Jerry Shaw has been a loyal patron of Chicago Cafe for over 40 years. A law professor at UC Davis became intrigued by a sign hanging above the counter that read, “Chicago Cafe, established in 1903.” This sparked a challenge for the Fong family in Woodland, California.
Proud of their family-owned restaurant with deep community roots, 76-year-old Paul Fong and his 67-year-old wife, Nancy, had never given much thought to the significance of that sign. Paul immigrated from Hong Kong in 1973, and since then, he and Nancy have dedicated their lives to running the eatery. Their children, 47-year-old physical therapist Amy and 45-year-old Apple software quality engineer Andy, grew up sweeping floors and doing homework in the restaurant after school, all the while under strict instructions to attend college in hopes of securing more stable futures away from the hard work of restaurant life. Now, as they raise their own children, Amy and Andy hope for a more relaxed retirement for their parents, filled with quality time with their grandchildren.
Then one day in 2022, Professor Gabriel Jack Chin, an expert in immigration law focusing on the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, came in for lunch. His findings complicated the Fong family’s plans to gradually close the restaurant. If the sign was accurate, and Chicago Cafe had indeed been operating since 1903, it would mean that the restaurant held immense historical significance.
In January, UC Davis released Chin’s research, announcing that among the thousands of Chinese restaurants across America, the Fong family’s establishment was the oldest continuously operating one in California and possibly in the entire country. It was a piece of important American history, hidden in plain sight in a small agricultural town just 20 miles northwest of Sacramento, unnoticed until now.
The media quickly picked up the story, and a wave of new customers flooded in. The Woodland City Council even issued a proclamation, highlighting council members’ favorite dishes. Instead of retiring, Paul and Nancy found themselves working harder than ever.
On a recent Friday, Amy brought her two kids to the restaurant, which buzzed with its usual friendly chaos. Nearly every table was filled, with many patrons enjoying the restaurant’s signature dish—a kind of American-Chinese stir fry not found in China.
Dianna Oldstad, the sole waitress who has been with the Fong family for decades, moved about energetically, greeting regulars in her straightforward yet warm manner. In the kitchen, Paul and Nancy darted between the cutting boards and the wok, whipping up dishes at a breathtaking pace. Overhead, taxidermied deer, elk, and a flamboyant stuffed peacock donated by loyal customers presided over the scene, a testament to the years of patronage.
Paul’s pride in serving his customers was palpable—many have become friends and fishing buddies. But his daughter voiced her concern: “They’re getting too old to keep doing this every day.”
The family’s plight is evident, and even longtime patrons discuss the future of Chicago Cafe while waiting for their meals: Will the restaurant close when Paul and Nancy retire? How will its historical significance be preserved when the Fong family eventually steps away?
Unraveling the history of a Chinese restaurant that has been in business for over a century is more complex than one might think. Professor Chin notes that one challenge stems from the racism of the early 20th century, which meant that local directories often excluded Asian Americans and their businesses. As a result, records had to be sought elsewhere.
The Chinese Exclusion Act introduced another layer of difficulty. While it aimed to restrict immigration, it did not entirely stop it. Many Chinese immigrants purchased the identities of American-born individuals and posed as their relatives, a practice referred to as “paper sons.”
For a time, the restaurant navigated its own way around the Exclusion Act through what became known as the “noodle loophole,” permitting business owners to bring employees from China under a specific visa. After a federal court added restaurants to the list of businesses eligible for such visas in the years following 1915, the number of Chinese restaurants in the United States surged.
Paul’s grandfather likely arrived in the U.S. before the “noodle loophole” was enacted. He came to the San Francisco Bay under the name Harry Young, though the exact year has been lost to time. The 1906 San Francisco earthquake destroyed many naturalization records, allowing some to add extra “relatives” onto their documentation later.
“Harry Young” eventually made his way to Woodland, where a busy Chinatown was already developing, populated by Chinese immigrants who had worked on building America’s railroads. The town was characterized by stately Victorian buildings and oak-shaded land, but its Chinatown was smaller— a simple row of wooden and brick structures tucked behind the main street.
Paul is unsure how the family opened their restaurant or why they chose the name Chicago Cafe. He was born long after his grandfather left China, and they never met. When Paul was young, his father moved from Taishan to Woodland to reunite with his father—also a paper son, called Yee Chong Pang.
In 1973, Paul, his mother, and Nancy joined his father in the restaurant. They could have come sooner, but as paper sons, they faced bureaucratic obstacles despite the passing of the Immigration Act in 1965, which opened doors for Asian immigrants.
Paul arrived in Woodland from Hong Kong, a bustling city of over four million even in 1973, arriving in a town of just 20,000—a huge shock for him.
“In Hong Kong, there were so many people,” he recalls. The streets were crowded, and the nightlife vibrant. The brightest stars in Woodland’s night sky were even more dazzling against the absence of city lights.
Yet, Paul gradually fell in love with it. Though his English was limited, he made friends. Amy fondly remembers that bags of freshly killed ducks and a truckload of zucchini regularly arrived at the restaurant. When a friend accidentally ran into a peacock, it also found its way into the restaurant—though it ended up hanging on the wall instead of on a plate.
Andy recalls that their parents rarely spoke about the family’s journey to Woodland. He remembers visiting the cemetery to honor his grandfather and being surprised to see the name “Young” on the tombstone instead of “Fong.” That was the first time he heard the term “paper son.”
The Fong children spent their afternoons at the restaurant after school. Reflecting on their childhood, they recognize it as a local gathering place, where generations of families from all walks of life come together to enjoy meals and celebrate special occasions. At a recent city council meeting, nearly every member shared personal stories tied to the restaurant, some dating back decades.
“My family literally grew up eating at Chicago Cafe,” Mayor Tania Garcia-Cadena said. Councilwoman Vicky Fernandez recounted that hers did as well. “Your doors have always been open to all of us,” she noted, explaining that not every restaurant in town welcomed her family, who are of Mexican descent.
While Paul and Nancy take pride in their past, they understand one fundamental truth: their children will not take over the family business. “My dad was clear with us; he wanted us to go to college and not work in a restaurant. It’s too hard,” Andy recalled. Their plan was for the Fong family to step away from the restaurant industry permanently once Paul and Nancy retired.
