattan north of 14th, at least for take-out.