The Peoples’ Dumplings

Dear Shelly and Jenny and the WORLD!

I used all my willpower to keep myself from telling you guys about my dinner tonight so I could blog to you about it.

I’ve been excited to try this recipe for months! Actually, it’s more like years.

ACTUALLY, SINCE I WAS BORN.

This, my friends, is a bowl of little wonton soup (小馄饨) or as I like to call them, the Peoples’ Dumplings. Little wontons are a version of the regular folded wontons, a species of wonton that originated in Shanghai.

During the holidays, when my mom was a kid, she and her two brothers would accompany my grandmother on a very, very long bus ride, and after several transfers and a 20-minute walk they’d reach Xujiahui an upscale area of Shanghai very far from their home near the outskirts of the city. Unlike the poshest areas of Shanghai on West Nanjing Road and Huaihai Road the department stores and fancy foods stores in Xujiahui were within reach of average Chinese people (all pretty close to impoverished). While my grandma did her holiday shopping, buying special ingredients for Chinese New Year dinner and household luxuries like hair pomade and good yarn for knitting clothes. My mother and brothers gawked at the people and the glamorous, bustling district. Before starting on the trek home, grandma always treated her kids to a bowl of wontons. Each!

When my parents wanted to buy a home in Shanghai, they instantly decided on Xujiahui. Both my uncles bought homes there too, within blocks of those old department stores. They’ve risen up into middle class-dom and Shanghai has changed too, into a sophisticated city offering every luxury and experience. But I wonder if anything can compare with the nostalgic, idealized flavor of childhood. How refined these dumplings must have appeared compared to the vegetable, wild herb and soy dishes that Chinese people in that era of scarcity, between the Cultural Revolution and economic depression, abided by.

Imagine: little dumplings floating in soup, decorated with garnishes of egg, little dried shrimps, petite green onions, enriched with a dab of lard so that the rich, rare flavor of meat coats your mouth.

Children and crouch-backed old ladies and grizzle-chinned men slurp little wontons for breakfast, as a late-night snack, as an afternoon treat in Shanghai. Little Wontons have never gone out of style, they are on every menu of every Chinese restaurant in this town, from fiery Sichuan joints to Cantonese dim sum palaces, surpassing the categorizations of cuisine. People love little wontons. I'm not sure if there's an American equivalent that occupies the same tender spot.

Little wontons are reminders of the sweetest moments in a bittersweet history. They are also easiest dumpling in the world to make, I learned, once I finally got up the guts to ask my grandma how to make them. For me, asking her for this recipe was like asking to hold fireworks – to hold magic itself – in my hands. Something incredible. I wanted to recreate these dumplings for my children perfectly.     

I have my own tenderness for Little Wontons, despite being lucky enough to be born after this tumultuous time. When I flew back to Shanghai, my maternal grandparents would always wait with my uncles to pick me up at the airport. They’d be there no matter how late our international flights from San Francisco got delayed. After piling the trunk full of our bulging suitcases, we’d drive an hour to get to my grandparents’ home –  driving fast on the newly built airport expressway past acres of swampland, on the local streets avoiding swerving cars, and finally, slowing down a narrow, pebbly, dusty path past the neighbors fast asleep. I’d be asleep by then, until the wheel hit a familiar dip in the road and my grandma would yell, "oOooOoh!" letting the pebbly path wobble her voice and make me laugh.

My grandma turned on the lights while the rest of us busied ourselves hauling luggage and shedding our many layers of stale clothes. She’d place a pot of water on the stove, take a bowl of savory minced pork filling from the refrigerator and the wrappers from a floured towel, and start cinching little wontons into being.

Today, I was seeking the comfort of little wontons. Life is good, but it's been months since I’ve written anything substantial. I'm not sure who I am anymore. In February, I moved to China and tried to convince my boyfriend to move here with me. I’ve moved into a new apartment after 2.5 years of sharing a room with another graduate student on the Upper West Side. My boyfriend's gone home, my mom has gone home. I feel alone yet surrounded by warm memories. I’ve joined a gym for the first time, ever. I’m not working so I can’t avoid putting off the most important task of all – writing – yet somehow I’m still managing to. I don't know what to make of myself. Everything else feels like busywork.

I’ve been gathering the ingredients for the little wontons for days. Today I found my last ingredient – the noodle mistress at my local wet market. Imagine a woman, with plump hands that are pink and a little coarse from rolling out pasta, with flour in her hair, in her wrinkles, on her apron. She is everywhere, like my grandma herself, emanating into my world, no matter where I am, giving bliss and comfort through these little wontons. 

Shanghai's Homestyle Little Wonton Soup 

Ingredients: 
Pork filling

Broth

A small bowl of water

A kilo of minced pork

An egg per every kilo of minced pork

Three sprigs of chives or green onion, finely chopped. (reserve one tablespoon for the garnish)

Salt to taste

Soy sauce to taste

1 tsp. of chicken bouillon or MSG (yup)

1-3 spoonfuls of water until you reach a thick, sauce-like consistency

finely chopped green onion/chives

more chicken bouillon or MSG (atleast it’s not lard)

boiling water (boil this separately, do not use the wonton cooking water – you want a clear broth)

salt to taste

sesame oil to taste

Put two pots of water on boil. 

Thin square dumpling wrappers (from the noodle mistress or your local Asian supermarket)

For the filling:
A kilo of minced pork
An egg per every kilo of minced pork
Three sprigs of chives or green onion, finely chopped. (Reserve one tablespoon for the garnish)
Salt to taste
Soy sauce to taste
1 tsp. of chicken bouillon or MSG (yup)
1-3 spoonfuls of water until you reach a thick, sauce-like consistency

For the broth:
finely chopped green onion/chives
more chicken bouillon or MSG
boiling water (boil this separately, do not use the wonton cooking water – you want a clear broth)
salt to taste
sesame oil to taste

To make the dumplings:

Clean and dry your hands. Hold one dumpling wrapper in your non-dominant hand. Dab the two right edges of the wrapper with water. Take chopsticks or a small spoon. Dab a tiny quantity of filling (about 1 tsp.) at the center of the dumpling wrapper. Fold the bottom of the wrapper up and fold the left part to the right, creating a triangle shape. 24 dumplings per person is about right.

Gently slide the dumplings into one pot of boiling water. Use chopsticks to gently stir the water and prevent the wontons from sticking to each other and to the pot. Boil for 3-5 minutes, depending on serving size.

As the wontons are boiling, take the other pot of boiling water and ready the broth from the ingredients above, except for green onion and sesame oil. Check savory levels – it should be a little saltier than you’d prefer. Spoon the hot wontons into the broth, and garnish with green onion and sesame oil.

Enjoy :)