In 1927, Gin Jack Keen opened Noodle Boom, serving Chinese-American noodles and stir-fry. After generations of ownership and a name change to Mee Heng Low, the 99-year-old historic noodle house permanently closed on Aug. 29, leaving the restaurant’s building awaiting an uncertain future.
As the last remaining Chinese-owned establishment in San Luis Obispo’s historic Chinatown district, Mee Heng Low’s closure marks the end of a century of cultural exchange through Chinese-American food.
After facing expensive upgrades, collapsed sales deals, and a medical emergency, second-generation operator Russell Kwong decided he needed to step away from restaurant management.
“The uncertainty with all of that is not conducive to living my life to the best potential,” Kwong said. “I’m ready to buy a house and get married and start a family and stuff.”
Kwong’s connection to the kitchen started long before he took over Mee Heng Low.
Raised by parents who were both chefs, he picked up cooking at an early age and spent his teenage years working in restaurant kitchens. In 2009, his father, Paul Kwong, purchased the business after it had passed through multiple owners since the original Gin family era. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit and Paul decided to retire, Kwong stepped up to manage operations full time.
Over 17 on-and-off years at 815 Palm St., Kwong shouldered the quiet weight of operating Mee Heng Low and upholding decades of history and memories.
“I’ve been carrying the torch for a long time,” Kwong said. “It’s something I think about, and if I do this, that’s kind of it. There’s going to be a sad response to that. It doesn’t lose its authenticity, Chinatown, but it feels a little different.”
Behind the kitchen doors was a routine of 8-to-10-hour workdays, six days a week. The turning point arrived earlier this year, when Kwong suffered an almost fatal medical emergency. Once he returned to work, he said, rising payroll costs and physical exhaustion became impossible to ignore.
“I came back, and I kind of realized this is fragile,” Kwong said. “I was like, ‘I think we’re done here.’”
Aside from Kwong’s personal burnout, the two-story building needs major interior overhauls, he said—including widening the doorways, expanding the bathrooms, and making ADA compliance fixes.
Mee Heng Low did win a competitive $50,000 Backing Historic Small Restaurants grant in late 2025 to restore its iconic neon sign, but those funds were legally restricted to the sign only.
“That money was for a specific thing. It went with the façade, and it looks good,” Kwong said.
‘I don’t think this legacy needs to die with me. I just think the right person needs to come in that’s willing to take care of it the way it needs to be taken care of.’
—Russell Kwong, former operator of Mee Heng Low
With around 14 property owners splitting ownership of the building, interior repairs remained stalled. For months, he navigated a rotation of prospective building buyers and investors whose proposals lacked the right business execution plan, he said.
When negotiations with a primary prospective buyer fell through over mismatched visions for the building’s usage, Kwong said he’d already resolved to announce the restaurant’s closure, prompting the landlords to take the building off the market.
“By that point, I had already been making decisions,” Kwong said. “I’m going to move on because it’s been really draining.”
Before the building was listed for sale, Kwong had drafted a vision to reimagine the space. His master plan included floor plans to convert the downstairs into a neighborhood market and deli stocked with fresh produce, prepared salads, beer, and wine, while maintaining full dining upstairs.
At the same time, Kwong stayed true to traditional culinary fashion, intentionally avoiding modern social media marketing campaigns.
“I’m a chef that’s running a restaurant without a marketing guy,” Kwong said, contrasting his approach with other downtown restaurants. “I’ve always wanted to represent ourselves through food instead of pictures.”
When news of the closure spread, the noodle house experienced an overwhelming surge of community support. Tables in the dining room quickly filled with cards, gifts, and food sent over from neighboring kitchens, including Luna Red and Benny’s Pizza Palace.
“My staff and myself, we’re like, this is how people treat you when someone in your family dies,” Kwong said. “This is total funeral behavior.”
The final night brought rushes so intense that sustaining them would have required two or three times his small three-person crew. To manage the influx, former employees returned to assist with line operations, including a longtime staff member who temporarily left a wildland firefighting deployment in Oregon to cook during the restaurant’s final weekend.
“If we did the business that we’ve done in the past two weeks, I’d be a rich man,” Kwong said.
As Kwong prepared to hand over the keys and clear out the building, he said he was eager for a simpler, less demanding routine. His immediate next step is taking a barbacking job at Luna Red, a move he said offers him the new experience of working under someone else without the weight of management.
“They were like, ‘You’re really overqualified,’” Kwong said. “I was like, ‘No, no, no, I want a boss, and I want to barback for six months.’”
While Kwong remains open to eventually opening a smaller, neighborhood-style deli or pop-up venture on his own terms, he hopes Mee Heng Low’s historic Palm Street building eventually finds a steward willing to honor its heritage.
“I don’t think this legacy needs to die with me,” Kwong said. “I just think the right person needs to come in that’s willing to take care of it the way it needs to be taken care of.” ∆
Reach Flavor writer Sam Fickett at sfickett@newtimesslo.com.
This article appears in Sept 17-24, 2026.
