Chef George Yiu flips American-Chinese classics on their heads at Yao's

Unhyphenated America is an unappetizing proposition. It tastes like tighty whities and golf. Hyphenated America is where flavor lives — a free-ballin' funhouse of spicy and soulful. Come mealtime, forget milquetoast. Give me shrimp toast. Give me American-Chinese — among the most hit-the-spot of culturally adapted cuisines.

In recent weeks, I've eaten in a "Modern Italian Kitchen," on the "Modern Riviera," and now at Yao's, a "Modern Chinese Kitchen." "Modern" is a semantic rabbit hole which here seems best defined by a commonality — all three sling broad-appeal reboots of their respective origin fare. Never a surefire recipe for tasty, but at Yao's, it works and works well.

Chef-owner George Yiu served as executive chef at both Chroma and Canvas in Lake Nona — well-oiled Tavistock machines. He's done time at Disney. The residue of his pedigree is palpable at Yao's. It's a polished restaurant. Suburban urbane. The menu is considered. Market-smart. But Yao's is far from corporatized sheen-over-substance. It's a family affair. George rocking the open kitchen, a brother running service, a sister behind the bar, the wind of generations of family restaurateurs at their backs. It vibes The Bear but friendlier. Panda Bear.

On pandas: My youth was spent bypassing Big Macs for Panda Express. So, when eyes saw Firecracker Shrimp ($12), mouth said yes. Pavlov's prawns. Although Yao's Firecracker is more Bang-Bang — China by way of Bonefish Grill — it's creamy, spicy, fried-crisp good.

We followed with Shanghai sticky ribs ($15), largish pork ribs in chili-soy. Although a tad treacly for my taste, they were well enjoyed and Neanderthal'ed to oblivion. Their popularity at neighboring tables suggests the sweetish sauce hits the sweetest of spots with patrons. Chili wontons ($10) with pork and house chili oil were addictively moreish even if they would have benefited from a slight acid note.

For mains, we graduated from zhuzhed-up takeout to dishes with more cheffy appeal. A table favorite was the Parmesan crab miso udon ($22). Yes, that's at the thematic periphery; I suppose crab sauce noodles exist in China and China is close to Japan and Parmesan is . . . who cares. Although the crab could be more present, it's a lovable mutt of a dish. Dreamy creamy Japan-o-fredo. A butterflied fire-roasted yellowtail snapper ($50) was also a hit. Although I prefer bone-in, I also appreciate speeding food to mouth. Particularly this food — deep from the grill and brightened with scallion chimichurri.

There were some slight downs. A table-share riff on Mongolian beef ($70) ate like Mongolian Roulette, a ribeye disassembled into a plate of pre-sliced surprises — from tender perfection to prime jerky to fat bomb. Served with a lowkey fabulous side of smoky cabbage, it made for rollercoaster eating. (Hooray! Boo. Hooray!) Mushroom clay pot rice ($19) with local 'shrooms? Conceptually appealing but bland on fork, lacking the earthy umami that would seem implicit.

We ended on a high note. Both black sesame soft-serve and milk-tea tiramisu were fun, first-rate, and a sweet synopsis of the restaurant itself. A whirl of influences: Chinese, Italian, Japanese and more. Very American. Very Yao's.

By leveraging our increasingly hybridized, globalized foodscape as a springboard for innovation, Yao's succeeds in turning familiar names — hello, beef & broccoli — into deliciously less-familiar plates — hello, beef & broccoli sandwich with ginger chimi. But, at its heart, it remains a tribute to the American-Chinese we know and love, an ever-adapting, crowd-pleasing cuisine that at its worst remains good and when good is fantastic. Yao's is clearly good, and for Oviedo diners that's fantastic.