Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(21)

Mince the water chestnuts, bamboo shoots, ginger, garlic, and green onions before incorporating them into the minced pork. Add the eggs. Set aside.

When the dough is ready, roll it out and cut palm-size circles for the dumplings. Spoon in the filling and fold the edges as you would when making a paper fan. The crispness of the edges will be amazing when fried.

Deep-fry until golden.

Yields 50 dumplings.



Note:

These dumplings should inspire happiness, for this is a recipe I learned from my mother. Her dumplings always brought me such joy. I saw them as bundles of sunshine.

Serve this to those who need a smile. This dish is great for any occasion as it is popular with the young and the old.

I placed a bouquet of green onions, ginger, and garlic on the counter beside bunches of water chestnuts and bamboo shoots. A packet of butcher-paper-wrapped minced pork huddled with a carton of large brown eggs.

With the Victrola now playing Aida, I combined the dry ingredients, kneading them together. The mixture warmed in my hands as I worked it, and I added more flour to achieve the right consistency.

When the dough was ready, I laid it in a covered aluminum bowl to rest. I washed my hands before tackling the filling, mincing golden ginger and green onions with Laolao’s still-sharp knife. My fingertips unfolded papery shells of garlic, releasing the aromatic cloves within. I used Laolao’s knife again to transform them into tiny cubes before depositing them in with the ginger and onions. I had chosen bamboo shoots and water chestnuts for their crispy texture, and I diced them and tossed them into the growing pile as well.

Finally, I unwrapped the ground pork and threw it into the bowl, incorporating all of the diced ingredients along with a dash of pepper, which was my addition. Opening the carton, I reached for two brown eggs, cracking them against the rim of the bowl. The sunny yolks dripped down followed by the clear bridal train of the whites. I stirred everything with a large wooden spoon, mixing, pulling, and blending the filling into a marbled masterpiece.

I rolled the dough out onto the flour-dusted counter, where I used a circular template for the dumplings, adding a spoonful of filling in the middle, and closing each one with accordion folds.

Making dumplings had been a weekly Sunday affair with Ma-ma. We’d wash down the kitchen table and I’d be tasked with the choice of which record to play. Sometimes I’d gone by the artwork on the covers or I’d ask my mother about a song and which opera it came from by humming it. Dumplings could not come into existence without the aid of arias and orchestras.

Now the finished dumplings populated the large metal tray. I poured refined peanut oil into the wok, turning up the heat on the gas stove. The blue flames licked the darkened bottom of the wok.

While waiting for the temperature to rise, I conducted an imaginary orchestra with long wooden chopsticks. I dipped one into the oil and watched for the signs; telltale bubbles around the submerged shaft meant the temperature was perfect.

The first sacrificial dumpling was tossed into the wok. The oil danced, enveloping the pale dumpling in a cloak of bubbles. Soon, it floated upward, a golden buoy in an amber sea, before I whisked it away with my chopsticks.

I set the dumpling on layers of paper towels to soak up the excess oil. I waited as long as I possibly could for it to cool before giving in to temptation, biting into the golden, crisp dumpling and the steaming filling inside. The crunch from the wrapper created a satisfying explosion in my eardrums. It was perfect.

Now assured of their quality, I tumbled half a dozen dumplings into the oil. The batch yielded fifty, just as the recipe indicated. I had more than enough left over for an offering for Ma-ma and some to share with Celia too.

I picked up Laolao’s photograph and placed it on top of the closed recipe book. “I’m cooking in your kitchen with your recipe,” I said to her. “I wish I could watch you cook. You must have been a wizard in the kitchen. I could have learned so much from you, about cooking, business, life. If only you were still here.”

I returned her picture to its place inside the recipe book before arranging half of the dumplings on a covered catering platter I’d found on the high shelves in the kitchen. I placed the rest of them on three plates on a round tray to carry upstairs to the apartment. After depositing two plates into the fridge, I headed for the family shrine with the last one. The final plate with eight dumplings was set before Ma-ma’s photograph. I bowed and sent silent prayers to my mother’s spirit. Then I spoke and hoped that somewhere my mother could hear me. It was something like a prayer.

“I miss you and think about you all the time. I’ve decided to open the restaurant. I am so happy that you gave me your blessing after all, Ma-ma. It’s what I’ve wanted for a very long time. Miss Yu said that in order for the restaurant to be successful, I have to cook for three people. I’m helping the Chius and Older Shen. As for the last person, I don’t know yet.

“I didn’t know how bad things have gotten. The neighbors really are in trouble. I will help them, Ma-ma, not only because it’s what the prophecy says, but because it’s the right thing to do. This neighborhood will be saved.

“I love you, Ma-ma. Always.”



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?I returned to the restaurant’s kitchen to prepare two extra dipping sauces to accompany the dish. Because I knew I would be delivering some of the dumplings to Celia soon, I left the front door open so I didn’t have to struggle with it later when I’d be carrying the food. Humming “O patria mio,” I took out the covered tray from the fridge, careful not to jostle the contents inside.