Bush issues executive order: Peking duck, crispy shrimp

James B. Meadow, Rocky Mountain News

Published July 22, 2006 at midnight

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Dawn has scarcely melted the sky to pink when life begins to stir in the belly of the Dragon.

Uh, make that stir fry in the belly of the Heaven Dragon restaurant, where chef Dan Tang is choreographing a culinary show he hopes will earn lip-smacking approval from the most powerful man on Earth.

"Oh, this highest honor, highest honor," says Tang, explaining what it means to him to prepare takeout Chinese food for President Bush for the third time in four years. Behind him, the clock says 6:02 a.m., but despite the time, and despite the fact that he's gotten only 2 ½ hours of sleep because of prep work and nervousness, Tang is a 44-year-old gyroscope of energy and enthusiasm.

He points to a list that contains the executive order - Peking duck, crispy shrimp, sesame chicken - then smiles and, in his quicksilver, choppy English, says, "See, hot-and-sour beef, walnut shrimp, Chinese broccoli? I add that. The president, he will like it, I know."

Well, that seems a safe bet, considering Bush - in town Friday for a Republican fundraiser - apparently let it be known to someone in his camp that he would like Tang's Peking duck redux, as well as the other grub, to bring with him aboard Air Force One for some presidential dining after he left Denver.

Not that Tang is feeling jaded about his three-peat.

A native of China who effected a risky escape from his homeland in a rusty boat back in 1980, Tang served an immigrant tour of duty in Macau and Los Angeles before arriving in Denver several years later. He opened his restaurant at 3730 E. 120th Ave. in a Thornton strip mall in 1985.

Tang reveals that he has prevailed upon his 12-year-old daughter, Tracey, to neatly print the letter he dictated for "Mr. President George W. Bush."

The note thanks Bush for the honor of cooking for him and ends with, "Your grateful servant, Dan Tang."

"He a pretty nice guy," Tang says of the president, whom he has met and been photographed with. "He really down to the earth."

Although Tang has contributed to the president's 2004 campaign fund and has photos of him and other Republican bigwigs like Vice President Dick Cheney and Gov. Bill Owens, he insists when it comes to cooking, he's strictly nonpartisan.

"Whoever come, I'll serve," he says, quickly pointing to photos of Democrats like Rep. Mark Udall, Sen. Ken Salazar and Denver Mayor John Hickenlooper.

Right now, what he does care about is making sure the food is done right and on time, so he can personally deliver it to the Cherry Hills home where the president will be pressing the flesh with contributors.

Tang, by the way, doesn't charge the president for the food (talk about executive privilege), although he says that in the past, the Secret Service has "given me a nice tip."

Tip-top are the luckless ducks he examines in the oven, making sure they're being cooked to tawny perfection. Once that's done, he examines the bowl of presidential prawns, and then, while fingers of flame wrap themselves around a large wok, he begins to intermingle crustaceans, chiles and vegetables to create the shrimp delicacy.

"Makes it very crispy, you know?" says Gui Dengyin, 34, Tang's cousin who, along with Tang's brother, Ming Dengyin, 38, and his father Zhang Deng, is helping prepare the food.

It is a curious scene of culinary syncopation - a cross between assembly line and ballet set against a backdrop of steam clouds ascending from cauldrons of boiling chickens.

Although Tang understandably doesn't want to get into particulars about his recipes ("sugar, salt, pepper, oyster sauce, soy sauce; y'know, all kinds of stuff"), he takes pains to emphasize his cooking is all about "natural stuff that has the official flavor that is better for you."

To make sure the "official flavor" poses no threat to the president, Tang says he has been told a Secret Service agent tests the food.

"He eats some of it. He lucky," says Tang, smiling.

He takes less umbrage about the testing than he does about being asked if he prepares anything in a special way for the president.

"No, same thing, same thing," he says, a little perplexed that anyone would think he needed to improve upon his fare. "You cook the way you do for normal customer. We always control quality."

By 7:19 a.m., the quality has been controlled; the ducks have been cut into pieces with surgical precision; the food has been sealed in plastic containers; the plastic containers put in brown paper bags. Tang dashes off to select a tie to wear with the suit he will change into before he reaches the swanky Cherry Hills home. As if to reinforce his vow of nonpartisanship, he chooses one flecked with American flags instead of elephants.

By 7:22, he's out the back door and heading for his car. The food is in the back seat and Tang is in a hurry to spring into action as he leaves his tucked-away restaurant. You know, a clear case of crouching tiger and hidden Dragon.

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