The Christmas spirit, a feeling often elusive, unexpectedly found me during my second hour standing outside Q by Peter Chang in Bethesda, Maryland. It was Christmas Day, 2021. My pre-order at five and arrival just after six seemed prudent, until I was confronted with the reality: cars snaking around the block, hazard lights blinking, a dining room bursting at the seams, a sea of masked faces awaiting pickups, and stacks upon stacks of bagged to-go orders. It was clear – this was going to be a significant wait.
A cultural touchstone, particularly within the Jewish community, is the near-universal tradition of enjoying Chinese food on Christmas. Over the past century, this practice has evolved from mere practicality to a cherished ritual. Justice Elena Kagan famously quipped during her confirmation hearings, when asked about her Christmas plans one year, “You know, like all Jews, I was probably at a Chinese restaurant.” That particular Christmas night, Justice Kagan might have been the only Jewish person in the DC area not at Q. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, punctuated by the manager’s repeated assurances of “another 10 minutes” until our food would be ready.
My mission that evening was dinner retrieval, leaving my parents and wife at home with our two young sons. As my children’s dinner hour came and went, agitation should have set in. Instead, a sense of collective camaraderie permeated the waiting crowd. The unseasonably warm 65-degree evening allowed us to shed our masks and gather outside, bound by an unspoken understanding. Even the onset of rain couldn’t dampen spirits; goodwill towards men prevailed.
Finally, at 8 p.m., my food—a hefty bag laden with gong bao chicken, cumin lamb, dry-fried green beans, and more—was handed over. A surprising pang of sadness accompanied the end of my vigil. In that unexpected Christmas Eve scene outside a Chinese restaurant, I had experienced something profound, a connection to community and tradition. Back home, my family offered a thankful “shehecheyanu” and eagerly delved into the twice-cooked pork.
Recently, recounting this experience to Lydia Chang, Peter’s daughter and CEO, I wanted to convey the unexpected significance of that night. “Oh, I remember that night,” she responded with a knowing smile, “It was my worst nightmare.”
Peter Chang: From Embassy Chef to Culinary Empire Builder
Peter Chang is undeniably one of America’s most acclaimed chefs. Born Zhang Pengliang in Hubei, China, his culinary journey began with numerous cooking competition victories before his arrival in the U.S. in 2001. Initially contracted to cook at the Chinese embassy, his life took an unexpected turn. Days before his scheduled return to China, Peter, Lydia, and his wife Lisa, in a move of calculated spontaneity, walked away from the embassy, embarking on years of eluding both U.S. immigration and Chinese officials.
During this period of uncertainty, Peter worked discreetly, often under assumed names. However, in the nascent days of online culinary forums like Chowhound, whispers began to circulate about a culinary genius operating in the unassuming strip malls of Fairfax and Alexandria, Virginia. Food enthusiasts diligently tracked his movements, culminating in Calvin Trillin’s 2010 New Yorker article, simply titled, “Where’s Chang?”. Overnight, Zhang Pengliang fully embraced the moniker “Peter Chang,” and his life irrevocably changed.
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In recent years, Peter and his wife have pursued green cards. In the interim, a Virginia judge recognized their vital contribution to the state economy. This is hardly surprising, considering his restaurant group has expanded to 18 locations along the Acela Corridor, stretching from Richmond, Virginia to Stamford, Connecticut. Few chefs, even globally recognized celebrities, can boast such an extensive reach. Peter himself remains deeply involved, frequently found in the kitchens of his restaurants, particularly Q and Mama Chang in Fairfax, Virginia. The Peter Chang restaurant enterprise operates with remarkable efficiency, yet every Christmas season pushes it to its operational limits.
Inside the Kitchen at Q by Peter Chang: A Symphony of Controlled Chaos
On a typical October evening, Lydia Chang offered me a glimpse into the bustling kitchen of Q, providing a stark contrast to the anticipated Christmas frenzy. The kitchen, expansive and meticulously organized, was a scene of focused activity. A team of four chefs commanded the woks, their movements fluid and practiced. Another pair managed ovens, steamers, and simmering broths. Four more cooks expertly carved ducks, skillfully rolled out the signature scallion pancakes, and ladled fragrant soups. Service that night was brisk but controlled, the highlight being a grand 14-course crab banquet for 40 guests, orchestrated and plated by Peter Chang himself.
The kitchen atmosphere was devoid of music and unnecessary chatter. Communication was minimal and precise, reminiscent of a basketball team seamlessly executing plays. Observing the controlled yet rapid pace, I remarked to Lisa Zheng, the general manager, that the energy level seemed like a 7 out of 10. “Yeah,” she agreed, “but compared to Christmas, this is a 4.”
Ironically, the Chinese term for Christmas Eve, 平安夜 (píng’ān yè), translates to “peaceful night.” However, in Chinese restaurants across America, December 24th is anything but tranquil.
When asked about his perspective on Christmas, Chang’s reaction was visceral. Clutching his head, he uttered the only English word I heard him say all evening: “Crazy!” (Our interview was conducted in Chinese, requiring my wife’s translation assistance later.) “I’m scared of the holiday,” he confessed. “It’s very profitable, but it’s too exhausting, too anxious.”
Lisa elaborated on the typical Saturday night versus Christmas volume. A standard busy Saturday sees around 150 covers over a three-hour dinner service at a Peter Chang restaurant. On Christmas, Mama Chang, their busiest location, serves upwards of 500. On December 24th and 25th, both Mama Chang and Q, the largest in terms of square footage, deploy 18 to 20 cooks, many arriving as early as 6 a.m. and all working extended hours. The sheer scale of preparation is staggering. A hallmark of Chang’s restaurants is the speed of service, a feat achieved through masterful wok technique, intense heat, and the famously meticulous mise en place of Chinese kitchens. Vegetables, aromatics, and proteins are precisely cut into specific shapes, allowing wok cooking to occur at maximum speed – dishes transitioning from wok to plate in mere minutes. Fuschia Dunlop, in Invitation to a Banquet: The Story of Chinese Food, eloquently describes this: “When I watch an accomplished chef stir-frying, I see a magician, a worker of wonders. A chef may be battle-scarred, chain-smoking, inarticulate — and yet the grace of his movements, his extraordinary mental and physical agility, makes me gasp.”
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Beyond duck, the Christmas rush demands countless scallion pancakes rolled to perfection, thousands of dumplings precisely folded, and vats of stock transformed into soul-warming soups. Chuck Ye, manager of Mama Chang, reveals the staggering prep quantities for Christmas week: 30 pounds of ginger and 60 pounds of garlic, roughly 3,600 cloves, diced meticulously at each restaurant. The sheer volume of ingredients, to-go containers, and rice sacks becomes almost abstract. The key takeaway is the extraordinary effort required, an undertaking that should not be underestimated.
Peter Chang’s primary concern is maintaining quality amidst the Christmas chaos. Quality is paramount for Chang, renowned for authentic Sichuan cuisine like the dry-fried eggplant, a textural marvel, and silken tofu in salted egg sauce. His dishes demand exceptional technical skill, especially from his wok chefs. Witnessing Peter prepare squirrelfish (or pinecone fish), a special banquet item, highlighted this mastery. The intricate knife work, creating delicate filaments while keeping the fillet attached to the skin, was followed by a flash-frying technique that transformed the fish into hardened, golden coral. A vibrant sweet-and-sour sauce completed the dish, eliciting audible appreciation from the banquet room.
While squirrelfish may not be on the regular Christmas menu, Peking duck certainly is, and orders skyrocket. Chang’s Peking duck, a 24-hour labor of love involving lacquering, chilling, and roasting, is a Christmas centerpiece. Each duck requires an hour in specialized vapor-injection ovens; Q boasts two, each holding 15 ducks. Even for Chang, carving and plating each duck takes five minutes. Pre-pandemic, the holiday season saw 2,000 ducks sold across his restaurants. Then came Christmas 2020 and pandemic-era supply chain disruptions.
“Supply chains were very unstable,” Peter recounted. “At that time, there weren’t enough ducks on the market for what we needed.” He spent the week before Christmas driving the I-95 corridor, from Stamford to Atlanta, desperately sourcing enough ducks to meet the overwhelming demand.
Since then, demand has doubled, with an anticipated 4,000 ducks this year. On Christmas Eve and Christmas Day alone, each restaurant might go through 500 ducks nightly. Refrigerators, including walk-ins, overflow with ducks, and ovens operate continuously. At Q, Peter personally oversees duck carving.
Unlike many Western restaurants that opt for prix fixe menus on holidays, Peter Chang insists on offering the full menu. By 3 p.m. on Christmas Day, takeout orders surge. Around 5 p.m., dining rooms fill, and the intensity escalates. Describing the 5-8 p.m. peak, Lisa and Lydia struggle to articulate the sheer frenzy. While restaurant work is demanding year-round, Christmas at Peter Chang’s reaches another level. There’s no time for staff meals; pizza becomes the sustenance of choice, inhaled in fleeting moments. Takeout orders are the true pressure point. On a normal night, one server bags takeout; on Christmas, six servers commandeer a central kitchen table, surrounded by stacks of containers, dine-in plating relegated to a small corner.
Whether it’s nationally recognized establishments like Peter Chang’s or local neighborhood spots, Chinese restaurants experience a dramatic surge in demand over Christmas. Ming Chi, manager of Chen’s 22 in Springfield, New Jersey, notes they double everything for Christmas, “Ten cases of chicken a week becomes 20 cases.” Everyone works overtime, in a “nonstop” blur. Amanda Tang, manager of Twin Dragon in Los Angeles, reports four to five times the usual business, notably omitting duck and whole fish from the menu to streamline operations.
Peter and Lydia have considered closing for Christmas, but the financial implications are too significant. A normal busy night yields $15,000 in revenue; Christmas brings in $50,000. To navigate the chaos, Lisa explains that all 18 Chang restaurants engage in a friendly competition, vying for the highest net sales increase compared to the previous Christmas, injecting a sense of team spirit into the demanding holiday.
The disparity is striking. We would never subject a French chef like Daniel Boulud to this level of holiday inundation. Yet, Peter Chang’s restaurants, offering comparable culinary sophistication, are treated like takeout counters for two days each December.
But, acknowledging the complexities of ethical consumption, I, like many, will find myself back in line at Q this Christmas. And I will definitely be ordering duck. To ease the burden on restaurant staff, Lydia suggests ordering a day or two in advance, especially for duck. For takeout, Peter recommends placing orders by 3 p.m. on the day of. Plan ahead, inquire about advance orders, and most importantly, tip generously – it’s the most wonderful time of the year, after all.
