A city where approximately one-third of the residents are of Asian descent is bound to have a number of Asian restaurants, and Vancouver is no exception to this equation. It brims over with eateries of every description, but you can tell just how many reflect the local population by the number of storefronts with a series of indecipherable characters for a name and a helpful picture menu affixed to the window.

I discovered Hon’s (officially Hon’s Wun-Tun House) quite by accident. My friend and I were having breakfast at Melriches, a friendly urban coffee house and another accidental discovery that quickly became our favorite morning hangout on a 10-day city trip. One of the busboys there was wearing a bright lime-green T-shirt emblazoned on the back with (in bright purple letters) “Hon’s House of Noodles.” He was a walking advertisement. We flagged him over for a couple of questions; turned out it was one of his favorite places to eat because the portions were so big he always had enough left over for a meal the next day. Of course I had to test the big-portion claim, so Hon’s was immediately added to our “must check out” list.

It’s quite possible I could pass by this place many times and never notice it, and not because it’s small (quite the contrary). Plunked down in the middle of super-busy Robson Street—which is shopping central in downtown Vancouver—it’s competing with seemingly a million other restaurants, stores, shops, grocers and the like. There are five Hon’s restaurants in the greater Vancouver area, including the original on Keefer Street in Chinatown. We went to the Robson location on a Saturday night and, not surprisingly, there was a line out the door. Hon’s is similar to any number of Hong Kong noodle houses. The big, warehouse-like room is noisy, bustling and appears to be chaotic, although it’s actually run like a well-oiled machine. There are long rows of cafeteria-style tables, and you’re nicely but firmly shown to your seat; I didn’t get the feeling there was much room for negotiation on that front.

The server immediately brings you a menu and a plain plastic water glass filled with hot tea. Ambience and pampering are not part of the Hon’s experience. That menu has a daunting number of choices—everything from pot stickers (Chinese dumplings) to marinated jelly fish to won ton soup to various meats stir-fried with vegetables to fried rice combinations to veggie-only options like braised bean curd with Chinese mushrooms to such exotica as stewed pigs’ feet. When faced with such sensory overload—and page after page of variations on the usual Chinese themes—I tend to retreat to simplicity.  I’m not particularly adventurous either, so I settled on chicken with broccoli and noodles. I also decided to order won ton soup, because I spied a big bowl of it on another table and it looked really good. Our server was skeptical. She gave me a baleful look and said, “You don’t wanna order that. That too much food for you.” Umm, excuse me, you’re talking to someone known far and wide for the prodigious size of his appetite. But an inner voice counseled me to heed her advice. I stuck to the chicken and broccoli with noodles, and my friend ordered the same thing, substituting tofu for chicken.

This place has two open kitchens in back—one for meat and one for vegetarian dishes—so you can watch the cooks preparing everything in big stainless steel woks. A constant parade of servers hustle plates and platters overflowing with all kinds of interesting looking concoctions; while waiting we made a guessing game out of what each dish might be. Then our food came: two steaming bowls heaped with noodles and broccoli. The little pieces of chicken in mine were skinless, boneless and tasty enough, so I didn’t over-analyze how it had been prepared. Big florets of broccoli were perfectly fresh, bright green and barely stir-fried, just the way I like broccoli. And the massive tangle of thin noodles turned from crispy to soft as they bathed in a sizzling hot but mild-flavored brown sauce. I soldiered through it and enjoyed every bite. And the waitress was right; I managed to polish it off only because I didn’t start with an equally hefty bowl of soup. My enjoyment of Hon’s was increased by the gregarious crowd of hungry families and groups conversing in different languages. There was a buzz in the room, and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. This is not haute cuisine; it’s basically good old takeout Chinese, reasonably priced (the bill, plus tip, was just over $20). I left sated and happy.  And yes, I bought the T-shirt.   Hon’s House of Noodles is downtown at 1339 Robson St. (between Jervis and Broughton streets). Melriches is at 1244 Davie St. (between Bute and Jervis streets).