May Hong Chop Suey House Menu

Let’s talk about the May Hong Chop Suey House Menu. It’s a glorious, laminated relic that feels less like a restaurant list and more like a family heirloom that’s been through a bar fight. The cover alone promises so much with its faded neon dragon and a font that screams “1992 just called, and they’re hungry.”

First, a surprising fact: Chop suey is not actually a traditional Chinese dish. It’s a completely American invention, born in the 1800s when miners wanted dinner, and cooks just threw leftovers into a wok. So when you order the “House Special Chop Suey,” you’re eating a piece of wild frontier history—with extra soy sauce.

Now, the menu itself is a masterclass in chaos. There are over 200 items, and I’m convinced they’re written by a committee of sleepy uncles. Look at “Combination Plate F: Moo Goo Gai Pan meets a spring roll and a pile of fried rice that could feed a small village.” It’s not a meal; it’s a dare.

The Legendary Soup Section

You haven’t lived until you’ve read the soup descriptions. “Egg Drop Soup—with nothing dropped except your jaw when you see the price.” Then there’s “Hot and Sour Soup” which is described as “will clear your sinuses and possibly your soul.” I ordered it once, and my nose hasn’t been stuffy since 2017.

And can we talk about the Wonton Soup? The menu claims it “cures sadness.” I’m not saying my grandma’s cooking is better, but the wontons here are basically tiny, savory pillows that whisper, “Eat me, and forget your 9-to-5.” I’ve tested this theory—it works 60% of the time, every time.

The Unforgettable Entrées

Look, the “Kung Pao Chicken” is just the friendly neighborhood dish, but the “General Tso’s Chicken” is a celebrity. It’s so popular that the menu has a bold, italicized line: “We will not replace this with tofu. Don’t ask.” I respect that level of sass from a fried-chicken dish. It’s like the bouncer of the menu.

MAY HONG CHOP SUEY HOUSE, Washington - Restaurant Bewertungen

Then there’s “Beef with Broccoli,” which is basically the Navy SEAL of Chinese-American food. It’s reliable, it’s tough, and it always shows up. The menu even adds a cheeky note: “If you don’t like this, you don’t like puppies or sunshine.” I’m not sure that’s true, but I’m not testing it.

The Fried Rice Enigma

The fried rice section is where things get philosophical. “House Special Fried Rice” is listed as “Contains everything except the kitchen sink—and we tried that once, didn’t work.” It’s a gamble. You might get shrimp, BBQ pork, an egg that winks at you, and a single pea that somehow carries the entire flavor profile.

There’s also “Vegetable Fried Rice” which is described as “for people who hate joy.” I’ve had it. It’s fine. But the “Shrimp Fried Rice” is a secrets operation—the shrimp are so plump they look like they’ve been hitting the gym. The menu warns: “Order this, and you might get the last shrimp. Be prepared to defend it.”

Menu at May Hong Chop Suey House restaurant, Washington

Dessert: A Wild Card

You might think dessert is boring here. Wrong. The “Fortune Cookies” come with a handwritten note on the menu: “Our fortunes are so weird, you’ll either laugh or cry. There is no middle ground.” I once cracked one open that read, “You will soon conquer a small country. Start with the sweet and sour pork.” I took it as a challenge.

And then there’s the “Lychee Ice Cream.” It’s listed as “a pink scoop of confusion that tastes like a flower and a fruit had a baby in a freezer.” It’s oddly addictive. You’ll eat it, scratch your head, and order another scoop. That’s the May Hong magic—it serves up mystery with a side of laughs.

So next time you’re staring at that glorious, beat-up menu, remember: You’re not just ordering dinner. You’re buying a ticket to a comedy show where the punchlines are deep-fried and served with a side of rice. Bring cash. And an appetite for absurdity.