a little bit of heart

Last Sunday we met up with a group of GSB students (all who had lived in Singapore at some point, although none were actually Singaporean) for dim sum in Chicago’s Chinatown. We decided to take the Red Line, which worked out pretty well – five stops and two blocks later and we were there.

There was some confusion over who was coming and where they were, but we managed to be seated at our table within a few minutes of our arrival. The restaurant sits in the middle of the divide between the old and the new Chinatowns. It has been there for over twenty years (according to a write up we saw on the Internet), so they must be doing something right.

There were six of us total. I was the only partner, the only female, and the only one who had never been to Asia (unless you count my dreams). Still I felt comfortable, as I have been enjoying the wonders of dim sum since I was eight. I didn’t share how the place we went in Chinatown Los Angeles was segregated (Chinese on one half of the restaurant/non-Chinese on the other), and how after a while we found ourselves being seated on the Chinese side.

I could actually share lots of stories about dim sum, although I didn’t. They might have thought it funny how they recognized my Mom as we pulled up to a full parking lot and would motion for her to pull forward despite sending the last three cars away (this was because she always tipped the guys who parked her car). Or how my Mom used to end my slumber parties by taking all my friends to dim sum. Or even how once my sister and I took our Dad to Chinatown New York for dim sum when we were about eleven and twelve.

There was an opportunity to share my chicken feet story as “the boys” felt the need to order some. One felt that dim sum wasn’t complete without them, while a couple of the others wanted to at least say they had tried them. For the record, I have never tried them, and don’t really think I am missing out.

I should mention that we really were a mixed group. One of the members of our party was originally from Turkey, although he had lived quite a while in Singapore. Another member was from Belgium, but had most recently worked and lived in Singapore. Then there was a Swede who had spent time working in both New York and Singapore and who admitted that when he needed it, he got his Swedish meatball fix at IKEA. And yet another was from Malaysia although spent many years in Singapore and plans to work in London where he did his internship this past summer. Like B he is Chinese ethnically.

Overall it was a good time. There were a few awkward moments, like when I had to ask them to pass a cup and chopsticks and plate my way as somehow while there were enough of each on the table, there was actually nothing in front of me when I sat down. But the food was good, the conversation was lively, and the women pushing the carts were well – pushy (always a good sign of good dim sum).

And on that note, we are headed back in a bit to see if we can’t find cha siu bau as good as B’s Uncle P usually gets for us when we are in LA. Otherwise it may be time to call in FedEx for assistance.