Shanghai: Nianxiang Steamed Bun Restaurant

 Yuyuan Bazaar

Earlier in the morning, before my chance encounter with the paper cutter and my deliberate encounter with the Chinese KFC cashier, I had thoughtfully chosen to attire myself in jeans and a long sleeve shirt- both to avoid the inevitable sunburn and fit in with the locals. It is rare, in my first hand opinion, to see Asian men wearing shorts in public. Bare legs are an essential component of the vogue Korean woman's overall appearance, but the men are contentedly confined in a dark suit, white shirt and sparkly pink or periwinkle necktie. Even on weekends. Although Sami and I agreed that Shanghai was much more casual than Seoul, there still was a distinct lack of uncovered stems on the male population. I wasn't going to take any chances.

Naturally, I regretted my choice of style over comfort as the late morning became hot and a little muggier than I would have preferred. As we walked away from the paper cutter, the green backpack (which has become an unfortunate mainstay in nearly all travel photographs we take) strapped snugly against my body accelerated the fall of sweat rivulets down my spine. Warm, swampy lagoons formed between my legs and under my arms which smelled of Mexican food.

Most people would reach for a cool refreshment during a time like this. Perhaps an iced tea, or a soda. Maybe an ice cream or a beer. Not us. We were on a quest for hot, steamy, pork soup dumplings. Of course, these were the most famous dumplings in all of Shanghai, the dumpling capitol of the world. No amount of humidity would stop us.

Nanxiang Steamed Bun Restaurant was located in the Yuyuan Bazaar in Old Town. Walking into the bazaar was not unlike walking into a crowded outlet mall in, say, Lincoln City, except that the department stores are held in giant wooden pagodas and all the people are Asian. A wooden railed deck snakes around the bazaar over a pool of green water filled with orange carp. The path leads you to such exotic establishments as Dairy Queen and Starbucks. Walking across the pond can be nearly impossible as hordes of tourists scrunch together to pose in front of the green pond.

 The entrance. You will find no shortage of knock offs in the shops, but the dumplings are the real deal my friend.

O.K. so maybe it is nothing like Lincoln City. I lied.

 

The restaurant itself is fairly indistinguishable from the other wood framed restaurants and shops if not for the seemingly hundreds of customers queued up waiting for a taste. The line stretched outside the door where several families sat on open air benches waiting to be called. We weighed our options and quickly decided to jump into the take out line. We were after the eats, not the seats.

After a good half hour we reached the front of the take out line. There is a glass window where you can observe the cooks skillfully twist the dumpling skin around a portion of meat, and place them evenly in a round bamboo steamers and stacked atop each other to dangerously high levels. We paid for two servings and the woman behind the counter served them to us with all the delicacy of a handless bongo player.

 Finally made it to the front!

We scurried off and found a piece of pavement to sit down on. I pulled out my chopsticks (Yes, we brought our own! Look at us being environmentally friendly!) and dug in. I have to admit that I thought the skin was going to be a little thinner, but the flavor was exactly what I wanted. Pork fatty and garlicky. The broth was perfect, not too salty and just the right amount of fat to cover your mouth and remind you later how good it was.

 When traveling in China, bring your own chopsticks. Save bamboo!

After we ate, Sami wanted to get her Starbucks fix in and I let her. Meanwhile, I searched the Dairy Queen, but when I was told they had no shell syrup for the dipped cones, I retreated. What the hell is this? Communist China? I had half of Sami's caramel bullshit thing and it was quite refreshing. Looks like I beat the heat after all. Even without shorts.