Mr. H Review: A Twist of Modernity on Tradition

Some restaurants court guests; Mr. H stages them. The light gathers, the bustling Seaport noise fades away, and one’s place in the restaurant feels intentional rather than incidental. Upon arrival, guests can expect a simple courtesy — chairs graciously pulled out, the menu clearly explained — that sets the tone for a well-choreographed evening. The space itself is visually commanding: A palette of lacquered crimson reds and dragon motifs, roofline components that allude to ancient Chinese temple architecture, and porcelain plates engraved with pastoral scenes. Warm, lantern-like lighting and background music seemingly pulled from a speakeasy playbook tie the cocktail bar and dining area together. Even the restrooms sustain the narrative with AI-generated wallpaper reminiscent of vintage Chinese fashion magazines. The effect is deliberate and impressively consistent. However, one thing to note is that Mr. H presents itself as more of a translation rather than a transcription: It’s a modern, upscale restaurant calibrated specifically for Chinese-American diners and a wider American audience. As a result, it is perhaps less likely to satisfy mainland China purists seeking the precise, unfiltered versions they are more familiar with.

The bar leans into theatricality without sacrificing craft. Cocktails arrive on bamboo trays that trail a cloud of dry ice, scattered with pink and yellow flower petals and tiny pagoda and lion figurines — props that could feel gimmicky if the drinks did not hold their own. Fortunately, they do. The Lychee Martini is a clean, sharp choice, greeting one first with the scent of ripe lychee and then with a crisp, decisive taste. The alcohol certainly announces itself as it is noticeably strong on the palate, but the sip still stays neat and refreshing, helped by the plump lychee skewered atop. The Wuyi cocktail, meanwhile, plays softer and sweeter. A pale layer of frothy foam on top gives it a creamy lift, pineapple and citrus notes add a bit of sun, and a dusting of smoky black tea leaves creates a slight bitterness. Even so, the sweetness builds quickly, tipping toward syrupy and even edging into sickly. A brighter acidic note would help balance it out a bit.

Among the appetizers, perhaps an underrated order is the Tangerine Tuna. Five thin slices of fresh tuna sit in a carefully-timed mandarin-soy vinaigrette that seasons without overwhelming or over-soaking. A quiet heat from the doubanjiang mayo and the saltiness and crunch of peanuts land in tidy sequence upon the tongue, producing a very composed crudo that still feels anchored in the Chinese pantry. The Soup Dumplings, on the other hand, are more ambivalent. Presented attractively on a bamboo leaf with self-serve soy sauce and chili oil, the dumplings consist of skins that are thicker and chewier than ideal. That sturdiness preserves structural integrity but there is then a tradeoff with delicacy, resulting in a chew that distracts from other flavors. The broth is seasoned generously with five-spice but runs a touch salty, and the meat filling is hefty and satisfying but borders on dense. Consumed in one bite, broth plus filling collaborate nicely, yet consumed separately, the meat can come off slightly dry. A thinner, silkier wrapper and a gentler hand with salt would elevate the dish considerably.

Entrees follow a similar pattern of refinement and restraint. The Dandan Noodles arrive coated in a sesame-peanut sauce that clings thoroughly, woven alongside minced Sichuan duck pieces that eat like deconstructed meatballs. The flavors are savory and quite tangy from the pickled mustard, but the heat is subdued. Bok choy placed on top is crunchy but underseasoned, and the choice to plate a single large stalk, while elegant to the eyes, proves inconvenient to split and eat. The dish is undeniably satisfying but feels edited a tad too much and just misses the numbing spice element so characteristic of its traditional Sichuan form. By contrast, the House Fried Rice is an unexpected triumph; for some, ordering fried rice at a Chinese restaurant is not the typical move, but here it is the right one. Each grain of rice remains distinct and properly chewy, carrying a gentle smokiness indicative of competent wok work. The Bàng Bàng chicken and sweet Chinese sausage are judiciously portioned and offer differing flavor profiles that somehow complement each other. Stir-fried bean sprouts contribute snap, and a slightly undercooked egg lends cohesion and a soft, custardy sheen. While not the flashiest plate in the room, it is one that sees a steady stream of dedicated orders.

Dessert revisits the restaurant palette with the Chocolate Buddha, an inspiring idea that unfortunately does not fully cohere. There assuredly are standout elements: The salted cookie crumble that brightens the dark chocolate, fudgy brownie bites that add richness, and a house-made black sesame cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream scoop with a subtle, savory lilt. However, the central mousse of the Buddha itself is too heavy, and the hints of oolong unexpectedly evoke a banana-strawberry profile. One would hope that such an upscale restaurant would know how to whip their mousse as light as air, but the reality is disappointing. A couple sticks of dusted red velvet Pockys nod again to the restaurant’s red theme, but the dish would truly benefit from textural lightness and clearer flavors to close the meal on a confident note.

Despite a few hiccups in the execution of the dishes, service remains a constant asset throughout the experience. It is attentive without intruding and clearly versed in the logic of the menu. The pacing of the food and the staff’s composure sustain the grand sense of occasion that the overall space’s design sets in motion. Taken together, Mr. H largely fulfills the aesthetic of an elevated, contemporary Chinese restaurant fluent in both tradition and trend. Those seeking a purist’s intensity and the lip-tingling sensation of typical Sichuan spice will find a softened alternative. Yet, for a polished and belly-filling evening in a visually striking room, Mr. H makes a persuasive case. A touch more heat, a tad less salt, and a lighter dessert would turn a well-produced performance into a definitively memorable one.

—Staff writer Audrey Zhang can be reached at audrey.zhang@thecrimson.com.