Edmonton Chinese Restaurant Closing Marks End of an Era

For more than 50 years or half a century, the eatery served more than just hearty bowls of wor wonton soup and spicy amin chicken. Generations celebrated anniversaries, birthdays, and Sunday dinners under its golden glow, using it as an anchor. The type of establishment where patrons didn’t require menus and where the staff knew both your name and the names of your children.

The fragrance of cooked garlic filled the lobby before the doors had even opened when I went there last autumn. The odor hasn’t altered in many years.

Tracy Luu, the 79-year-old owner, has lived most of her life within those walls. She had two sons and no English when she arrived in Canada after the war. She walked to Red Diamond to apply for a job as a dishwasher after receiving a sponsorship a few blocks away.

Her long ascent from cleaning pans to running the entire business began with her first job, which she got with great effort. In memoirs, this type of metamorphosis is idealized, but it seemed quite genuine behind the buffet line.

Her four boys all helped out throughout the years, taking turns learning the company. Red Diamond served as both their family’s business and the backdrop for their lives together. On Mondays, her brother, who was formerly a co-owner, would prepare meals for the employees and family members.

A place where strangers become community was created with remarkable effectiveness by that rhythm of gathering and constancy. Ralph Klein, a former premier, was a frequent player in the 1990s. It was a post-game custom for the Edmonton Oilers in their heyday. Luu merely nodded and responded, “Yeah, 1980-something,” when asked about Wayne Gretzky. “They came for dinner.”

Decades later, the elaborate wooden dividers that were imported from Taiwan are still in place. The tall vases featuring hand-painted scenes from earlier dynasties also do. They are relics from a time when Chinese eateries aimed to inspire as much as to nourish their patrons.

Phones at the restaurant have been ringing nonstop in recent days. Many people who call merely want to talk to Luu, not place orders. Others travel across town to give her a hug instead of dining. Children refer to her as “mom.”

The closeness is more poignant because of Luu’s close connection to the location. Red Diamond failed, thus it isn’t closing. It’s coming to an end because a woman who sacrificed everything for her community is now taking a step back.

Red Diamond maintained its business when other eateries struggled by capitalizing on the community’s loyalty. However, Luu, who is getting close to 80, is ready to relax after operating expenses skyrocketed. According to her son Robin Tran, “Red Diamond has become a home for so many, so it’s hard to say goodbye.”

When I read that quote again, I was unexpectedly affected. There is a subtly heroic quality to creating a place that people call home.

Although there isn’t an official plan to move, the family hasn’t ruled out continuing to run the restaurant. Something fresh could come out of the legacy if the timing is right.

How about those recipes, then? The ones who established the brand? Even the recipe for her beloved spring rolls is one of the mysteries Luu still won’t divulge.

She grins and shifts the topic when people ask. Amazingly, she preserves the flavors that made the area unique even when she retires.

There won’t be a huge farewell or dramatic finale. There will be a silent dimming of the lights when the stock runs out. No neon signage. Nothing but a lingering story and a locked door.

Maybe that makes sense. Red Diamond House made an impression without the usage of fireworks. It simply had to be there for fifty years, warmly and consistently.

And it always will be for those of us who were fortunate enough to be there.