Storm in a xiao long bao

M. had sent me an article from the New York Times about xiao long bao, those steamed dumplings from Shanghai that have a little soup inside them. I called on my friend A. to show us a good Shanghainese meal.
"You can't have a good Chinese meal with three people," she objected. "Go phone some people to join us."
"I am not going to have dinner with a bunch of random people," I said. "Stop whingeing and let's go."
So we took a taxi through the torrential rain to the restaurant to have dinner at the impossibly early time of 6.30 p.m. (M. insists he is operating on London time while he is here, so he gets hungry at random intervals. A. thought she was hungry, too).

"You will love the xiao long bao here - it's got crab roe and pork in it, " A. said to M. after she'd ordered for us. She looked at me pityingly. "Hon, you can't eat it but you're getting steamed vegetable dumplings instead."
"I don't mind," I said. There was far too much other food to eat, as it turned out.

The xiao long bao arrived just as M. had announced he was getting quite full but he tackled one almost immediately anyway.
"Isn't it hot?" I asked him. A. was observing his reaction.
"It is," M. admitted. I could see a small puddle of steaming orange soup inside the white dumplings. "But I make a hole in it so that the heat gets out." M. pricked the side of the next dumpling which was balancing on his vinegar-filled spoon.
"Oh no you don't, that's a cultural faux pas," A. said. She filled her spoon with vinegar and took one dumpling up on it, then proceeded to nibble along the sides.
"Ah well, that's how we eat it in New York," M. said.
"Aren't you going to educate your friends on how to eat it properly?" I asked.
"No," M. said.
A. then went and spoiled it all by making a hole in her own dumpling.

We went back to Happy Valley to sit in a bar until midnight, drinking and watching as people, dogs and rubbish got blown about in the stormy weather.

Xiao long bao