I spotted the restaurant several weeks ago. Through the passenger window of my Didi (China’s Uber), on my way to my Mandarin courses, I could see locals filling every table, slurping down their noodles. And as far as rules go, going where the locals eat seems like an excellent strategy. I put it on my list of places to visit.

After arriving far too early for my class and with my stomach grumbling, I walked back toward the main intersection. For a small side street, it’s often busier than expected. Cars, scooters, and pedestrians are all fighting for a sliver of space. The walk from my language school to the noodle shop shouldn’t take long, but it does because of traffic and folks making odd decisions while parking.

As I entered, I hoped to get a clue about what was what by observing the folks in front of me. But there were none, and I gestured to wanting a table and hoped that would suffice. It seemed to, at least in the beginning.

The seating space consisted of two levels. A smaller one at the front with two rows of two tops—one in the window and the other along the wall just below the upper level. Up a few steps is the bigger space with more seating and several four-tops to accommodate bigger parties. Both areas felt bright and airy.

They were clean, remarkably so. It's a far cry from what folks in the West would stereotypically believe. The only problem was it was eerily quiet. Despite nearly every table being full, there was no background music, giving the ambiance an almost ominous feel. It was almost like that moment in movies when the music stops right after an outsider walks through the door of a bar in rural America. And to be fair, I was an outsider.

However, there were sounds. From the kitchen, I could hear dishes being cleaned and the sounds of cooks hard at work making various meals for patrons. In the dining room, folks were slurping their noodles, and wooden chopsticks clanked against ceramic bowls.

The menu, surprisingly, had every dish translated from Mandarin to English. Not all places do, though this was in a more touristy area, so it seemed fitting that at least an attempt was made. It took me a few minutes of perusal to sort out what I wanted. And after making a pick, I looked up and motioned to what I assumed was the section manager.

I pointed to the dish I wanted, he shook his head yes, said something to the person at the front operating the cash register, then looked at me and pointed back toward the front.

What I didn’t realize was that this place was more of a fast-casual restaurant. One where you order at the front, take a number and sit wherever there’s space. Two local businessmen joined me at the four-top, where I originally sat alone. There were several other tables that consisted of mixed parties, too. No one seemed to mind, though.

I picked the dish entitled house special oil seared biang noodle with pork. Several others looked enticing, but this one said house special, and I figured this was the one to pick based on that idea alone.

It didn’t take very long for the noodles to come out, and when they did, I took several bites of each individual item in the bowl–a sort of deconstructed nibbling of the dish. And then I swirled it all together, mixing every ingredient thoroughly to ensure every bite had a little bit of everything.

I was worried that whatever the special oil was would be the sort of hot that I couldn’t handle. The rankings of chilis on the menu mean nothing without an actual reference. One place's single chili rating could be another place’s three. Luckily, I had nothing to worry about.

The dish was mostly what I wanted. The ingredients matched my general idea of what a local meal might taste like. The wide noodles weren’t soggy and were slightly al dente if one could use that term for Asian cuisine. Whatever the green vegetable they included had absorbed all the other flavors and was pleasing to the palette. The small serving of pork was tasty, too, but maybe just a tad too small. The chunks of potatoes and carrots seemed odd, but I didn’t question it because I am the foreigner after all. And finally, the bean sprouts added a bit of crunch to the ensemble.

While I was satisfied, something was missing. I’m not quite sure what, though. It wasn’t too spicy, and it wasn’t lacking in salt. But it just felt there could have been a bit more pop in the dish. As I’m not an expert in Asian cuisine, there’s not much else I can say, honestly. Maybe I’ll bring a local next time.

I’ll probably go back, but there are plenty of other dishes to try. And maybe those will have the fuller flavor I’m seeking.

Noodles Bar. House Special Oil Seared Biang Noodle with Pork: 26 RMB, $3.50