In Search of the Perfect Dumpling (Xiaolongbao) in Shanghai

The soup dumpling, or xiaolong bao (Chinese:小笼包）, is to Shanghai what the chicken wing is to Buffalo

A sleek upscale shopping mall was the last place I expected to find the most delectable little soup dumplings in Shanghai.

The unwritten canon of Asia food travel decrees that the best, most authentic things to eat are found only in funky street dives – what one Shanghai friend of mine calls “flip-flop” places. Cramped formica-top tables shared with strangers, and surly waiters? Terrific. Folding tables on the sidewalk, communal plastic chopsticks stuffed in a glass, no napkins? Give me that address.

My serendipitous shopping mall moment came during a recent trip to Shanghai, on a three-day quest to find the best xiao long bao (little basket dumplings) in the city that invented them. The xiao long bao is famous with foodies worldwide, and thanks to Internet food sites and blogs I was well-equipped with a list of on and off-the-track suggestions. I also had a good supply of every Asia food traveler’s must-have accessory: mini-packages of Kleenex tissues, for wiping away unexpected spurts of the intensely rich broth that’s the occupational hazard for a Shanghai soup-dumpling fanatic.

A delicate dumpling skin is wrapped around a juicy pork filling (or, in luxe versions, crab), and like magic, the dumpling also contains a shot of tasty broth.

The Shanghai dumpling, an elegant culinary achievement masquerading as a humble snack, consists of a ball of minced pork (sometimes with an added dollop of crab or crab roe), wrapped in a pleated flour dough skin, which is then steamed. But every xiao lung bao also holds a delightful surprise: there’s a spoonful of hot soup, made from chicken or pork, sometimes both, inside.

The invention is attributed to cooks at the original Nanxiang restaurant in Shanghai’s Jiading district, who figured out how to mix small chunks of cooled, soldified broth gelée into the minced pork filling. (When the dumplings are steamed, the gelatin liquefies back to soup.) Successful execution involves a labor-intensive balancing act of timing, texture and temperature. There is a lot that can go wrong. The dumpling must be assembled on the spot (aficionados insist it must be prepared and steamed only after you order it), or it will be starchy. The flour wrapper, in the wrong hands, can turn out doughy and thick, or thin and breakable, the meatballs too rubbery, the soup too abundant or greasy.

But when the dumpling is right, it’s golden – literally. Last June, the Shanghai government put the xiao long bao alongside 83 other folk arts on a list of the city’s “protected traditional treasures.”

The Shanghai branch of Taiwanese restaurant chain: Din Tai Fung is beautifully designed, with glass walls etched with its name in Chinese characters, and a lively mural featuring caricatures of Chinese stars who have eaten there

Din Tai Fung restaurant, located in a mall that’s part of Shanghai’s trendy Xintiandi complex, was my first stop.

I’d read and heard a lot about Din Tai Fung, for many online dumpling fans think the chain, with three branches in Shanghai and several more in Hong Kong, Taiwan and other Southeast Asian countries, produces the world’s best and most consistent xiao long bao. But I was skeptical – first, because of Din Tai Fung’s upscale airs (the Shanghai branch is beautifully designed, with glass walls etched with its name in Chinese characters, and a lively mural featuring caricatures of Chinese stars who have eaten there), and secondly because this restaurant specializing in the Shanghai dumpling isn’t a hometown operation – it’s a Taiwan-based chain.

October is peak season for Da Zha Xie(Chinese:大闸蟹): famous hairy crabs found in the Yangcheng Lake near Shanghai

Those doubts evaporated in a fog of hot steam, as the waitress lifted the lid – unveiled is a better word – from the first round bamboo basket. Because this was October, the peak season for da zha xie, Shanghai’s famous hairy crabs. I’d ordered the special dumplings, which come garnished with sweet crab roe. As the steam cleared, I could see the bright orange lumps of hairy crab roe peeking out from the twisted nipples of dough at the peak of each dumpling. A single dumpling fit exactly into the bowl of my porcelain spoon without flopping over the edge – a perfect size. If need be, you can pop a whole one comfortably into the mouth (that’s my preferred method for avoiding those pesky soup squirts–best to wait five minutes, though, until the soup cools).

I searched hard for something to dislike about Din Tai Fung’s xiao long bao. But everything about the dumpling eating ritual here reflected an obsessiveness with detail that one normally associates with the Japanese table. The ratio of dough to meat to soup was spot on. The ingredients tasted fresh, and the minced pork was good quality, with not a trace of gristle or bone. The service was cheerfully efficient (afterward I was handed a questionnaire that asked me to rate the smile of my server). The bamboo container was lined with white cotton, and the ginger, a traditional side accompaniment, had been slivered into fine threads and laid out on little white saucers like combed angel hair.

Perfection, perhaps. But I didn’t trust it. After all, these were my first dumplings of the trip, and I was not sitting in an alley at a folding table. So, the following morning, I left my friend behind to nurse his jet lag and I headed out to explore some of the storefront shops I had found in my research.

Shanghai dumplings fall into the food category called, in Chinese, “little eats” – snacks at breakfast, lunch, supper and anytime in between. An enthusiastic food traveler can eat xiao long bao from morning until night. I planned my dumpling trail so that I could walk off my meals by exploring different neighborhoods in Shanghai’s fast-changing landscape. On a 30-minute meander from my French Concession hotel to the Fu Chun dumpling shop on Yu Yuan road, I passed by the Jingan temple, then by accident, found myself standing in front of the apartment building where the late author Eileen Chang lived when she was writing “Lust, Caution,” the short story on which the recent Ang Lee film was based.

The unexpected discovery – and the lovely, tree-lined residential neighborhood – compensated for Fu Chun’s disappointing dumplings, which contained a bit too much greasy soup, had a slightly rubbery feel to the meatball and an odd aftertaste, as if they’d been made with less than prime pork. (Which makes sense, considering that pork dumplings cost 8 RMB a basket here, compared to $45 at Din Tai Fung).

I headed in a taxi for the Shanghai Museum, which has two attractions for pilgrims on the dumpling grail: you can walk off breakfast exploring a terrific collection of calligraphy and Ming and Qing dynasty furniture. When you have finished, you’re only a 10-minute walk from the Jia Jia Tang Bao soup dumpling shop.

Jia Jia, in a former location, had received raves from several online xiao long bao reviewers, including the notoriously fussy eaters at the U.S. website chowhound.com. But the new Jia Jia is a fast-food type diner on a side street filled with other noodle and dumpling joints that cater to office workers on lunch rush. Service was basic and businesslike: I ordered my xiao long bao, paid the clerk at the cash register, took my paper ticket, and sat down in an empty seat next to a stranger. Then I waited. A long-ish wait is a good sign at a xiao long bao restaurant, because it means your dumplings are being stuffed and wrapped to order. While I waited, I enjoyed watching the staff, in aprons, assembling the little bao by hand, rapidly pinching and twisting the tops in one deft wrist motion.

Jia Jia’s dumplings arrived fresh and hot as promised, but seemed undersized. The soup inside tasted too sweet, and lacked the porky intensity of Din Tai Fung’s. Although they were tasty, they didn’t convert me.

On previous trips to Shanghai, I’d fallen for the xiao long bao at Nanxiang, the multi-story, pagoda-style emporium in the grounds of Yu Yuan Gardens, the giddy tourist carnival and park that takes up several blocks of in Shanghai’s old city. Nanxiang is a branch of the original Shanghai shop that invented soup dumplings, a pedigree that ensures that it is always packed. But several years ago, I discovered that if you ignore the queue and boldly march upstairs to the third floor, you can easily get a seat at a quiet and comfortable linen-covered table – you’ll just have to pay a few dollars more for the atmosphere.

The following morning, I got a table at Nanxiang with no trouble. The upstairs seating area has expanded to three rooms, all filled with diners even at 10:30 a.m. Perhaps that’s why the dumplings, which arrived hot and fragrant with good quality meat, nevertheless seemed bland – the wrapping had a starchy taste and the broth had a bland character that suggested it was being made in huge batches.

The final dumpling shop on my list, Fu De, had all the earmarks of an Asia food traveler’s classic. Obscure and small, it is located in the as yet unfashionable Hongkou district, across the river from the Bund in Shanghai’s “Brooklyn.” Fu De had earned a 23 out of 25 rating and rave reviews from readers of the Chinese-language food Web site, www.dianping.com.

Fu De got more enticing as I approached, mainly because my taxi driver couldn’t find it. At last, she discovered why – the shop sits on a stretch of Wuchang Road that’s tucked underneath an overpass, next to a couple of auto repair shops.

I slipped inside, weaving around towers of giant bamboo dumpling baskets that appeared to pre-date the Chinese revolution, and found a seat at a communal table next to some autoworkers on their lunch break. One of them handed me a set of chopsticks, and showed me how to rinse them off with a cup of tea.

On the scale of funky authenticity, Fu De was leaving its competition in the dust. And the dumplings were absolutely wonderful. They weren’t as beautiful and multi-pleated as the upscale Din Tai Fung product. And the skin was a shade too thick. But the wrapper had an earthy, wheaty flavor, which balanced the warm explosion of comfort-broth within. It was like eating matzoh-ball soup, inside out.

Fu De’s xiao long bao were homely, but had personality. Din Tai Fung’s uptown xiao long bao were perfect treasures. Which is the more desirable quality in a Shanghai dumpling?

I couldn’t decide, but I had two hours left before my flight. I raced back to the shopping mall at Xintiandi to meditate on bite-sized soupy perfection a few times more.

• Din Tai Fung  (鼎泰丰(新天地店))

Address: Building 6, Floor 2, Shop 11a, Xintiandi South Block,Luwan District,Shanghai
Chinese Address: 上海市卢湾区兴业路123弄新天地南里6号楼2楼
Phone: 021-6385-8378
Prices: Meal for 2 ¥120-¥180 ($17-$26/£8.50-£13)

• Fu Chun dumpling shop (富春小笼(愚园路店))

Address: 650 Yu Yuan Road, Jinan District, Shanghai
Chinese Address: 上海市静安区愚园路650号
Phone: 021-6252-5117

• Jia Jia Tang Bao (佳家汤包(黄河路店))

Address: 90 Huanghe Lu, Huangpu District, Shanghai
Chinese Address: 上海市黄浦区黄河路90号(近凤阳路)
Phone: 021-6327-6878

• Nanxiang Mantou Dian (南翔馒头店)

Address: 85 Yuyuan Lu, west shore of teahouse lake, Yuyuan Garden, Huangpu District, Shanghai
Chinese Address: 上海市黄浦区豫园路85号
Phone: 021-6355-4206
Transportation: Subway Line 2 at Nanjing Dong Lu (1 mile away)

• Fu De Xiao Long (福德小笼)

Address: 862 Dong Yu Hang Lu, Hongkou District, Shanghai
Chinese Address: 上海市虹口区东余杭路862号(近海门路) 福德小笼

出游上海 十大不得不吃的美食

上海是各种名特小吃荟萃的地方，它的口味，既不同于粤港地区的纯甜味，也有别于四川、重庆的麻辣味，而是以清淡、鲜美、 可口著称。 无论是市井的四大金刚，咸菜泡饭，还是绿波廊里接待西哈努克的鸽蛋圆子、眉毛酥，均是上乘之美味。搜罗起角角落落的小点心，慢慢品尝，美味就从小处开始了.

生煎馒头

生煎馒头可以说是土生土长的上海点心，据说已有上百年的历史。生煎用的是半发酵的面粉包上鲜肉和肉皮冻， 一排排地放在平底锅里油煎，在煎制过程中还要淋几次凉水，最后撒上葱花和芝麻就大功告成了。

美味秘笈：底酥、皮薄、肉香。一口咬上去，肉汁裹着肉香、油香、葱香、芝麻香喷薄 而出，味道一级。当然咯，生煎如今也有了一定的“美味”发展，蟹肉生煎，鸡肉生煎包的口味，也都是一级棒的，而且，现在许多的上海餐饮小吃店，都推出了类 似于这样的，够传统也有新意的小吃，想要一尝美味，可谓是踏破铁鞋无觅处，得来全不费功夫啊!

地点：飞龙生煎四川北路1345号
大壶春河南中路612号
丰裕生煎上海各区均有连锁店
小杨生煎吴江路美食街

南翔小笼包

南翔小笼驰名中外，已有百年历史。初名“南翔大肉馒头”，后称“南翔大馒头”，再称“古猗园小笼”，现叫 “南翔小笼”。大肉馒头采取“重馅薄皮，以大改小”的方法，选用精白面粉擀成薄皮;又以精肉为馅，不用味精，用鸡汤煮肉皮取冻拌入，以取其鲜，洒入少量研 细的芝麻，以取其香;还根据不同节令取蟹粉或春竹、虾仁和入肉馅，每只馒头折裥十四只以上，一两面粉制作十只，形如荸荠呈半透明状，小巧玲珑。

美味秘笈：戳破皮子，汁满一碟为佳品。皮薄、汁鲜、肉嫩、馅丰

地点：南翔馒头店豫园路85号

三鲜小馄饨

好像上海人对馄饨的大小分的特别清楚。上海的三鲜馄饨也有别于无锡的三鲜馄饨。馄饨馅并不是鲜肉、开洋、 榨菜制成的馅心，而是纯肉的。所谓三鲜名堂皆在汤里，蛋丝、虾皮、紫菜此三鲜调出薄皮包裹着的鲜肉，口感咸香爽滑。

美味秘笈：汤烫、皮薄如纱，三鲜份量到位。哧溜一下溜入腹中

地点：大富贵中华路1409号

油豆腐线粉汤

干点配湿点，这是平常上海人习惯的饮食方法。而湿点中油豆腐线粉汤则是保留节目。虽然它看上去有点清汤寡 水，但配生煎等油腻的点心，则是绝配。而且看它的烧制过程也是一个享受：锅内汤汁翻滚，煮着铁丝网勺里的线粉，闻一闻，香气四溢。

美味秘笈：汤水够清，味道够鲜。油豆腐、粉丝和百叶包，再加个双档，保证你鲜地掉 眉毛。

地点：乔家栅西藏南 路289号

开洋葱油拌面

以熬香的葱油和烧透的海米(上海人称开洋)，和面条一起拌着吃。

美味秘笈：面韧劲十足，开洋鲜美，葱油喷香。一碗好拌面在手，如果桌上再来几份好 味道的小菜，你一定会觉得吃小吃，也是人生的一大享受啊!

地点：绿杨村：江宁路77号

条头糕薄荷糕

南南北北，糕点是中国人拿手的点心。论起上海的糕点，恐怕掰上脚趾，你都数不过来。但被上海人广为喜爱 的，要数条头糕和薄荷糕，还有双酿团之类的。薄荷糕，糯米粉里拌着些许的薄荷粉，点缀着红绿丝。条头糕，糯米粉糅合细沙(不是裹着细沙，而是两者揉在一 起)做成长条状，油炸了之后更好吃。

美味秘笈：薄荷糕，甜、凉爽口，夏季吃颇为下火。条头糕，又软又凝，甜度适 中。

地点：绿杨村：江宁路77号
沧浪亭淮海中路689号
沈大成南京东路636号

海棠糕

海棠糕可是点心中的老一辈了，年轻人恐怕有很多都没吃过。它的外层是粉皮，里面是豆沙馅，在特制的模具中 烘烤而成。由于模子的形状象海棠花，故得名。

美味秘笈：外形呈咖啡色，吃表面撒着饴糖，吃口分外香甜。

地址：松月楼素菜馆百 翎路23号

蟹壳黄

发酵面加油酥制成皮加馅的酥饼。饼色与形状酷似煮熟的蟹壳。成品呈褐黄色，吃起来酥、松、香。早期上海的 所有茶楼、老虎灶(开水专营店)的店面处，大都设有一个立式烘缸和一个平底煎盘炉，边做边卖两件小点心——蟹壳黄和生煎馒头。

美味秘笈：酥、香，满地找芝麻

地址：小绍兴云南南路118号

擂沙圆

擂沙圆是上海乔家栅点心店的风味名点之一，已有70多年的历史。相传在清代末年，上海三牌楼一带有一姓雷 的老太太，以设摊卖汤团为生。为多做些生意，她想方设法弥补汤团存放和携带不便的缺陷。开始，她把汤团表面滚了一层糯米干粉，后又试制了各类干粉，结果采 用赤豆粉效果甚佳，大受食客欢迎。后人为了纪念她，就把这种汤团取名擂沙圆。

擂沙圆品种的品种有许多：鲜肉、豆沙、芝麻等。其色粉红，豆香浓郁，软糯爽口，携 带方便。

做法小贴士：乔家栅点心铺经营的擂沙圆是将崇明县大红袍赤豆煮熟后磨成沙，晒干后 即成紫红色的粉，然后，把包有鲜肉或豆沙、芝麻等各式馅心的糯米汤团煮熟，沥干水分，滚上一层豆沙粉。这种汤团，有色有香、热吃有浓郁的赤豆香味，而且软 糯爽口，携带方便，一直深受游客的欢迎。

排骨年糕

排骨年糕是上海一种经济实惠、独具风味的小吃，已有50多年历史。上海有两家著名的排骨年糕━━“小常 州”和“鲜得来”。“小常州”排骨年糕选用常州、无锡等地的猪脊骨肉，用酱油腌渍后，再放入用酱油、油、糖、葱姜末、酒等混合的油锅中氽，氽至色呈紫红、 肉质鲜嫩、味道浓香时取出。与此同时，将松江大米煮熟后，放在石臼里用榔头反复捶打，待捶打至米已无整粒后取出，每500克切20根，每根里裹一小块已经 氽过的排骨，再入酱汁油锅中煮氽。吃时，洒上五香粉，则既有排骨的浓香，又有年糕的软糯酥脆，十分可口。

“鲜得来”的排骨年糕是将面粉、菱粉、五香粉、鸡蛋放在一起搅成浸裹在排骨表面， 放入油中氽熟。这种排骨色泽金黄，表面酥脆，肉质鲜嫩。与此同时，将松江大米与红酱油、排骨一起加上甜面酱，浇上辣椒酱即可。入口糯中发香，略有甜辣味， 鲜嫩适口。上海市的曙光饮食店的“小常州”排骨年糕、“鲜得来”点心店作的排骨年糕最具特色。