Here's something you might be interested in.
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed
Big Screen — Movie commentary
Blurt — Music's inside track
Booze News — San Diego spirits
Classical Music — Immortal beauty
Classifieds — Free and easy
Cover Stories — Front-page features
Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes
Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts
Feast! — Food & drink reviews
Feature Stories — Local news & stories
Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore
From the Archives — Spotlight on the past
Golden Dreams — Talk of the town
The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it
Letters — Our inbox
Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites
Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans
Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists
Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news
News Ticker — News & politics
Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated
Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna
Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated
Poetry — The old and the new
Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers
Reading — The hunt for intellectuals
Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails
San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds
SD on the QT — Almost factual news
Sheep and Goats — Places of worship
Special Issues — The best of
Street Style — San Diego streets have style
Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves
Theater — On stage in San Diego this week
Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative
Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work
Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego
Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads
Your Week — Daily event picks
Dumpling Inn discourse
You’re calling in the prosperity gods with every chew
Matt the barman has the job of matching eastern food and (often) western drinks.
Video:
TIN FORK: Dumpling Inn discourse
“I’m not into pork,” says Diane.
Uh, this as we walk through the doors of The Dumpling Inn, specialists in Xiao Long Bao, steamed pawk dumplings.
“You can’t kill pigs,” my true love continues. “Pigs are the most intelligent animals. Their skin is nearest to humans’ skin. They’re almost as intelligent as octopi.”
“You mean octopuses?”
“No, I mean octopi. Masculine plural, nominative, second declension..”
“You can’t have a declension for a noun…”
“Ooh!” Diane cuts in. “Look. There’s two seats at the bar! Quick!”
Because that’s what it’s like in here. Crowded, even though it’s a big space. Specially around the bar. Two seconds later, we’re wedging ourselves into those lucky counter stools. Folks to the left and folks to the right are noshing at their dumplings: picking them up with chopsticks, dunking them in what looks like a soy/chile/vinegar mix, and then wiggling them into their mouths, whole. Their eyes then close, but you can see their eyeballs reaching to the sky under their lids, as if they’re offering prayers of thanks for the pleasure.
Diane and I watch, awestruck by the gastro-silence around us. Until, like magic, all the conversation starts up again.
Diane starts up, too. “It’s supposed to be a good year coming,” she says. “Year of the wood snake, all that. And people eat dumplings for luck.”
She says Chinese people eat dumplings during the lunar new year partly because dumplings look a bit like ancient gold ingots, yuanbao. So you’re calling in the prosperity gods with every chew. Same applies to spring rolls, because they look like the more modern gold bars. The act of eating these things encourages good fortune to come your way.
“Then of course, you’ve got to have a noodle dish with lo-ong noodles especially made for the new year,” says Diane. She’s spent time in that part of the world. “Remember this, Bedford: long noodle equals long life. Plus gotta eat whole fish, and whole chickens — including the beak and feet! — to make sure that the family’s fortune is complete.”
Why chicken? The answer is very Chinese. Turns out “chicken” and “prosperity” both sound kinda similar when you say them out loud. Ji. People like the idea of eating, well, prosperity.
And as she mentioned, this is the year of the wood snake in Chinese astrology. Something about the wisdom of ancient trees, plus shucking skins, starting anew.
So, what to have? “Well, we don’t have to decide everything right now,” I say. “Chinese New Year’s not until the 29th.”
But when Matt the barman comes up, we go ahead anyway and ask for dumplings (and, natch, the nearest beer to my beloved Arrogant Bastard that he has: Eppig Brewing’s Pale Ale, $7 a pint, couple of bucks off for the 10-ounce glass).
“What kind of dumpling?” says Matt. He’s putting his finger on a menu with — oh yeah — eight different stuffings for dumplings. The list starts off with a Xiao Long Bao. (It translates as “Little Basket Bun.”) This is the most famous of all. It comes from the Shanghai area, and is beloved for its thin dough wrapping and luscious “soup” that, with any luck, bursts into your gills from inside. Actually, it’s a filling of pork and aspic — an umami-heavy jelly that turns to liquid when the dumpling is steamed. That much I know. “And it doesn’t have to be stuffed with pork,” Matt says. “We have vegetable dumplings, fish and chive dumplings, shrimp and chicken with chives, as well as beef curry dumplings that are deep-fried.”
The historical reason that dumplings are such a big deal in China, specially at this time of year, goes way back. The slightly yucky story goes that Zhang Zhongjing, a famous healer, was inspired to create these ear-like snacks to increase blood flow and help cure the frost-bitten ears of his fellow-villagers, somewhere between 200 BC and 200 AD. He wrapped mutton, chili and herbs into thin dough “purses,” and then boiled them. But archeologists say they have evidence these jiaozi are wa-ay older, and maybe not even Chinese, originally. They could have come up the Silk Route from Central Asia.
Whatever, these here jiaozi (an auspicious name, because it sounds like the word for “transitioning from old to new”) are everywhere, specially around New Years, Prices go from $8 (for a plain steamed or fried bun) to $9 (for six beef curry dumplings) to $12.50 for ten pork dumplings, to $13 for ten shrimp, or fish and chicken dumplings.
Diane’s the winner. Her fish dumplings aren’t fishy but are lightly savory in a delish sea-salty way. My beef curry ones have a slight curry flavor, but being deep-fried, are more clackety and dry — at least until you bathe them in the excellent and loaded chile sauce.
We’ll have to come back, to really explore what it is that has made this place so hugely popular. For starters, gotta try a bowl of those longevity noodles, They’ll maybe get you to 100, just so long as you can haul in the en-tire length of each noodle in one endless suck.
I take a pic of the lovely Diane in front of a mural of mountain temples. Beautiful. The place is packed. This is a Thursday. Guess everybody’s getting their good luck down their gullets for the next year. Diane finishes her last dumpling. “Kong hei fat choy!” she says.
Oh yes.
“Happy New Year!”
The Place: The Dumpling Inn, 4625 Convoy Street, Kearny Mesa
Hours: 11am - 2:30pm; 4 - 8:30pm daily (till 9:30, Friday, Saturday; closed Monday, Tuesday)
Prices: Xiao Long Bao soup dumplings (10),$13.50; pork pot sticker (pan fried, 8), $11.50; vegetable dumplings (10, steamed), $12; fish and chive dumplings (10, boiled), $13; shrimp and chicken (10, boiled), $13; beef curry dumplings (6, deep fried), $9; many entrees, from $14 - $32
Bus: 44
Nearest bus stop: Convoy at Daggett
Here's something you might be interested in.
Dumpling Inn discourse
You’re calling in the prosperity gods with every chew
Dumpling Inn discourse
You’re calling in the prosperity gods with every chew
Matt the barman has the job of matching eastern food and (often) western drinks.
Video:
TIN FORK: Dumpling Inn discourse
“I’m not into pork,” says Diane.
Uh, this as we walk through the doors of The Dumpling Inn, specialists in Xiao Long Bao, steamed pawk dumplings.
“You can’t kill pigs,” my true love continues. “Pigs are the most intelligent animals. Their skin is nearest to humans’ skin. They’re almost as intelligent as octopi.”
“You mean octopuses?”
“No, I mean octopi. Masculine plural, nominative, second declension..”
“You can’t have a declension for a noun…”
“Ooh!” Diane cuts in. “Look. There’s two seats at the bar! Quick!”
Because that’s what it’s like in here. Crowded, even though it’s a big space. Specially around the bar. Two seconds later, we’re wedging ourselves into those lucky counter stools. Folks to the left and folks to the right are noshing at their dumplings: picking them up with chopsticks, dunking them in what looks like a soy/chile/vinegar mix, and then wiggling them into their mouths, whole. Their eyes then close, but you can see their eyeballs reaching to the sky under their lids, as if they’re offering prayers of thanks for the pleasure.
Diane and I watch, awestruck by the gastro-silence around us. Until, like magic, all the conversation starts up again.
Diane starts up, too. “It’s supposed to be a good year coming,” she says. “Year of the wood snake, all that. And people eat dumplings for luck.”
She says Chinese people eat dumplings during the lunar new year partly because dumplings look a bit like ancient gold ingots, yuanbao. So you’re calling in the prosperity gods with every chew. Same applies to spring rolls, because they look like the more modern gold bars. The act of eating these things encourages good fortune to come your way.
“Then of course, you’ve got to have a noodle dish with lo-ong noodles especially made for the new year,” says Diane. She’s spent time in that part of the world. “Remember this, Bedford: long noodle equals long life. Plus gotta eat whole fish, and whole chickens — including the beak and feet! — to make sure that the family’s fortune is complete.”
Why chicken? The answer is very Chinese. Turns out “chicken” and “prosperity” both sound kinda similar when you say them out loud. Ji. People like the idea of eating, well, prosperity.
And as she mentioned, this is the year of the wood snake in Chinese astrology. Something about the wisdom of ancient trees, plus shucking skins, starting anew.
So, what to have? “Well, we don’t have to decide everything right now,” I say. “Chinese New Year’s not until the 29th.”
But when Matt the barman comes up, we go ahead anyway and ask for dumplings (and, natch, the nearest beer to my beloved Arrogant Bastard that he has: Eppig Brewing’s Pale Ale, $7 a pint, couple of bucks off for the 10-ounce glass).
“What kind of dumpling?” says Matt. He’s putting his finger on a menu with — oh yeah — eight different stuffings for dumplings. The list starts off with a Xiao Long Bao. (It translates as “Little Basket Bun.”) This is the most famous of all. It comes from the Shanghai area, and is beloved for its thin dough wrapping and luscious “soup” that, with any luck, bursts into your gills from inside. Actually, it’s a filling of pork and aspic — an umami-heavy jelly that turns to liquid when the dumpling is steamed. That much I know. “And it doesn’t have to be stuffed with pork,” Matt says. “We have vegetable dumplings, fish and chive dumplings, shrimp and chicken with chives, as well as beef curry dumplings that are deep-fried.”
The historical reason that dumplings are such a big deal in China, specially at this time of year, goes way back. The slightly yucky story goes that Zhang Zhongjing, a famous healer, was inspired to create these ear-like snacks to increase blood flow and help cure the frost-bitten ears of his fellow-villagers, somewhere between 200 BC and 200 AD. He wrapped mutton, chili and herbs into thin dough “purses,” and then boiled them. But archeologists say they have evidence these jiaozi are wa-ay older, and maybe not even Chinese, originally. They could have come up the Silk Route from Central Asia.
Whatever, these here jiaozi (an auspicious name, because it sounds like the word for “transitioning from old to new”) are everywhere, specially around New Years, Prices go from $8 (for a plain steamed or fried bun) to $9 (for six beef curry dumplings) to $12.50 for ten pork dumplings, to $13 for ten shrimp, or fish and chicken dumplings.
Diane’s the winner. Her fish dumplings aren’t fishy but are lightly savory in a delish sea-salty way. My beef curry ones have a slight curry flavor, but being deep-fried, are more clackety and dry — at least until you bathe them in the excellent and loaded chile sauce.
We’ll have to come back, to really explore what it is that has made this place so hugely popular. For starters, gotta try a bowl of those longevity noodles, They’ll maybe get you to 100, just so long as you can haul in the en-tire length of each noodle in one endless suck.
I take a pic of the lovely Diane in front of a mural of mountain temples. Beautiful. The place is packed. This is a Thursday. Guess everybody’s getting their good luck down their gullets for the next year. Diane finishes her last dumpling. “Kong hei fat choy!” she says.
Oh yes.
“Happy New Year!”
The Place: The Dumpling Inn, 4625 Convoy Street, Kearny Mesa
Hours: 11am - 2:30pm; 4 - 8:30pm daily (till 9:30, Friday, Saturday; closed Monday, Tuesday)
Prices: Xiao Long Bao soup dumplings (10),$13.50; pork pot sticker (pan fried, 8), $11.50; vegetable dumplings (10, steamed), $12; fish and chive dumplings (10, boiled), $13; shrimp and chicken (10, boiled), $13; beef curry dumplings (6, deep fried), $9; many entrees, from $14 - $32
Bus: 44
Nearest bus stop: Convoy at Daggett
Comments