DUMPLING QUEEN

Call me crazy. I drove all the way to Arcadia (yes, deep in the San Gabriel Valley) at lunchtime, just to satisfy a little craving. After a trip to Europe with great, but exclusively local food, I could not stop thinking of those juicy, delicious dumplings at Din Tai Fung - the obsessive desire probably triggered by another of those yucky airline meals. I had to go. Truth is, I have never been big on Chinese food, but I find those cute dumplings at the Arcadian outpost of the Taiwanese legend simply irresistible. Plus, it has great entertainment value. It is so much fun watching through the huge plate glass the crew of adept dumpling-makers briskly composing golf-ballsized in a meticulously spotless kitchen. The dumplinistas swiftly roll out small circles of dough with a wooden dowel until almost transparent, spooning minced pork, shrimp and vegetables on top along with a spoonful of a heavenly fragrant consommé. Then they start pitching and twisting (just watching makes your head spin) those little guys into shape, placing them in round steel steamers - ten to a serving. Who needs to see a movie? The hostess usually has to drag me away from the huge window pane to seat me (shrieking “you now sit”); only succeeding because I already can smell the steamy juices of my dumplings floating in the air. I usually order nothing else along - no soups, no vegetables, no drinks, except for a little hot green tea. Those dumplings need my undivided attention. I carefully put each one of them on the spoon, add a little ponzu sauce together with the julienned ginger, inhale deeply and then bite through softly. In an almost religious experience, the aromas and juices start dancing in my mouth. Geez, am I happy to back in L.A. Its that magic place where midst of a broad nothingness you can discover truly the greatest treasures on this planet.