Anybody who has read an article about dieting and healthy eating, or who had any training in dining etiquette, knows to “Put down the fork between bites and take time to have a conversation and linger over the meal.” Sure we know how to eat unlike animals, but what about eating through our fears? I want to put an end to those moments (so often have I experienced them) where I am confronted with a new food and I think “good god how do I eat this!” or, worse, when I let a delicious plate of food get cold as it sits before me, because I am too busy pushing its contents back and forth with a fork wondering how not to look-a-fool. Can you remember that first date opposite a lobster? Or an overstuffed, dripping Falafel Sandwhich (my friend Jaclin describes them as ‘unwieldy’)? As I mature, age my way through complicated and intimidating meals, my plan of action has become just go for it! Well, this made every meal a ‘piece of cake’ until yesterday.
Joe’s Ginger was a trusted friend’s recommendation. In the midst of a NYC Wonton Soup Research Project I’ve been working on (expect future post), I decide to take a break and make for those Soup Dumplings everybody’s been talking about since the last century. So I google myself some directions, meet my hot date, and head to Chinatown. Along the way I get to share my little knowledge of Soup Dumplings. Have you heard of them? A little nugget of meat (pork or crab) served in a delightful bath of liquid gelatin (broth) and wrapped up in a dumpling, steaming hot. A look of fear spreads across our faces, though, when we arrive and the tray set before us steams and billows over our heads. Anticipating a burning hot center, we follow our intuition which tells us to puncture the dumpling somehow, release a little heat and then just go for it.
Confident of this first step, I now think this whole ordeal is in my control. But repeated liquid spills and fallen nuggets leave me red as ever and nervous in front of my present company. Oh god, I think, why on earth would I bring a date here? I seem like a food phony, a total disaster, a charlatan with chopsticks! Rather than attempt to shove the entire thing in my mouth (Anhony Bourdain’s preferred method), I decide to sip the broth first, taking full advantage of the soup spoon that lays before me. Now I look like I know what I’m doing, phew, maybe this broth is an aphrodisiac, at least the steam is sexy… So I pull the spoon to my lips and tilt it, gently releasing liquid broth without spilling any on my lap. A success! But what next? Do I then eat the remaining contents (dough and meat) or shall I pull the meat out first? I like that idea…
Ah, soup dumplings, a challenge at first, an unexpectedly exciting meal after all. In Nan Xiang, where they originate, they’re called Xiao Long Bao or “Little dumplings from basket” and “are a perfectly symmetrical shape, resembling a pagoda.” Joe’s Ginger serves two kinds: Pork and Crab. I prefer the crab (in fact yelled to my date, “this is insanely delicious!”). The pork hinted ginger and had that strangely comforting, rubbery quality of a lunchroom meat. My date (what a trooper!) and I sat by the window, puncturing and sipping, and loosened up dumpling-by-dumpling.
*A note to all you who, following this post, will venture off to Joe’s Ginger and try your hands at an order of these (go for the crab!): take your time with these. Don’t rush through an order because you’re nervous and want to get the whole thing over with. As you distinguish your soup-dumpling-eating abilities you will come to enjoy them more. And even better, the longer they sit and wait for you to attack them, the tenderer the meat becomes, the thicker the broth gets, and the tastier the experience overall.
*Another note: Joe’s Ginger is just down the street from Joe’s Shanghai, a far busier, and in fact more notable restaurant about five doors down. Don’t be fooled by the crowds! They are the same business… yes, owned by the same people! Their dumplings are the same! Go to Joe’s Ginger, sit by the window, enjoy the leisure and the far fewer number of diners that might stare you down while you make a fool of yourself.
comic by Robert Zimmerman, “Soup Dumplings: A Survival Course”
