Why the dim sum boycott? Easy: dim sum in Seattle is mediocre, while just over two hours north in Richmond (just south of Vancouver), it’s simply amazing. As a result, I save my dim sum cravings for trips across the border.

That said, the dim sum at Wild Ginger wasn’t bad. You won’t find anything exotically authentic like chicken feet on the menu, and the standard-bearer har gow is a far cry from what you’ll find at Richmond’s Shiang Garden, but the overall quality was good and food that comes in baskets is usually fun. I ate most of the menu, including hum bow, har gow, shu mai, scallop and chive dumplings, five spice-scented beef dumplings, salt water dumplings (lightly fried, mochi style–very interesting), and sticky rice wrapped in lotus leaf, which was perhaps the most daring dish for the group.

So what does Wild Ginger’s dim sum teach us about sex?

It’s all about how sharing improves your sex life.

Dumplings are a big part of dim sum, and at Wild Ginger, I got a glimpse of the dumpling-making process. Getting a basket of har gow, shu mai, or xiao long bao (at a Shanghainese dim sum place, if we only had one a good one) gives a real appreciation of the dumpling-making process, and watching an expert or trying to make dumplings yourself enhances that appreciation even more.

Dumplings and dumpling-making remind me of housework. Washing the vegetables is like washing the laundry. Arranging the Chinese equivalent of mise en place is all about the importance of being organized. Folding of dumpling wrappers represents the folding of laundry. Putting items in steel or bamboo baskets is like putting things away in the proper place of your home. And so on. You have to be organized. You have to be steadfast and disciplined. You have to be committed to the job.

The good news: Sharing the workload can lay the path to pleasure.

Pioneering sex educator Sol Gordon used to say, “Of the ten most important things in a human relationship, I would rank sexual fulfillment ninth, just ahead of sharing household tasks,” adding, “That’s not to say sex isn’t important; it’s still in the top ten of the 3,917 important things in a relationship.”

When one person carries the workload, he or she can get tired, lose interest, or get resentful and hold sex hostage. Recent studies show that people who share household tasks have better sex. Those tasks can be broadly defined–like handling the finances, tending to the garden, and walking the dog–and should then be negotiated.

Heck, cooking itself is one of those tasks, though it should be a fun one.

The sharing extends to eating. At dim sum, when the baskets arrive, you often have to discuss how you’ll share the dumplings inside. Or how you’ll divvy up that sticky rice. A dim sum brunch at Wild Ginger might reveal a lot about your sex life, and hopefully be full of fun, hot surprises.

First published in Seattle Weekly’s Voracious on August 25, 2011.

Note: This meal, coincidentally, also broke my streak of ten years without entry into Wild Ginger. I went a few times when I first moved to Seattle, but then discovered Malay Satay Hut, which I then called “Wild Ginger at one-third the atmosphere, but one-third the price” for food I actually preferred. Wild Ginger’s food was certainly more refined, but Malay Satay’s food was bold and vibrant. (Note that Malay Satay Hut’s quality has since declined dramatically.) And while Wild Ginger has been a fixture in Urbanspoon’s list of top fine dining choices in Seattle, I agreed with the panelists I oversaw in editing the Fearless Critic Seattle Restaurant Guide who said that while the Seattle Wild Ginger location “is impressive in its design” with service that “is professional and efficient,” “the food feels as dated as its logo’s Orientalist font.” (See the book for further criticism, though on a positive note, we wrote that the wine list “is a work of profound beauty, elegance, and deep obsession…this is more than a wine list, it is a gift to the city.”)

Leave me breathless instead of brothless

Nearly seven months ago, on April 24, I broke the news that Din Tai Fung was coming to the Seattle area. My prediction came true:

“Knowing the food scene here, knowledge of Din Tai Fung’s arrival will be cause for every food lover in Seattle to have a simultaneous orgasm – first when the news hits the Twitter, and next when groups gather upon the restaurant’s opening.”

Indeed, since opening just over a week ago, there have been waits of up to four hours for entry.

Upon departure, reviews of the xiao long bao have been mixed. While many are simply ecstatic to slurp down the soup dumplings, most people I know who’ve had them elsewhere have expressed disappointment.

Count me in as disappointed.

It’s not normally right to review a restaurant so soon after opening. And to be fair, the opening has been quite an accomplishment, and much of the food is very good. (You can read my fuller write-up in the upcoming issue of Northwest Palate.) But here my focus is specifically on the xiao long bao—the main reason most people go to Din Tai Fung. Its raison d’etre. And since the staff has had at least three months pre-opening to work on their dumpling technique (in an August 24 email, the public relations firm representing Din Tai Fung wrote, “Currently, there is a team hard at work, practicing the art of rolling dumplings, from dawn until dusk, 5 days a week.”), I don’t think it’s too early to critique the xiao long bao—and to make my challenge.

Actually, back in April, I offered the preliminary challenge: “How to make the xiao long bao as great in Seattle as they are in Taipei. Something seems to get lost in translation when food like this travels far.” As an example, I noted that Beard Papa’s cream puffs in Seattle are not nearly as compelling as the ones you find in Tokyo.

As someone who’s tried his hand at xiao long bao at home, I have great appreciation for the difficulty in making these dumplings. I’ve fiddled with the filling recipe (varying the amounts of ground pork and pork belly), struggled to get the gelatin right using pig skin instead of packaged gelatin, and watched in admiration as my partner put me to shame in pleating the dumplings properly. (Din Tai Fung takes pride that each dumpling has 18 pleats.) I even put a photo of my imperfect dumplings in the April blog post.

And that’s when David Wasielewski, owner of Bellevue’s Din Tai Fung, wrote and asked me to replace that photo with one from Din Tai Fung’s. His photo, at the top of this post, shows the trademark droop. The sag. The teardrop-like shape that shows how the unthinkably thin wrapper (I’ve eaten xiao long bao all over Taipei, as well as in Shanghai, Vancouver, and in places where they’re available in the States, and Din Tai Fung’s are the thinnest I’ve ever had) strains to effectively hold the broth. (I should say that in Taiwan, Din Tai Fung’s xiao long bao rate a 9.0 in my book, while the ones at Jin Din Rou are a 9.5, as I like the broth and meat—the two other components, besides the wrapper, by which I rate xiao long bao—a little better.)

Din Tai Fung’s photo is on the Bellevue menu, but when the dumplings come to the table, they do not resemble that photo. Actually, from watching the workers in the kitchen, I could tell that the wrappers were thicker. (Last time in Taiwan, I spent time in one of the restaurant’s kitchens watching the xiao long bao production.) Plus, I found it a bit disconcerting that instead of gently placing the uncooked dumplings in the steamer baskets, some of the workers were shot-putting them down.

As you can see from this photo, the xiao long bao do not droop as promised. I have not been able to see the meat or soup inside, as I have elsewhere. Oh, they’re juicy inside, but there’s no shot of broth. Instead, it almost feels like the skin is wrapped around a clump of meat.

So, much as the workers were throwing down the dumplings, I’m throwing down the gauntlet. I’m repeating my April challenge to Din Tai Fung: Make xiao long bao that leaves me breathless, not brothless.

Because, sad to say, right now, your xiao long bao are ma ma hu hu.

You get high points for enthusiasm, but deductions for execution.

You need to thin out those wrappers a bit, and get more gelatin in there. Make them like they make them in Taipei.

I’m hoping that Wasielewski will want to meet this challenge. I know he doesn’t have to do that. There will be thousands of customers (including the inevitable Yelpers, some eating xiao long bao for the first time) who will rave about the soup dumplings as they are, proud (rightfully so) that we have landed the second Din Tai Fung in America. (The first is in Arcadia, outside of Los Angeles.) People will say that these are the best xiao long bao in the Seattle area.

Which is a lot like saying the Mariners are the best baseball team in Seattle.

Unfortunately, that’s often pretty meaningless.

It’s the same with dim sum in Seattle. Some people say it’s great. I say those people probably haven’t ever had good dim sum. Hey, as I wrote in that April post, “For many, it’s not about the quality of the orgasm, but just having one.”

I remain one of those food snobs (I’ll label myself that so you don’t have to) who, when asked where to find the best dim sum, says to drive two hours north to Richmond to find your pick of quality places. I won’t eat dim sum here until I see marked improvement.

Come to think of it, with four hour waits at Din Tai Fung, I’d suggest that some people invest their time in driving to Richmond and back to see what soupy soup dumplings should be like.

I, in fact, am headed to Vancouver for the holiday weekend, and will be making up for my disappointing xiao long bao here by sampling a few places there, like Long’s and Shanghai River (my two favorites at the moment, approaching a rating of 8.5) and maybe a place called The Place.

But I’d certainly like to save time and gas, and get good dumplings here. Din Tai Fung, here’s hoping that can still happen…

(I did enjoy these shrimp and pork shao mai more than I did the xiao long bao.)

Note (11/22/10): Din Tai Fung has opened. Please read my challenging update.

A friend with Eastside restaurant knowledge told me first, and then a representative from the restaurant just confirmed it: Din Tai Fung (famous for its xiao long bao, pictured to the right, courtesy of Din Tai Fung) is apparently coming to the Seattle area.

Knowing the food scene here, knowledge of Din Tai Fung’s arrival will be cause for every food lover in Seattle to have a simultaneous orgasm – first when the news hits the Twitter, and next when groups gather upon the restaurant’s opening. Hint to Din Tai Fung: Come up with a kitschy, catchy name for a party, like Din Tai Fun-Time, and no matter how much you charge, food followers will flock to the event.  Trust me on this.

Seattleites have been desperately waiting for good xiao long bao to come the area. I’m one of them. I’ve even taken to making my own (pictured below), rolling out dough to do wrappers, using pig skin to gelatinize the soup inside, and coming up with a tasty pork belly filling. It’s a lot of work, and my dumplings are far more rustic than the delicate ones found in Taipei – which is why I’d rather fly to Taiwan (which I’ve done twice!) than make them at home. (Xiao long bao first appeared in Shanghai, but while I liked them there, they’re better in Taipei.)

Din Tai Fung’s challenge: How to make the xiao long bao as great in Seattle as they are in Taipei. Something seems to get lost in translation when food like this travels far. Beard Papa’s cream puffs in Seattle, for example, are not nearly as compelling as the ones you find in Tokyo. The same problem surfaces with my favorite xiao long bao in Taipei, which are from Jin Din Rou. Last month, I saw that Jin Din Rou was in Tokyo, so I pounced on the chance to try them. But the quality was worse. I think part of the problem is that the Tokyo (Ebisu) location was far fancier than the locations in Taipei.

(Actually, my favorite xiao long bao are the crab-and-pork variety at Joe’s Shanghai, which originated in New York. They just opened a branch in Tokyo, but I fear the fancy decor comes at the expense of the quality. Just compare the dumpling quality between Joe’s Shanghai in Midtown Manhattan versus either the Chinatown or Flushing locations. Midtown wasn’t nearly as good.)

I’m told that Din Tai Fung will open later this year in Lincoln Square Mall. (Further proof that just about all of the best Chinese food is on the Eastside.) Will a high-rent district like that again mean lower dumpling quality? Or will the jump over the Pacific makes the dumplings less perfect? Perhaps more important, will the local food world care? After all, for many, it’s not about the quality of the orgasm, but just having one…

Note: More on my perspective on xiao long bao here. I also appreciate the availability of good xiao long bao just north in Richmond, and value Lorna Yee’s perspective on options here.

Continuing Lorna’s theme, I’d say Din Tai Fung has the thinnest, most delicate wrapper. Jin Din Rou’s are a little thicker (which I might actually like better), and with better broth taste and more porky flavor. Joe’s Shanghai has the thickest wrappers of the three, but I can’t resist the combination of their crab and pork broth. In Richmond, I liked the thinness of Shanghai River’s small xiao long bao, but preferred Chen’s broth. Hope to get back to Richmond for further analysis!

It was one year ago that I was craving eastern European dumplings known as pelmeni, giving them a try at Café Yarmarka.

One year later, I finally took the trip north and found our favorite pelmeni place. And they’re just as I remember them. Pel’Meni was empty at 10pm, but anticipating the post-drinking rush. There’s no menu, just a choice of potato and meat dumplings. Friends and I got one order of each (sixteen dumplings for $6), though I found I’d prefer a three-to-one ratio of meat to potato. Open the package and the scent of curry signals good eating ahead. I like mine with lots of hot sauce and just a splash of vinegar – along with a generous amount of sour cream. Freshly boiled, these are a perfect snack.

As in Juneau, there’s a record player and plenty of vinyl selections. I’d been to the third Pel’Meni place in Madison, Wisconsin – but that’s since closed. The good news is that there’s talk of opening an outlet here in Seattle. That plan’s been in the works for a long time, though, so I’m not sure when it will come to fruition. Soon, hopefully. I can’t help but think that Pel’Meni will be popular in the University District or Capitol Hill, especially since it stays open until the wee hours of the morning, pumping out perfect little dumplings.

We discovered these Eastern European dumplings a few years ago while traveling in Juneau. Down by one of the docks was a place called Pel’Meni, serving what the locals say are the essentials of the after-hours: espresso and the namesake pelmeni. The choices were meat and potato, accompanied by a tangy red sauce, sour cream, and hearty bread. Fifteen for five bucks, we recall, and available until 3:30am some nights, with good tunes a-playin’. And they were delicious!

Having a hankering, we went down to Pike Place Market, passed the previously reviewed Piroshky place, and visited Café Yarmarka. We were excited to see a wide variety of fillings: beef, pork, chicken, turkey and lamb–depending on what they’ve prepared. But they were a bit disappointing. These pelmeni were a little mushy outside and a little bland inside.

Most lacking was the sauce. We still dream of that sauce in Juneau: fat from the butter (and added sour cream), with kick from curry powder and Tabasco, and nice notes from cilantro. No wonder they served bread with the dish: without it, we would have been licking the Styrofoam. Café Yarmarka may be good for other Russian goodies, but if you’re down in that part of Seattle craving pelmeni and have some (well, lots) of extra time on your hands, you’re just a boat-ride away from better ones in Juneau. (If anyone can substantiate a rumor that there’s a branch in Bellingham, please let us know.)

Originally published at Seattlest (where “we” = me) on March 3, 2008.

Just before this trip ended, we noticed a place new to our eyes: Nan Shian Dumpling House. We immediately knew that meant one last round of xiao long bao as our going away meal. The full house and long line waiting were promising, and upon seating, the crammed-together tables made for a communal dining experience, of sorts. Lots of banter between tables and even some cross-table sampling!

The menu features some of the usual Shanghai-style treats. I like cold dish appetizers, and wanted to try the spicy beef & tripe, but it was sold out (so early in the morning?). So we settled on spicy bamboo shoots, which made for a tasty start of the meal.

We also enjoyed rice cake with beef. These little discs have great texture, but they’re filling; finishing a plate can be challenging, especially after a basket or two of xiao long bao. We were pleasantly surprised with the quality here. A solid three-star performance, as the wrapper, broth, and crab meat & pork filling were all quite good. They’re a little more expensive than the ones at Joe’s Shanghai ($6.25 for six vs. $6.65 for eight), but they’re right up there in terms of best quality in the area. And they definitely whetted my appetite for the xiao long bao I’ll be eating in Taiwan at the end of the year!

Shi’An Restaurant (12534 Lake City Way NE) is easy to run from. Its peeling-away paper sign barely covers the shingle of the former Baker’s restaurant. The inside décor has hardly changed, from the pinkish-red booths to the ice cream parlor feel (you can still get scoops). And there’s a bakery display case where a few cans of grass jelly drinks vie for space with incorrectly spelled croissants, muffins, and other Western treats.

You can get a hamburger or roast beef sandwich here, but there’s better to be found. Skip past the American food and the Americanized Chinese food (better yet, learn to read the Chinese menu), and you’ll find food from Shi’An, also known as Xi’an, capital of Shaanxi province and home of the famed terracotta soldiers. Look for the “Lamb with Cumin Humbow” ($4.95) and order yourself a special sandwich.

Shao Bing (not the actor) is integral to this somewhat different humbow. A round, thick flatbread (is that oxymoronic?), shao bing also plays a key role if you order the lamb stew, as you’ll have to soldier on in shredding a seemingly stale disc before the kitchen can cook it into the dish. For the humbow, the shao bing sandwiches a delicious combination of peppers and lamb seasoned perfectly with cumin.

We could eat a bunch of these (also try the “Shi’An Humbow,” made with pork), but there were plenty of other delicious dishes to try, including the hot and sour soup with dumplings – another big hit. It’s all peasant food at peasant-pleasing prices. Shame that we were the only customers for most of the evening. We recommend you run to, not from, Shi’An Restaurant right away.

Originally posted at Seattlest (where “we” = me) on September 28, 2007.

Anyway…a previous year we enjoyed a post-Chinese dinner slice at DeMarco’s, but after trekking there this trip, we met with disappointment that it had disappeared. That settled it. We’d have to return to Di Fara Pizza.

Last year, we planned lunch at the Red Hook ball fields, and since we were voyaging all the way to Brooklyn (it’s quite the distance from Flushing by train), we decided that a slice at Di Fara would be a great late breakfast treat. We timed our Avenue J arrival perfectly for 11:00 – right when we expected Di Fara to open. But after standing silly in front of the door, Domenico De Marco himself stepped out to apologize that he wasn’t opening until noon. We took our hunger pangs to Red Hook and enjoyed some good eats there.

Luckily, my brother brought us back there for some slices later that trip. Amazing. Which is why we had to return. De Marco is getting old, and with reports of a wrist injury slowing him down, I don’t know how many more chances there will be to meet the master – and to sample his masterpieces.

Yes, it can be chaotic. You have to get to the counter, catch his attention, place your order, and then make sure no one “steals” your order once it’s finally ready. But waiting at the counter is part of the fun, as there’s solidarity-building with others in the same situation. And you’ve got a front-row spot for watching De Marco at work: cutting open his specially sourced mozzarella, snipping the fresh basil, pouring that last bit of olive oil. He makes all the pies and handles all the cash transactions; his son is around but seems relegated to fetching the toppings (which, like the sausage, look and taste good). But it’s the simple cheese slice that really shines. Trust me. I’ve done the pizza pilgrimage to Di Fara a few times now, and will gladly go again when the next opportunity comes.

Later that day we were to meet my brother and his kids in Chinatown. But first there was a stop to visit The Pickle Guys to get a snack for later that night. The guys at The Pickle Guys are New Yorkers with New York attitude – proud of their product and lots of fun. But the barrels of laughs don’t detract from the barrels on the floor and the difficult purchasing decisions in store. Lots of pickles, from olives to mushrooms to giardiniera (which, yes, sounds like an STI). We bought cukes: a sour, 3/4 sour, 1/2 sour, horseradish, and a spicy one. (The 1/2 sour would be my favorite.) No sign, though, of Shmuel Fishelis, the Rabbinical supervisor. I assume he blessed our bounty before our arrival.

Chinatown meant another visit to Joe’s Shanghai, which I’ve discussed before with great delight. Walking back to the car, we happened upon a happening place called Rice to Riches, a Baskin Robbinsish place serving nothing but rice pudding  in a multitude of flavors. I loved the sign:

Pickles in hand, we made our way back to the hotel to pick up our U.S. Open tennis tickets, but not before stopping at the Flushing Mall for some mango shaved ice. Not bad, and refreshing after dinner on a warm day, but not as good as what we’ve eaten at Ice Monster in Taipei, which we’ll hit in a few months. And so concluded our final full day in New York City – though there’d be one last meal, providing a xiao long bao taste comparison, before we beat it out of town.

We headed to Harbor City. It’s one of those little International District joints with duck and the like hanging in the front window; I trust those meats have changed since ownership did recently. It was evening, but the staff was willing to send out some dim sum. We ordered the requisite har gow—the test of quality of dim sum places. Oh no. These shrimp dumplings may be average for Seattle standards, but disappointing with their wimpy wrappers and so-so shrimp filling. We tried two other dim sum items. Shrimp dumplings with chive were a little tastier, and I quite liked the panfried shrimp wrapped with bean curd—the nori surprisingly stuck inside adding extra bite. But, overall, this dim sum only made me yearn for what’s better above our northern border.

Three baskets ($8.50) being enough, it was time to move on to the regular menu. So we ordered a mutual favorite: roasted duck ($5.00 for a quarter-plate) Not bad. The skin was nice and crisp, and I always like to nibble all the meat bits off of the bones. We added a plate of greens ($9), and settled back for a decent dinner, interesting discussion, and all the Muzak we could enjoy endure.

With all the delicious food waiting at his destination, I’m sure my friend won’t miss Harbor City much. I’ll miss my friend, but I really need to remember to take a miss on future dim sum invitations in Seattle.

Cross-posted on Examiner.

I confess that I’ve been one of those obnoxious people on Chowhound who replies to endless inquiries like the current “Where has the great dim sum gone?” with advice to drive two hours north to Richmond. (Yes, Richmond. Vancouver’s got some decent dim sum, but it’s much better in Richmond.) My apologies. I’m just trying to save everyone time, money, and a bad experience.

On very rare occasion, for the sake of being social, I cave on my dim sum pledge. A few weeks ago, for example, I joined friends for dim sum at Sentosa in Kirkland. I know, I know…plenty of red flags a-waving. Kirkland’s a bad choice for ethnic food (that said, my favorite Chinese food in the area is on the Eastside), and Sentosa is an island in Singapore, not China. But Sentosa’s website touted “the most authentic Chinese food” managed by a former chef at Hong Kong’s Peninsula Hotel, so I thought I’d give it a try.

I quickly learned that the passive voice in the website’s claim “It’s been said that we have the best dim sum around!” must belong to naïve Kirklanders—or more likely the restaurant workers themselves. I later learned that, just as I was preparing to write my review, the restaurant had closed. So why continue writing? Because Sentosa’s closing offers an opportunity to comment on the sad state of Seattle-area dim sum.

Sentosa, like many Chinese restaurants, scared me from the start. First of all, there was no sign of chicken feet, which symbolizes what I love about dim sum: tastes and textures from a far-away land. Instead, they offered honey-walnut shrimp, which is far from authentic. We rolled the dice on a few baskets, all of which were disappointing. The rice noodle rolls were gummy and bland, the fried taro was disturbingly tinny-tasting, and the shumai was soggy and cold. For me, as for many, the true test of dim sum quality is the har gow (shrimp dumplings). I’ve sampled them almost everywhere locally, including Imperial Garden, Jade Garden, Noble Court, and House of Hong. The wrappers are often mushy, and the shrimp is typically some kind of clump of shrimp pieces with little or no taste. They can’t compete with the har gow of my favorite Richmond dim sum places, like Shiang Garden. As you can read and see here, these delicious dumplings contain “whole shrimp, plump and juicy, sweet and briny, smooth and yet slippery, and far from oily.” Indeed, they “offer a crisp bite, a snap of freshness that tastes, well, almost alive.”

To Sentosa, no longer alive, we say rest in peace. And when people ask where the great dim sum has gone, I contend it never arrived. It’s you that needs to go…to Richmond. Your non-authentic fortune cookie would tell you to trust me on this.

Cross-posted on Examiner.com.