Mimi Cheng’s
Just as with most adventures, the first stop on my journey was in a little village. My village was known as the East Village.
I arrived at Mimi Cheng’s bundled up in scarf and hat, gloves in my pocket and the faux-fur hood tickling my neck. It was cold outside, but warm inside, which was a good start. The place was mid-full and I took at seat at the counter by the wall.
I think it is somewhat fitting that the first dumpling I would cross off my list might be the most unorthodox. The Monthly Special at Mimi Cheng’s is a rotating recipe of unique and mildly experimental dumplings, which New York Magazine claims is a way to keep something so ubiquitous as a dumpling relevant in the Instagram Age. If ubiquitous is synonymous with un-Instagrammable however, there would be no Instagram pictures of coffee. And if Instagramability defined the culinary aptitude of the restaurants of New York or the ranking of the list on which I had placed so much blind faith, than what, dare I ask, could I ever hope to gain from eating 50 different dumplings in this city that I couldn’t gain from seeing pictures of 50 different dumplings?
(I will point out now that I did, in fact, Instagram the Monthly Special at Mimi Cheng’s. That picture can be found in this post.)
I failed to mention that the special that month was beef chili. A classic beef chili, complete with the thick, wonderful sauce that tastes like the Superbowl, comprises the filling of the dumpling. The idea sounded wonderful, simple, and delicious. The crisp dumplings are rounded out with a dusting of scallions, some shredded mild cheddar cheese (yellow), and a dollop of sour cream.
Upon receiving the six dumplings I noticed only four. I looked to my plate: two to the left, two to the right, and a mountain of sour cream in the middle. I could only assume the other two dumplings were somewhere beneath the white, dairy Everest.
I ate the dumpling to the far right. Tasty. I ate the dumpling to the far left. Even better. Second dumpling from the right? It had a hint of sour cream on it, and the cheddar and scallions mixed wonderfully with the very basic chili. I saw the corner of the forgotten central-right dumpling emerging from a sagging lick of cream.
I forked off a heap of sour cream from the top to reach my prize. Nothing but sour cream remained. I took another large scoop from the top, pushing it to the side. Nothing.
How much sour cream can a man shovel around before he begins to be unsettled by the mere idea of tangy dairy? A little sour cream, in a burrito perhaps, is a wonderful addition to a meal. The Sour Cream Matterhorn on my plate was not eliciting that same emotion.
I pulled my fork in like a backhoe, mimicking the awful mountain-top removal mining of Appalachia. Beneath the scorched earth of my destruction lay more sour cream. I pulled and scraped and piled and re-piled and mined and dug and twisted and twirled and heaped and searched and shoveled my way through the lactose finesse until I found the poor, drowning dumpling deep beneath the surface. I consumed it.
What was a crisp and savory dumpling had become something not quite. Through his submerged state he had taken on a too-tart quality, the little extra of that sour cream goodness that makes it not-so-good. The scallion and cheddar notes were drowned by the sour cream tuba honking at the wrong time and the wrong decibel level. The lovely, if quiet, symphony I had begun with in the first few dumplings was filled with static.
The remaining dumplings were not quite so altered but that mountain of sour cream, now ringing my plate as residue of my excavatorial excursions left a sour taste.
I began my journey with the realization that these dumplings, even on the magnum opus list of New York Dumplings, are still quite susceptible to my judgment. I also understand that placing a little too much sour cream on a dumpling can happen to everyone at some point.
But I haven’t the time to linger. My palate awaits new morsels.
New Dumpling Ranking
- Mimi Cheng’s
