时间：2022-09-22 07:20:59
Like many Chinese families, my most cherished childhood memories are set around the kitchen table, and most of those feature dumpling making. The Chinese equivalent of ravioli, dumplings, or jiaozi, require the work of several hands, and therefore the process of making them has been a social occasion for thousands of years.
My father would take on the most grueling task kneading a soft dough made from flour and water until it became buoyant. He would always take care to sprinkle extra flour to keep the dough from sticking. Then, inch-wide wedges would be partitioned off and flattened into round casings, or skins.
My mother was charged with the all-important filling working green scallions, cabbage, white pepper, and ginger into a bowl of fatty ground pork. My sister and I would lop about a tablespoon of Mom’s mushy filling onto the skins, moisten the edges with a few drops of water, and pinch the sides to form diminutive, crescent-shaped parcels. The dumplings were then pan-fried, boiled or steamed.
Dumplings are eaten year-round, but hold particular significance during Chinese New Year. Resembling ancient Chinese currency in their most basic incarnation, these edible ingots are consumed to assure prosperity in the coming year. A few coins can be wrapped into a batch and whoever grabs a moneyed dumpling is said to be extra lucky. Candied versions are sometimes made, to sweeten the celebrations.
During other days of the year when people aren’t necessarily attempting to eat their way to wealth, dumplings are still regularly consumed, especially in the north, with the factoryprocessed frozen variety second in popularity only to instant ramen in the convenience food stakes. Other variants are found throughout the country most notably the paper-thin-skinned Cantonese wonton and Shanghai’s delicate xiaolongbao, which burst with hot broth unless carefully maneuvered onto a sturdy spoon before eating.
Widespread availability and dramatically changing diets in China have not necessarily meant the traditionalists haven’t continued to dominate dumplings when it comes to variety. The potential to stuff pretty much anything into a dumpling skin has yet to be fully realized. Restaurants, even those known for their dumplings, will offer only a few choices, mostly revolving around the minced pork of a billion Chinese childhoods, or, even less exciting, just eggs and Chinese chives.
In search of a good dumpling house, I had Beijing’s Baoyuan Dumplings recommended to me, their gimmick being that instead of the lackluster, natural white skins, their dumplings were festively colored and served up in a kaleidoscope of hues. If only the same esthetic had been applied to their decor. Located just off one of Beijing’s busy ring roads, weathered red lanterns give way to a dirty, dingy interior of sticky tables and dim lighting.
The menu however, made up for the disappointing and all-too-familiar ambience. Over 70 different choices of filling, many of which were vegetarian, had been studiously translated into English for the wandering westerner. Ingredients were impressive, with selections like turnip, fern root, sweet potato, cilantro, lotus roots, and more. Most dumplings were cheap the equivalent of three to five dollars a dozen.
While there were no “tie-dyed dumplings,” as one expat magazine had suggested, the menu did offer up a few colors purple, orange, and green. The conservative in me found this initially alarming unable to shake the thought of the harmful food additives that have scandalized the Chinese media. Our somewhat surly waitress attempted to put me at my ease, assuring us the hues were natural, made with extract of purple cabbage, carrot and spinach respectively. Color was determined by filling, rather than by request.
Our indecisiveness soon had our gaily-clad server tapping her foot in annoyance, and an argument ensued over her insistence that we order a minimum of two sets of each dumpling, or by the dozen, rather than picking and choosing from the selection on offer. Baoyuan, clearly, wasn’t offering a tasting plate.
We finally settled on four varieties, meaning an intimidating 48 dumplings shared between us. Our first choice was the joint’s “Health Dumpling” apparently a signature variety going on its entire page of glossy pictures made with mushroom and bean sprouts and served, Two-Face style, in half-white and half-green skins.
The popular pick proved sensational. After less than a ten-minute wait, two steaming platters arrived. The dumplings were smaller than I had expected, but well-packed with flavorful filling. Next came shrimp, cucumber, bean vermicelli and egg dumplings, which achieved what I had considered impossible each bite tasted like a complete, balanced dish.
The minced pork and Chinese mushroom dumplings were more standard, if succulent, fare complimented best when dipped in the chooseyour-own combination of vinegar, soy sauce, and chilli oil accompaniments.
Finally came my favorite - dried bamboo shoots with yellow flower, egg, and wood ear, satisfyingly salty and particularly strong in their range of textures crunchy, fluffy, soft and chewy all at once, helped by the juicy slivers of wood ear, a gelatinous fungus popular in Chinese cooking.
Only the health dumplings came in Technicolor, with the rest only in flat white. However, the fact that our dumplings were also served mixed, with no indication as to which stuffing was where, gave a nice chocolate-box twist to the dining experience.
Though I would have preferred more colors and better, more patient service, Baoyuan Dumplings offers what all dumpling houses should, but few achieve variety, quantity and truly diverse flavors.