Dim sum has a little somethin’-somethin’ for everyone

dim sumI realize that Chinese New Year ended on February 6th, but in an effort to establish that there’s no bad time to visit Hong Kong or eat Cantonese food, I decided that now would be a good time to write about dim sum (also, I’m a terrible procrastinator. Is it really almost St. Paddy’s Day?).

Hong Kong means different things to different people. Some go for the bargains on everything from cameras to couture, others for the booming nightlife and easy access to other parts of Asia. Others just…really like Jackie Chan movies. Whatever your reason, this former British colony is faring well since it’s 1997 return to China (technically the city and environs are considered a Special Administrative Region–SAR–of the mainland). While not as cheap as other Asian cities or destinations, Hong Kong offers plenty of attractions, food and travel options to suit all budgets.

To a little piglet such as myself, Hong Kong means dim sum. In a city positively obsessed with eating, dim sum is perhaps Hong Kong’s most beloved culinary ritual. Dim sum, which is variously translated as “touching or pointing to the heart,” refers to a variety of steamed or fried dumplings, rice flour rolls, and other small savory or sweet snacks. While Westerners have openly embraced dim sum where dumplings are concerned, some traditional dishes such as braised chicken feet (foong jow) and steamed beef tripe with black bean and chili sauce (ngow pahk yeep) aren’t quite the hits they are in China.

Although dim sum is Cantonese (regionally now referred to as Gaungzhou) in origin, today it reflects the multi-regional influences of Hunan, Shanghai, Beijing, and other provinces in various ingredients and styles, such as the inclusion of Hunan ham in a pan-fried root vegetable dish such as taro cake. There are over 2,000 types of dim sum; in addition to the aforementioned dumplings and rice flour rolls, there are spring rolls, pan-fried cakes, baked or steamed buns, crepes, steamed rice dishes wrapped in lotus leaves, bite-size meat dishes such as spare ribs or duck feet, soups, or sweet puddings of tofu with sauces ranging from black sesame to mango.

[Photo credit: Flickr user LifeSupercharger]dim sumStandard dim sum ingredients include dried Chinese mushrooms; sweet lotus seed or bean paste; water chestnuts; bamboo shoots; rice or wheat flour; glutinous rice; Chinese sausage (lop cheong); preserved pork belly; dried shrimp; chives; ginger; garlic; seafood; poultry; beef, and pork, although the Cantonese are widely known for eating “everything under the sun,” so few bits and pieces are off limits.

Dim sum is thought to have originated during the Sun Dynasty of 960-1280 AD, when drinking tea at teahouses became a popular custom after a day of labor in the fields. The term yum cha, or “to drink tea,” came to be synonymous with the supplementation of small snacks, or dim sum. Today, teahouses still abound throughout China, and Hong Kong has it’s fair share. These are gathering places where locals can gossip, drink, eat, and relax, although some teahouses–often in five-star hotels– cater to a more upscale clientele, or tourists.

Dim sum is meant to be consumed communally; diners pick what interests them from passing waiters who push carts loaded with bamboo steamers or domed platters- the serving dish will then be placed upon the table, and waiters will tally up the bill according to how many you accumulate. It’s not considered bad form to pick morsels communally from the central plate, although you should place your individual choices into your own bowl or plate to catch any drips, or break apart large items using your chopsticks. Dipping bowls of sweet soy sauce, hot mustard (guy lath) and chili sauce (lath ju yow) are used communally as well, although it’s also common to spoon some condiments onto your plate for personal use.

For an authentic teahouse experience in Hong Kong, although perhaps not the best dim sum, 79-year-old Luk Yu Teahouse in the city’s Central District is a historic landmark. Fiercely crotchety, white-smocked old woman bustle about the small, marble-floored teahouse, carrying battered aluminum trays filled with assorted buns and dumplings around their necks. Over the din of dining Cantonese businessmen and families, ceiling fans lazily circulate and hazy sunlight filters through stained glass windows. Don’t expect to know what you’re eating, however. During my visit, I was the only Westerner there, and as is the way with most dim sum restaurants, selection of dishes comes down to point and choose. My winning pick was a giant, fluffy cha sui bao, or steamed bun, stuffed with sweet barbecued pork.
dim sum
The dim sum from the immensely popular Super Star Seafood Restaurant in Kowloon, known for it’s whimsical, animal-shaped dumplings is generally excellent. Super Star also offers hands-on dim sum cooking classes by arrangement, and it was there that I (in theory) learned how to pleat my har gow and sek tau yu (rockfish) dumplings. The shaping of dim sum dumplings is an art form that requires skill and dexterity, and the number and style of pleats or shape are specific to each type of dumpling; in the case of har gow, the “shark fin” pleat is said to replicate the shape of a gold ingot. Although my sek tau yu resembled malignant tumors rather than the goldfish they were meant to represent, the instructor was kind, and they tasted wonderful; the airy filling redolent of ginger and garlic, the dough tender and whisper-thin.

My favorite dim sum came from a much-loved Cantonese restaurant chain in Hong Kong called Tai Woo. At the Tsim Sha Tsui location, my meal began with several dim sum-style dishes, including a sweet, moist, steamed turnip cake (loh baak gao) studded with lop cheong and cheung fun, delicate, chewy rice noodle sheets rolled around pungent dried shrimp and chives, both accompanied by both peanut and hoisin sauces for dipping. Cheung fun can also be stuffed with whole shrimp, beef, or barbecued pork, and is often favored as a breakfast treat.

For the adventurous eater, Hong Kong has no shortage of culinary treasures to enjoy, be they in back alley eateries, near street markets, or in high-end restaurants. Explore them all, or enjoy the experience right here at home: every major North American city has its fair share of dim sum restaurants. Most notable for the quality of their dim sum are Vancouver, San Francisco, New York, and Los Angeles. Check out this site; I can’t vouch for every restaurant on it, but I’ll stand by the Bay Area selections.

For more information on visiting Hong Kong, click here.

[Photo credits: Laurel Miller]

Chopsticks Using Tips

Dumpling Redux – From Shanghai to Queens

It’s midnight and my mouth is watering for some soupy dumplings. World Hum points me to Disanne McLane’s search for the best dumpling in Shanghai. Which takes me back to my own encounters with the darling dumplings of Shanghai — I ate at two of the places McLane reviews in her quest for the perfect soup dumpling, and agree with her that Din Tai Fung’s are the best tasting, although the atmosphere at Nanxiang suited me better and felt more “authentic” — catering to tourists, the pace is faster and the decor not as pretty, but the dumpling sure do hit the spot.

Since my return from China I’ve yet to seek out similar soupy goodness on the streets of New York. When time allows, I’ll do some research and head straight to Chinatown in search of some Shanghainese authenticity in the heart of Manhattan. But Gothamist alerted me today that a detour to Flushing may be in order. Seems there is a Nanxiang noodle house in Queens with a reputation for serving up delicious dumplings. They go so far as to label them “the best in the city.” Seems worth a trip to me…

Chinese Buffet – Part 13: Darling Dumplings

Chinese Buffet is a month-long series that chronicles the travels of an American woman who visited China for the first time in July 2007.

Going out to eat dumplings was a highlight of my visit to Shanghai. Although my pal Beth has been unable to stomach the taste of most Chinese cuisine during her pregnancy, the aversion has not affected her ability to toss back some steamed dumplings every few days. So that’s exactly what we did.

The first place we went for dumplings was Nan Xiang, a center-city shrine to the doughy little wonders. This restaurant is THE place to go to sample typical Shanghainese steamed buns. There are three floors, and the menu prices go up with each level. There’s also a take out window on the ground floor. We walked up one flight to the dining room that serves the cheapest menu.

Since this is a touristy spot, there can sometimes be a bit of a line, but we got lucky both times we visited, waiting no more than ten minutes for a table. Seating is done family style, to keep the hungry crowds moving through the place. We watched the restaurant staff making buns while we waited, and tried to chat with our neighbors at the table.

The dumplings usually come in pork and crab. But what makes this baozi particularly unique is that the meat is swimming in a little pool of liquid. Folks usually take a small bite out of the dumpling (known as xiaolongbao), suck the broth out, then eat the rest of the bun.

Beth taught me an alternative dumpling-eating strategy with one extra step. After taking the first bite to release the liquid…

…it can be easier (and less messy!) to first pour the broth into a spoon…
(which you will probably have to ask them to bring to your table)

…then sip the tasty soup up…

…before finishing the yummy dough ball — all at once or with a few bites. The dough is sticky so it usually stays fixed in the chopsticks quite well:

A trip to Nan Xiang is best paired with a walk across the Bridge of Nine Turnings and a visit to the neighboring Yu Gardens. A stroll through the beautiful grounds is a great way to work off your dumpling meal:

On another dumpling day excursion we also combined dining with sightseeing. We visited Din Tai Fung, a famous chain of dumpling restaurants that originated in Taiwan and now has outposts in several Asian cities and in Los Angeles.

This place is pricier and the wait longer (about 40 minutes), but the dumplings were still delicious. (I’m guessing it’s pretty hard to mess these things up?!) We were seated at a corner table for two — no folks to chat with this time:

I was happy to have the option to dip my dumplings in soy sauce and ginger at this restaurant. The traditional combination is vinegar and ginger, but I prefer the soy sauce, which you won’t find on the table at Nan Xiang. I also ordered a bit of fried rice and one larger bun, just to try something different. But it was basically just a ton more dough to chew through:

To walk off this meal, we strolled through the central stretch of Xintiandi, an open-air public space lined with a mixture of shops and restaurants. The area is well-known because of the shikumens that were renovated to create this old-meets-new development. We took a short spin through the Shikumen Open House, a recreation of a 1920’s era shikumen home. Like the hutongs in Beijing, efforts have been made to preserve the architectural history of these structures:

A history lesson on a full and happy tummy. Not a bad way to see the city.

Of course, I’m really craving a true Shanghainese dumpling as I write this…It is such a simple and perfect culinary creation:

Never again will I look at a Chinese dumpling the same way.

(Ya here that Mom and Dad?! When I get back home we’ve got to go in search of REAL dumplings, okay? No more of those fried ones from the take out menu. I’ve been converted and will attempt to convert you as well :)