Chow mein on the list of reasons to call Lethbridge home
By Lethbridge Herald on March 31, 2025.
POINT OF VIEW – Editor Scott Sakatch
There’s a long list of reasons my wife and I decided to make the move back to Lethbridge a little over a year ago. Chief among them was the fact that much of our family is here. Another key factor was the real estate market in the city at the time—a place similar to the on we bought here would easily have been 30 per cent more in Calgary. And, of course, we both missed the social circle we left behind when we began the nine-year odyssey that took us through two provinces, three cities, and one village.
Those aren’t all the reasons. There’s the warmer weather, the slower pace, the fact that we can get pretty much anywhere in town in 15 minutes (outside of the dreaded South End Gridlock of Doom, of course).
And, of course, the chow mein.
I can hear some of you scratching your heads right now. Chow mein? What am I talking about? Were there no Chinese restaurants in Regina, Red Deer, Calgary or rural Saskatchewan?
Obviously, there were. In fact, I had the best wonton soup I’ve ever tasted in my life in a town called Turtleford (pop: 500) northwest of North Battleford. Regina is lousy with Chinese restaurants (almost all of which, strangely, also serve Thai food) and, to a lesser degree, so is Red Deer. I couldn’t begin to count all of the ones in Calgary.
And yet not one of the restaurants we tried had Lethbridge-style chow mein. Again, I hear you scratching your head: what the heck am I talking about? Isn’t chow mein the same everywhere?
No, it most definitely is not. In fact, the first time I ordered it in Regina, I was sure someone had botched my order. I wanted chow mein, darn it, not this container of stringy noodles with a few thin slices of pepper and onion! Where was the cabbage? Where were the soft little orange noodles?
It took a while (and a few more restaurants) for me to realize that what we call chow mein here in Lethbridge looks almost nothing like what (apparently) the rest of Canada calls chow mein. For the most part, everything else on the menu is recognizable: fried rice, dry ribs, ginger beef, etc. That said, what’s referred to as “deep-friend wontons” in a couple of places looked more like nacho chips with a grease stain in the middle of them, but I digress.
It wasn’t just my wife and me who noticed this phenomenon, either. Our son and daughter-in-law, both of whom grew up in Lethbridge, have lived in Toronto for the past several years, and they still crave Lethbridge-style chow mein when they come home to visit. And, like me, they were surprised to learn that the delicious concoction is specific to their little hometown.
Being the intrepid journalist I am, I set out to learn why our city’s version is so unique. Translation: I asked my buddy Donny Lee at Modern Chinese downtown for the scoop. He told me the answer was actually pretty simple: chow mein (or chaomian) translates roughly into “fried noodles” in Chinese, so in reality, everyone else takes a more literal approach to the dish than our local restaurateurs.
When I asked why locals deviated from the norm, Donny said the answer was fairly simple: when Chinese immigrants began arriving in southern Alberta in the late 19th and early 20th century, cabbage was plentiful and noodles weren’t. In all likelihood, one chef generations ago came up with a recipe that was heavy on cabbage and chicken, and it caught on with customers. As its popularity grew, others picked up on the idea and started serving their own versions of it, adding in the little orange “noodles” at some point along the way until it eventually became what we’re all used to today.
None of this can be authenticated, of course, since to the best of my knowledge there are no local chow mein historians. But Donny’s theory does make sense, and it’s as plausible a story as any, so I’m going to go with it. If anyone reading this has more information, I’d love to talk to hear from you!
Until then, I’ll keep on scarfing down my Lethbridge-style chow mein, and reminding myself not to write columns when I’m hungry.
15-14
You might want to ask Donny why he had to close the New Dynasty and re-brand as Modern Chinese.