So, I got this real big craving for dim sum the other day. Not just any dim sum, you know? The good stuff. The kind that makes you close your eyes and just savor it. And I thought to myself, “Hey, I’m pretty handy in the kitchen. How hard can it be to make some from scratch?” Famous last words, folks. Famous. Last. Words.
The Great Ingredient Hunt
First off, just getting the ingredients was an adventure. I figured, “Okay, Chinatown run, easy peasy.” Nope. My usual spot was out of decent shrimp. Can you believe it? For har gow? So, I had to trek to another place, way across town. Finally got the shrimp, got the pork for siu mai, the special wheat starch for the har gow wrappers – because apparently, regular flour just won’t cut it. My shopping bag weighed a ton, and my patience was already wearing thin. I even grabbed some bamboo shoots and water chestnuts, trying to be all authentic.
Then I got home and laid it all out. My kitchen counter looked like a science experiment gone wild. Bowls everywhere, little piles of chopped stuff. It was… a lot.
Getting Down to Business (or a Mess)
I decided to tackle the har gow first. Those delicate, translucent shrimp dumplings. The recipe I found online made it look so simple. “Mix dough, roll thin, fill, pleat.” Yeah, right. Delicately pleat. My first few attempts looked like something the cat dragged in. Seriously. The dough was either too sticky or too dry. I was covered in white powder. My fingers were cramping from trying to make those tiny little folds. I think I managed about five that looked remotely like what they were supposed to be. The rest? Let’s just call them “rustic.”
Then came the siu mai. A bit easier, I gotta admit. Ground pork, shrimp, some seasonings. Mix it all up. The recipe said to make a little cup with the wrapper and stuff it. Okay, I could do that. They didn’t look too bad, actually. A bit lopsided, maybe, but recognizably siu mai. Small victories, right?
- Patience: Wore out pretty quick.
- Flour: Everywhere. And I mean everywhere.
- Pleating Skills: Non-existent. Seriously, how do they do it?
- My Back: Started to ache from hunching over the counter.
The Moment of Truth: Steaming and Tasting
After what felt like hours, I finally had a couple of bamboo steamers loaded up. Put them on the wok, water boiling, and waited. The smell, I have to say, was pretty amazing. My stomach was rumbling. Maybe all this effort was going to pay off after all.
Ding! Timer went off. I carefully lifted the lid. The siu mai looked pretty good! Golden, plump. The har gow… well. Some of them had burst. Others were stuck to the paper. But a few looked okay, kind of see-through like they should be.
So, the taste test. The siu mai? Honestly, not bad! Pretty flavorful. A bit dense, maybe, compared to the restaurant ones, but I’d eat ’em. Definitely edible.
The har gow? The ones that survived were actually tasty. The shrimp was cooked well. But the wrappers on some were a bit tough, a bit chewy. Not quite that delicate bite I was dreaming of. And the ones that burst were just a sad, shrimpy mess.
So, Was It “Yum”?
Look, it wasn’t a total disaster. Some of it was genuinely yum. I made dim sum! From scratch! That’s something, right? But man, oh man, the effort. The mess. My kitchen looked like a battlefield. It took me a solid afternoon for what amounted to maybe three decent portions.
Would I do it again? Ask me in a month, when I’ve forgotten how sticky my fingers got and how much flour I had to sweep up. For now, I think I’m just going to appreciate the professionals. There’s a reason those dim sum chefs are so skilled. It’s an art. A delicious, frustrating, time-consuming art.
Next time I get that craving, I’m probably just heading to my favorite spot downtown. They never run out of shrimp, and I don’t have to do the dishes. Still, it was an experience. A messy, tiring, but ultimately kinda rewarding experience. Sort of.