I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. I believe in pleasure because I have physical senses, and I believe in guilt because I’m Catholic. I’ve long felt, though, that if one is going to seek enjoyment, it should be unabashed. 

I have a deep and abiding love for Americanized Chinese food. I’m not even talking about the “legit” stuff, or the hip over-the-top versions served up at places like Mission Chinese, or even our own Rice Box Truck. I’m talking about steam table, mall food court stuff. General Tso’s chicken, its deep-fried nuggets of boneless chicken slowly losing their crispness to an overly sweet yet strangely addictive sauce, is like a siren song to me.

While most places can put out an adequately indulgent spread of fried, sauced and glossed dishes, few manage to nail something so seemingly simple as fried rice. Most versions wind up texturally flawed, their rice either overcooked and gluey or barely turned through the wok, little more than reheated. The ratio of rice to stuff is also a tripping point, most versions mistakenly adhering to a more-is-more philosophy that ignores the dish’s utility as a way to string together a meal out of leftover odds and ends. Mounds of flash-fried beef and mealy shrimp get in the way of the true pleasure of the dish, which is the rice itself.

When it’s done right – each rice grain distinct and glossy, imbued with both tenderness and chew, a nice slick of soy adding savory-salty punch, tender strands of egg distributed evenly throughout and protein additions cooked just through – it’s an immensely pleasurable thing to eat. Lately, I’ve been getting a lot of pleasure out of the version on offer at Wok & Roll in The Shops at Houston Center.

Granted, one part of this may be the fact that I’m a slightly captive audience, and the little takeout counter is about 100 yards from my day job desk. Still, that’s just what brought me to Wok & Roll in the first place, not what keeps me coming back. What keeps me coming back is the ability to watch through the service window as my rice is cooked to order on the towering flame of the wok range in the kitchen. What keeps me coming back is the fact that the women who run the counter-service line no longer balk at my request for no camarones and beat me to the punch more often than not. What keeps me coming back is that rice.

It’s greasy, perhaps a little overly so. It’s a little too protein heavy, even without the shrimp that always bear the marks of time in cryonic hibernation. The rice, though, is lovely. Under the sheen, the rice is nicely distinct, separating into individual grains with the flick of a chopstick or, as has become my manner, spoon. Tender yet retaining a lovely firmness at the center, the rice is a textural pleasure. Its quick turn through the wok contributes wok hei, that almost ethereal smokiness that adds such allure to wok-cooked foods. Wisps of tender egg and pleasantly un-desiccated peas and carrots dot the landscape. This is not a particularly elegant rendition, but it is an utterly satisfying one.

If you take me at my word, believe that you simply cannot leave the counter, generously filled Styrofoam takeout container in hand, without grabbing some red chile oil. Grab as many little plastic tubs as your hands can hold, right up to the point that the cashier starts looking at you funny. You want it. Trust me.

At first, you’ll think it is just ground chiles in oil. You will be mistaken. It starts out that way, just a slick bloom of heat. Then, you’ll notice a dusky, almost smoky note. Next, a subtle fruitiness spreads across your palate, dark and jam-like. Finally, you’ll note an earthy and seductively meaty punch that buttresses all the other elements.

I have moved between many consumption techniques, including the liberal addition of chile oil to the top layer of the rice. What I’ve settled on, though, is a more targeted application, spooning the solids out and straining off some of the oil itself before adding the ground chiles to individual bites, the better to control the dining experience. I always tell myself I’m buying lunch for that day and the next, so generous is the portion. That good thought has never actually manifested in reality. The combination of rice and chile oil is simply too addictive.

If you simply must indulge in some of those other fried and sauced stalwarts, you can always get your General Tso’s with a side of fried rice. 

WOK & ROLL, 1200 McKinney bet. Caroline & San Jacinto, #361, 713-739-8701 (and other locations)