Eating at Sichuan Street Food takes some endurance. First, you might have to wait outside with the other people crowding the sidewalk on Green Street to get in. Then, after you’ve sat down and ordered, it might be another 20 minutes until dishes laced with bright red chilies start landing on the table. But on nights when driving to the San Gabriel Valley simply isn't in the cards, Sichuan Street Food's Chinese dishes are worth a little patience. Despite the name, the food here is homestyle: more deeply savory than highly spicy. Chunks of lamb wear powdered cumin like a fur coat, piping hot laziji comes in paper-lined buckets, and nearly every table has a metal tureen of fish with a navy fleet’s worth of sichuan peppercorns, chilies, and bean sprouts floating on top. Some of these fish swim in pools of fiery red oil, and others are submerged in green, numbing, and pickly liquid. Either way, you’re doing Sichuan Street Food wrong if you don’t get a bowl of buttery blackfish poached in hot-and-numbing oil. Compared to the better-known and sometimes better Chinese restaurants in the San Gabriel Valley, Sichuan Street Food is more of a neighborhood joint with humble food and a homey setting. The restaurant operates like it's running out of a loft apartment. Columns of flames shoot up Metallica-concert-style from the wok every 30 seconds. One harried server runs back and forth from the kitchen to the dining room, which has four tables and an upstairs section that's only sometimes open. All that chaos lends itself to a casual meal with someone who loves spicy food and won't mind waiting around to eat it. Once those warming, wintry bowls and plates start piling up, you’ll forget all about that time you spent doomscrolling in line.