It’s always nice when something happens just as you’re about to become cynical.
I’ve been in a dim sum funk lately. Oh, sure, I beam when presented with a “char siu bao,” and never pass up a chance to nibble on jellyfish or a shrimp ball. But I was beginning to feel like I was being presented with the same selection everywhere I went. And – oh, horrors – I was beginning to think it tasted awfully similar, too. Visions of wholesale frozen dumplings crept through the corners of my mind as I would drift off to sleep.
To be sure, some of these familiar little friends are classic; I’d eaten them in Hong Kong at a place far off the tourist track. But there are other possibilities out there, as I learned that same day, and was reminded of at a dim sum palace on a side street in New York’s Chinatown this fall. It was massive, jam-packed and so deeply Chinese that about two-thirds of the various dumpling dishes were things I couldn’t identify by sight. Of course, the cart pushers spoke no English. It
was divine.
But someone is doing more than the usual in St. Louis: Won Ton King. Their standard items are quite good, to be sure; I found an exceptional barbecued pork, moister than average by a considerable distance, for instance. The curried squid was nicely tender and just a little hot. Stuffed eggplant was made with the sweet little Asian eggplants, deceptively rich despite their rather dowdy-looking exteriors.
But beyond that, things got ratcheted up. Looking very much like a samosa in an Indian restaurant, a turnover of shrimp and spinach, slightly sweet with its rice flour dough, the briny shrimp and absolutely no greasiness wooed the diner. Beef balls arrived on a bed of watercress, dense in the Asian style and full of flavor, including a faint taste of mint. Pork and peanut dumplings wore a ridge of dough like a cockscomb. A fat medallion looking like jade with pink and green veins and a gold tracing on the top turned out to be a spinach and shrimp dumpling, a last-minute sauté gilding it. No jade medallion, however, ever carried a delicate taste of cilantro.
The crowning touch of Won Ton King was a small, humble-looking triangular pastry. It vaguely resembled a scone topped with a scattering of sesame seeds. Don’t be fooled. The luxuriously rich, flaky covering enclosed some barbecued beef, the same kind found in the steamed buns called char siu bao (which are also available but pale in comparison). The contrast of the crumbly crisp pastry and the moist, chewy filling was a stunner, head-smackingly good.
There’s more, of course. But we also need to discuss the servers. This is an especially good place for those who’ve been frustrated by language problems at other establishments. Several of the young servers in particular were happy to discuss in considerable detail what they had under the lids of their stacks of steamers or were carrying on large trays. Lots of consideration was given to newcomers; more than once I heard, “Have you had dim sum before?” And there’s a choice of teas, too, including jasmine, chrysanthemum (my current favorite) and green tea.
So much for the dim sum doldrums.
This article appears in March 2024.