Dim Sum In My Heart
Dim sum, as you have surely heard or read somewhere, translates to mean ‘touch heart’ — a delicate meal to satisfy you to your heart’s delight. Perhaps when the Cantonese gave it the name, they secretly knew that dim sum would earn more than a place in our stomachs; it would also dwell in our hearts. This I am pretty sure of, because somewhere along my journey of eating, the ever-communal affair of scooping up these tasty nuggets has found a place in mine.
On a lazy Sunday morning, amidst a dilapidated row of shops in my residential neighbourhood, I sit at my usual spot in my favourite dim sum restaurant. It’s barely 10am but already, most of the tables are taken: elderly couples quietly sipping tea, men in construction uniform brushing off the caked dirt on their boots, new parents cradling their child as they take turns to eat. Brimming bamboo steamers are set on stoves of smouldering heat near the kitchen and as I watch the steam rise, I can already visualise what’s beneath each lid — many more small-sized steamers filled with deftly folded dumplings, a not-so-perfectly rounded fish ball holding onto its twin, trios of buns rising to their final, doughy form.
A lanky teenager begins heaving a steamer around to the tables, one at a time, and I look on longingly (for the dim sum, not him). All those thoughts about what’s steaming has roused my stomach, which typically doesn’t wake till 1pm on Sundays. I fidget and shift my focus to counting chairs. There were six and I needed three more, plus two baby chairs. Just as I was about to stand, an acquainted helper comes to my rescue. He’s the one from Nepal who speaks Cantonese with a quirky accent and knows exactly how many chairs I need.
With his help, my table for 11 is ready. While I set the table with chopsticks and saucers, the dapper boss greets me with a radiant smile. He used to be an engineer, before he quit his job and started this joint out of pure passion. I know this because he lives down the road from my house and because he’s always at the shop, fetching plates from table to table and keeping a close eye on every little parcel that leaves his kitchen. Attentive, he asks if I wanted any drinks. I order a pot of Chinese tea for eight and a glass of kopi peng for myself, before recalling an article I read that listed ordering coffee as a blunder when having dim sum. Uh, but it can’t be that big a mistake, not when it tastes so good… right?
My watch showed 10.26am, which means it won’t be long before they arrive. Across my table, a group of friends laugh gaily. They look like they’re in college — the Birkenstock sandals and short shorts are sure signs. As they lunge at the morsels with their chopsticks, their enthusiastic chatter seems to get louder, as if fueled by the fresh har gao. They talk about everything, from recollections of getting wasted some Friday nights ago to the aggravating group assignment they have yet to complete. A few years ago, that was us, my friends and I huddling over dim sum.
Just then, a familiar, chirpy voice chimes.
“Ann ann gu gu!” (Aunty Ann)
I look up to see the precious face of Livia, my four-year-old niece, racing to my side. Behind her, little Rycliff follows in strides, his hand loosely grasping onto my sister-in-law’s. Before long, the whole gang has marched in to fill the empty seats around me and what felt like an awfully quiet morning quickly made way for a boisterous yet blissful hubbub. Like clockwork, the server appears again, this time hefting a large steamer piled high with smaller bamboo baskets in his arms. I swear, we could have ordered with our eyes closed.
“Egg tarts for Rhiana, siew mai for Mummy, fish balls for the kids, lo mai kai for Aunty…”
After all, it’s tradition.
Start your mornings in the tradition of this delightful fare with Burpple’s Guide to Best Dim Sum in Kuala Lumpur.
