Atlantica - 01.01.2006, Blaðsíða 46

44 AT L A N T I CA
“No question,” Spencer answered. “You gotta go with the cart. You get
more stuff. Ordering off the menu you usually don’t try enough, espe-
cially if you don’t know what it is.”
I felt humble in his presence. I might have rubbed chopsticks with the
elite of San Francisco’s top dim sum chefs at Yank Sing with author Amy
Tan one time, but this guy knew the down and dirty tricks of getting the
goods. I fished for more advice. “So what should I tell someone who is a
newbie to the whole dim sum scene?”
“Chicken feet aren’t as bad as they look,” he said.
I had always seen chicken feet on the menu and seen them roll by on the
carts. They are usually steamed or fried and lathered in a dark black bean
sauce. I had never found them appetizing. But after almost 15 years on the
dim sum circuit, I hadn’t even tried one of the all-time classics. Spencer’s
dim sum devotion exposed me as the impostor that I was.
As my insecurities were building, a cart started rolling by pretty fast. I
asked the woman what she was carrying and she held up the chicken feet
with black bean sauce. She looked at me like she knew I would have no
interest. I told her I really wanted to try them.
After exchanging hesitant looks, John and I dug in. The taste was actu-
ally kind of bland, nothing too strong. But the thick skin and the spindly
bones were more noticeable than any meat. After the waitress cruised out
of sight and Spencer turned to talk to his girlfriend, we quietly pushed the
basket to the side, paid our bill and walked out.
FOURTH COURSE – DON’T WORRY EAT HAPPY
I was disheartened by my fall from grace. Here I was touring New York’s
Chinatown with my fellow adventurer John, and I had tripped over a
couple of chicken feet in my path.
But like any good chow hound, I got up and dusted myself off. I
returned to Chinatown a week later, committed to hitting one more clas-
sic joint that would reestablish my credentials as a dim sum expert.
I walked into the gold-decked halls of Nice restaurant. (Yes, the place is
called Nice.) It was mid-afternoon and many of the families had already
had their fill and left by the time my companion and I showed up.
We attracted attention immediately with our photo gear and clumsy
use of chopsticks. But soon we hit a groove. We ordered Ha Gow, the
shrimp dumplings. My fried food phobic friend – not John – liked their
simplicity.
“I like this one. It feels healthy, but,” she paused, “the fried ones
don’t.”
After we made a mess out of some fried shrimp still encased in its
shell, the restaurant’s seafood wholesaler, Danny Wong, came over to ask
us about Iceland. I quickly detoured his question and began to grill him
about dim sum.
Danny, 50, took to the discussion like a patient host on the Food
Network. “Dim Sum is all about drinking tea and eating lunch,” he said.
DIM SUMa
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