Yank Sing

The phone was ringing at the ungodly hour of 9am, then again at 10am, and I was sure it was a crisis in marketing land. But no, it was a friend inviting me to enjoy dim sum! So I hopped on the old bike and arrived there in ten minutes. This is the dim sum place of all dim sum places, and they are differe from the run of the mill chop shop on Stockton in so many ways.

– why pay 2$ when you could pay 33$?
– if you want a specific dim sum, like for me the little roasted pork sweet “piroshkis,” baked in little filo triangles, you just ask any of the bilingual women and they will chat into their madonna-style headsets in staccato Cantonese, and voila, soon it will appear.
– white, cloth tableclothes.
– business deals are being transacted faster than you can say “shrimp siu mai”
– they don’t blink when you order chrysanthemum tea, and they serve it in nice glass teapots the way they’re supposed to.
– did I say everyone speaks English?
– the biggest difference: they tell you right away, without asking, if it’s vegetarian.

Growing up here, and eating at Yank Sing at various important milestones of my life, I had no idea that it is so weird. My Chinese-National friends in Seattle always wanted me to talk about it in detail, because it seemed so unbelievable to them. I was telling my dining companions about this and they didn’t understand so (at least I think) I made up a good analogy. It’s like there being a brownies and banana bread restaurant, with full wait staff and tableclothes, in China. Or, as my friend pointed out, how our Tapas craze is funny to Spaniards.