Chinese
Gourmet Dumpling House in Boston’s Chinatown
Gourmet Dumpling House is the kind of Chinese restaurant that you hope for when you stroll through Boston’s rather small enclave of all things Asia, with a focus on that mysterious Middle Kingdom. First of all, it’s very, very busy. That’s always a good sign.
I declared “two people” in Chinese at the front desk, and I may have imagined it, but I think we were seated more quickly than other people waiting. Finally entering the fray was like trying to crowdsurf: you just kind of dive in and hope for the best, with no romantic buffer between you and your meal. First of all, there’s wasn’t much ambiance to speak of. It was all naked, glaring light and diners packed in like sardines, seated at tables so tiny that they struggle to hold more than two dishes before the waiter starts stacking plates on top of one another. My friend Taylor and I basically had dinner with the couple jammed up next to us, a friendly Chinese couple who lived in the area – the husband was Harvard College class of 1975, and a former Quadling.
It’s funny how Americans come to expect semi-bad service and lack of ambiance as a hallmark of a good Chinese restaurant. I’m theorizing here, but I think part of it is because Chinese food has become such a commonly accepted cuisine that in order for it be more exotic and exciting of an experience, bad service and decor is appealing in the same way secondhand bohemian togs grace privileged bodies.
That being said, the service was surprisingly good, and I worked out a little bit of my Chinese that I picked up over the summer. My foodie friend had recommended the Szechuan fish stew and salt and pepper fried squid, as did our waiter. He also declared the soup dumplings (named “juicy dumplings” on the menu) as tasty, so we threw those into the mix as well.
Just looking at this picture again makes me salivate, thinking about the tender slices of flounder and cabbage steeped in a scary-looking (but only moderately spicy) red oil, giant handfuls of whole chiles, all perfectly paired with a bowl of slightly sticky white rice. Fantastic. They don’t use “numbing hot” spice, which is surprising considering it’s Szechuan style, but I guess it’s hard to get your hands on the real thing stateside, or maybe the flavors are just too unusual. Anyway, despite the lack of tongue paralysis, a supremely satisfying bowl that easily feeds 4-5 for about $13. What a deal.
We need a closeup to emphasize how delicious this is.
They also hit it out of the park with the salt and pepper fried squid, which might also be deemed “salt and pepper fried crack” or something similar. You just cannot stop eating this stuff – it’s crunchy, it’s salty, it’s bite has just the right amount of bounce and give coated by the tastiest breading known to man. It’s served superfluously on a bed of chopped pale greens. Anything – even the toes of babies and the flippers of fetal baby seals – would taste good prepared this way.
Unforch, the juicy dumplings (“xiao long bao”) disappointed. These are eaten with a spoon: you bite a small hole as you balance it in your soup spoon, then slowly suck out the burning hot juice inside which is actually a block of melted gelatin/fat that’s been placed prior to cooking. The flavor was a bit off and I felt it should have been sweeter, but the skins were supple and they were served satisfyingly at a dangerous temperature.
We opted to get a dessert across the street at Great Taste Bakery. They had run out of red bean paste and pineapple buns, and in fact, any kind of baked good that a Chinese bakery makes well, so Taylor made the ill-advised choice of getting this almond cake.
“Chinese cakes suck,” I told him very baldly, hoping to spare his tastebuds. But it was all of like, 70 cents, so no big loss when my premonition turned out to be correct.
Not only was it just… bad, it was also kind of stale. Dry, spongey, flavorless cake with stiff, flavorless, frosting that felt like watered-down chilled margarine. Oops.
Find it!
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52 Beach St (between Harrison Ave & Oxford St)
(617) 338-6223
63 Beach St (between Oxford St & Ping On St)
(617) 426-8899
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The Chinese Food Truck on Oxford St
I first spotted Yang’s after my (baller) Sociology of Organizations class with Professor Ager. “A Chinese food truck!” I exclaimed and did one of my strange, gleeful flails – I kind of flap around my arms as if I’m trapped in a tiny bubble and make high pitched noises. So after class today, I gave it a try.
There were a lot of Chinese people in line. After being removed from the Middle Kingdom for a month, hearing Chinese again was kind of novel and comforting. It brought up no urges to yell at ineffectual service people – instead, I suddenly felt a bit safer and comforted by the sing-song tones of Mandarin. “What’s the best dish?” I asked the Chinese people in front of me.
“They’re kind of all the same,” one man in a stripped button down said.
The woman behind me suggested the crispy fried fish. “It’s very tasty,” she said, using a Shanghainese adjective for “very.” She confirmed she was from Shanghai, but when I tried to volunteering my cultural background and summer work experience, I saw that I lost her. “So you grew up in the United States?” she said afterwards. Oh. I felt too embarassed to switch to English – there is a kind of intimacy that evaporates in that act.
Click on the picture for a full-size menu.
I eventually ordered what the two people ahead of me ordered – shredded pork with Chinese pickle. When I opened up the box, my first reaction was aesthetic. This is a dish that never looks particularly great; the photos here are better than in real life. Chinese pickle – “zhacai” – is a variety of mustard that is commonly used in Chinese dishes, particularly hot and sour soup, and is often served with congee. The flavoring here, despite being such a Chinese dish (I doubt anyone used to American Chinese food would order this) was milder than my mother’s cooking. The saltiness, as well as the sour notes, had been toned down. The vegetables were cooked to a softer texture as was the meat, and there was more cornstarch used. It was overall satisfying, but didn’t really completely hit the spot – the rice wasn’t very sticky. I think I’ll try one of their more American standard dishes like Kung Pao chicken next time.
Find it!
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Yang’s
Oxford Street
Parked outside of Maxwell Dworkin (walk through the Science Center, past Peabody, then up until you hit the engineering building.)
Price range: $5-6 for a very large carton of rice and one entree, about $3 for appetizers.
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Photo of the Day: Beijing Roast Duck at Quan Ju De
BEIJING – You bite into the skin of this baby. The universe around you dims; the re nao din of the restaurant fades; there is only this gorgeous, golden piece in your mouth that seems solid until your teeth sink in. It melts. It slides, as sensual and full-bodied as a glass of wine; you gasp.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten,” you hear yourself saying.
My mother’s cooking
A stew of beef, bamboo shoots, and vermicelli noodles
whole fish, delicious
typical vegetable dish
the family feast
So one of my favorite things in the world is my mother’s cooking. I’ve grown up on a blessed repertoire of Chinese comfort foods like sticky rice cake and inventive stir fries. I’ve been spoiled with ribs and fried rice and homemade dumplings. The best (and probably only) part of going home to the suburbs is eating a mother-created feast, one of those wonderfully Chinese family-style spreads of 6-7 dishes for our small family, where the kitchen just keeps magically churning out dish after dish after dish. I’m never sure how she plans these meals or where her recipes come from, but I’m happy to be on the receiving end.
I had a really good bowl of potato leek soup at Crema Cafe today, too. I think I might post it to 3 Buck Bites. Then I took a picture of me with my spoon since I am trying to have clever food-related self portraits.
Darwin’s sandwiches, strawberry eclairs, fish fragrant aubergines
From Taste of China in Tarrytown, NY
From Darwin's
From Darwin's
Harvard University Dining Services, sometimes you just get it right.