Where Chinese Hamburgers Meet ‘Texas’ Barbecue

The Midnight Diners is a regular collaboration between KQED food editor Luke Tsai and graphic novelist Thien Pham. Follow them each week as they explore the hot pot restaurants, taco carts and 24-hour casino buffets that make up the Bay Area’s after-hours dining scene.

As we pulled into a cramped plaza in San Bruno, the bilingual sign above a modest-looking Chinese restaurant promised an ultra-rare, perhaps never-before-heard-of combination: “岐山肉夹馍 & Texas BBQ.” In other words, Xi’an-style rou jia mo (aka “Chinese hamburgers”) served alongside heaping stacks of Texas ’cue. What?!

As it turns out, the “Texas” part of the formula at Z-One Kitchen, as the restaurant is called, really stretches the limits of creative marketing. But that didn’t stop us from having an intensely meaty, rollicking good time.

We arrived at around 9 o’clock on a recent Friday night, our curiosity piqued by online reports of this unusual fusion cuisine. The place closes up shop at 10:30 — decently late, even if it isn’t on the extreme end of the late-night dining spectrum. (Curiously, it doesn’t appear to have any connection to the similarly named A-One Kitchen — another Midnight Diners’ favorite — just a mile up the road.)

But in terms of rowdy, slightly chaotic late-night vibes, Z-One has the part down to a tee, starting with the crowded parking lot, where a suped-up Volkswagen Beetle was gunning its engine. The dining room — a clutter of mismatched furniture and empty Tsingtao beer bottles — was loud, and so busy that we had to share a six-top booth with another party. The workers were all big, burly Chinese guys with Northern accents. After getting vague, slightly brusque responses to our questions about the menu, I finally interjected in Mandarin, prompting our server to cry out (also in Mandarin), “If you speak Chinese, why didn’t you just say so to begin with!”

The overall effect was like we’d stumbled onto the kind of roadside food stand you might find somewhere in rural China.

As the restaurant’s signage and branding suggest, the menu is divided into two halves: one side has all the “Texas barbecue”; the other side is a mishmash of Chinese drinking food, most of it specific to Shaanxi province. For the barbecue, there’s a $35 all-you-can-eat option (!), or you can order a plate that comes with your choice of meat and two dishes for as little as $16 — not unlike the meat-and-two format you’d find at a classic barbecue joint.

The only difference? The spices, the seasoning, the flavor profile and probably the entirety of the cooking process. None of the meats we tried had seen the inside of a smoker. Instead, they appeared to have been braised in some soy sauce–based concoction, then finished on the grill. They tasted not Texan (you should just eliminate that expectation entirely) but rather wholly Chinese.

Which isn’t to say this take on barbecue wasn’t tasty in its own right. The flavor reminded me of Chinese beef jerky more than anything else — savory with a whisper of honeyed sweetness. We especially loved the beef spare ribs, which were luscious and slightly sticky, with tender meat that pulled right off the bone. We also ordered slippery, gelatinous pigs’ feet and, our least favorite, pork ribs that came out a bit too dry. Next time we might just get three orders of beef ribs. You can also choose from an assortment of cumin-dusted meat skewers, similar to what you’ll find at other Chinese barbecue restaurants around the Bay.

In truth, the sides are probably the most fusion-y part of Z-One’s menu, allowing you to pair the meats with, say, potato salad (creamy and surprisingly addicting) and a satisfyingly greasy, soy sauce–drenched version of egg fried rice. We loved them both.

Apparently, when Z-One first opened in 2020, it was a straightforward Shaanxi restaurant, specializing in the northwestern Chinese regional cuisine that gained some mainstream prominence in the U.S. after the rise of Xi’an Famous Foods, in New York, in the late aughts. So while the barbecue is worth trying, Z-One’s real sweet spot is its Shaanxi food, especially those so-called “Chinese hamburgers.” These, too, aren’t a fusion thing; rou jia mo has a 2,200-year history in China. The burger comparison comes from the well-seasoned meat stuffed inside a crisp flatbread — more akin to a paratha or an extra-thin English muffin than a burger bun.

Z-One’s classic pork rou jia mo came crammed full of saucy, finely shredded meat. It was extraordinarily juicy and well-seasoned, with an occasional jolt of fresh chili heat. I liked the version stuffed with grilled cumin lamb and sliced onions even better.

On a warm summer night, the sandwiches pair perfectly with an order of liangpi — wide, crinkly cold noodles tossed in a spicy, tangy sesame sauce. Even better: Z-One serves one of the better versions of fried stinky tofu I’ve found in the Bay Area. The tofu cubes were expertly fried, super-crisp without getting dried out, served in a pool of deliciously garlicky chili sauce.

Everything Z-One serves goes exceptionally well with cold beer, so it came as no surprise that guys at the table next to us were three or four Tsingtaos in. They kept calling out to the owner (“Lao ban! Lao ban!”), teasing him half-nonsensically. We were feeling a little bit giddy too by the end of the night, even though we hadn’t been drinking. Instead, we left with full bellies — the smell of cumin and garlic heavy on our breath, with two big boxes of leftovers to tote home — feeling like we’d been taken on an unexpected journey. Not to Texas, certainly. But somewhere we hadn’t been before.

Z-One Kitchen is open Tuesday through Sunday, 11 a.m.–2 p.m. and 5–10:30 p.m., at 130 El Camino Real Ste. C in San Bruno.