Text 19089, 101 rader
Skriven 2011-12-15 13:34:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: fat day 365
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The plan: my friend Link was going to take me to an early
lunch; then we'd go to my concert; then off to dinner,
which would be my treat - sort of mirroring our financial
conditions, in proportion, except that now that I'm so-called
retired, this is in reality reversed. Whatever.

I sort of wanted dim sum, but I was in a somewhat dim sum
deprived neighborhood, the nearest place having recently
acquired some blistering reviews - sad, as I'd met the
owner when he was a stripling some 40 years ago, but there
probably has been at least one generational change since.
And there is the China Pearl half an hour away in Woburn,
but it's said not to be as good as its progenitor, plus, as
it's about all one can find in the area, gets hugely busy
on weekends, and a long line I didn't need.

I remembered a place in North Cambridge where once I'd seen
some old ladies hand-fashioning dumplings, so we decided to
give it a try.

Qingdao Garden is up in the old Irish neighborhood, right
near Frank's Sizzling Platter Steak House (my plan B if our
destination turned out be closed) and where Verna's used to be
(Tip O'Neill's last words were "You remember those doughnuts
at Verna's?"). I guess times have changed since I was a kid.
Lately strange foreign influences have crept in, such as this
and the biggest Dunkin' Donuts I have ever seen.

It was before noon when we arrived, and the staff were still
concentrating on their lunch of thin soup sided with various
kinds of vegetably looking things. They were throughout
rather relaxed about acknowledging our presence, taking our
order, and cooking and delivering our food. Which, combined
with my ordering three things for two people, led this to
become a two-hour meal, without alcohol.

An unprepossessing place, decorated by big photos of a Chinese
city, presumably Qingdao, daytime on this wall, nighttime on
that; other than a signed photo of customer Yo-Yo Ma there's
not much there there. The furniture is 1960s diner formica.

I'd come in with my mouth set for the leek dumplings, which
I remembered as homestyle but expertly made and tasty. At the
last moment I changed my mind and ordered xiao long bao,
little steamed pork buns. My train of thought was. I first
went to Yangtse River, the place I'd originally thought of,
because this place down the road, Peking Garden, no longer
served steamed pork buns, and we cast about and found the
new place, which, as it later turned out, was owned by the
guy who had had Su Shiang in Central Square (one of my early
haunts in the 1970s, not to be confused with Su Chang, one
of my haunts in the 2000s and the site of an echo picnic
event or two) and had disappeared from the radar some years
previous, only to show up here. I wanted little steamed
pork buns, spurred by the ancient memories of the ones at
Peking Garden. Okay. When the buns came out (after a really
long interval), they were nothing like what I expected: they
were twice as big and were covered in a bread dough, like a
bao, instead of a translucent dim sum wrapper; further, they
were stuffed with a mix of pork and shredded ginger with no
broth (the normal ones are juicy, have pork, or maybe pork
and scallion, and are served with red vinegar and ginger on
the side). Some of them had been torn on the bottom, but
even the intact ones weren't juicy. They didn't taste bad,
but I should have stuck with plan A. I'd encountered this
kind of dumplings before but only in a couple restaurants in
Flushing, so I thought it to be a local New York aberration.

After that, garlic eggplant, which, despite being almost
saltfree and with only the most delicate whiff of garlic,
was cooked nicely, the texture becoming tender and almost
fatlike while not retaining too too much oil.

Link, like many of my better vegetarian friends, considers
pork among her favorite vegetables. I had thought about
getting red-cooked pig feet, but as that might tend to freak
out even a revisionist and open-minded vegetarian, we had
red-cooked pork belly instead - delightful, a pound of
braised fatty pig in 1" chunks, from tender but slightly
resilient skin to slippery white heavenly fat to marbled
but meaty dark meat that had taken on the flavors of
peppercorns, star anise, ginger, and again just a whiff
of garlic. It was done almost as I'd do it myself but had
an atypical garnish of mixed braised vegetables - carrots,
celery, lotus root, and bamboo. One of the best dishes of
the year, and I think I have to make my version of it for
Clean Dave when I visit tomorrow. Or, by the time I upload
this packet and you read these messages, yesterday.

The bill came much more promptly than the food, despite our
being one of only two tables occupied - the other was an
ancient Chinese couple who were obviously regulars, as the
staff kept visiting, some of them actually sitting for
intervals at the table. They did wait until we were finished
eating, which is good. I found the prices a tad high, but
still we spent less than we would at Chili's or the Red Lobster
and had enough left over for a modest lunch next day (all the
pork having been eaten up).
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