The Bamboo Garden has a notable lack of bamboo; instead it evokes a clean-bathroom vibe and smells a bit like a Glade Plug-In. Music ranges from soft jazz to smooth rock, playing all of blue-haired grandmas' favorites. Sickly peach-colored walls and cheaply framed pictures laced with dark green plastic vines complete the feel of this spot, which dishes up quality fare, save for the subpar pot stickers.

Its squeaky-clean interior, though, has its faults. The floors, coated with layers of wax, caused this high-heel-wearing novice to slip forward; I could only save myself by clutching one of the cafeteria-style tables. Just as the feelings of embarrassment cooled off, I noticed the street punks of Belmont and Clark watching me, alternatively laughing and giving the finger.

Despite the lack of decor and my near-death experience, the food was decidedly decent. For anyone seeking the authentic Chinese food experience, Bamboo Garden might not be where to spend your Saturday night. But you might want to question the unassuming waitress about her favorites like we did. The barren restaurant meant she devoted hefty lengths of time explaining the different choices.

The owner, an ex-Mexican restaurant chef, specializes in sizable entrees like the vegetable moo shu ($7.50) we ordered. It oddly arrived pre-rolled in four sizable burritos; instead of the typical shredded cabbage base, this moo shu came heavily laced with eggplant, broccoli and egg, making it slightly more fulfilling and much more satisfying. Chilies, not typical Chinese spices, studded the spicy sauce we dipped the wraps into. One order filled two hungry stomachs far beyond capacity. With only the slightest room in our bellies for the booze we had brought, we happily lingered a good while longer.

Centerstage Reviewer: Maude Standish