Alright so this morning I rolled out of bed thinking man, I gotta find proper Michelin dim sum nearby. Like right now. My stomach was growling loud enough to wake the neighbors. Grabbed my phone still half-asleep and just punched in “Michelin dim sum near me.”
First attempt was rough. The apps kept showing me fancy sit-down places requiring reservations two weeks out. Who plans dim sum that far ahead? Dim sum’s supposed to be spontaneous! Got mad when I saw one place requiring a credit card just to look at available times. Nah.
Then I remembered that hole-in-the-wall spot my cousin mentioned months ago. Literally called it “that place under the noisy train tracks.” Zero online presence. Threw on real pants (not sweats!) and hauled myself there.
Place looked sketchy as hell – plastic stools, flickering neon sign missing letters. Almost walked out until I spotted:
- That faded Michelin sticker half-peeling off the greasy window
- The massive queue snaking out the door at 10am on a Wednesday
- Auntie aggressively shoving bamboo steamers around behind the counter
The magic moment: Grabbed a wobbling stool by the kitchen door. No menu, just pointed at what looked good steaming past me. Har gow so plump you could see the pink shrimp through the wrapper. Sius mai topped with orange crab roe like tiny volcanoes. Char siu buns with that perfect sticky-sweet sheen. Paid cash to a dude counting bills faster than a casino dealer.
Honest truth? Best shumai I’ve had outside Hong Kong. Flavor explosion. That slightly burnt bit on the pork bun bottom? Perfection. Forgot all about the plastic stool digging into my thigh.
So what’d I learn? Michelin gems ain’t always in shiny towers. Sometimes real deal dim sum means:
- Zero online bookings – just show up early
- Cash only crumpled in your pocket
- Ignoring the “ambiance” completely
- Trusting the chaotic energy of aunties yelling orders
Worth every second hunting. Left smelling like pork fat and triumph.