Dim Sum Dumplins?
St. Louis doesn't really have a Chinatown, but we do have a more-ethnic-than-not strip which boasts several Asian and Hispanic markets, as well as Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, and Afghani restaurants.
Greg and I love to try new cuisines and new restaurants, so I was all worked up over trying dim sum for the first time this past Saturday. After all, we'll be visiting Chinatown in San Francisco this summer, and what better way to enjoy Chinatown than by dim sum dining? I was absolutely miserable with a cold, but I was determined not to allow some stupid virus to spoil my early birthday celebration. We settled on trying Lu Lu's, a well-recommended dim sum establishment.
The idea of dim sum is for employees to push carts of dumplings, rolls, soups, and pastries around, allowing diners to pick and choose what they like from the carts. We knew it was just this kind of relaxed atmosphere we wanted to enjoy, especially since I wasn't feeling well. Walking in, I was really excited because it smelled wonderful! We were seated, and immediately assaulted on all sides (okay, not all sides because we were at a table against a wall, but it certainly seemed to come from all sides) by staff who spoke almost no English whatsoever. So much for leisurely dining.
They would ask us if we wanted what they had on their carts. Over and over. We could not understand a single word they were saying. Even the wide-eyed, clearly out-of-our-element look on our faces could not persuade them to elucidate the contents of their carts. We just guessed whether we wanted something or not. I would cast a furtive glance in Greg's direction only to find he was doing the same towards me. At one point, a lady came over and kept asking if we wanted something that sounded like 'kinjee? kinjee? kinjee?' and Greg finally just gave up and asked, 'What exactly IS it?' and she bustled over, got her cart, and brought it to us. She opened it, and I saw that it was congee. Ah-ha! Rice porridge! Soup! I knew from my reading what that was. I told her that yes, yes! I would have some of that, please! Yes! But alas, she was distracted by some Chinese customers she knew. Clearly fed up with my ignorance, she scurried away, never to return. No soup for me.
In the end, Greg and I decided that a) this was an experience we should try a few more times before foisting it on the rest of my family in San Francisco, so we can identify some of the dishes; b) that my mother, not a fan of Chinese cuisine, would probably not be thrilled with this type of food; and c) we really are not as cosmopolitan as we could be.
But we have lots of time to practice. And I can't wait to do it again.
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