My phone buzzed several times throughout Monday morning confirming the news that Ton Kiang, a beloved SF dim sum institution, was closing its doors for good at the end of the month. Like many small independent restaurants in the city, Ton Kiang did its best to stay afloat during the pandemic by adopting a take-out only model, but in the end owner Richard Wong decided it was time to end Ton Kiang’s 42 year run and retire. Judging by all the sad emojis and tearful comments on my news feed, Ton Kiang will be sorely missed.
For many regulars it was their favorite go-to neighborhood dim sum restaurant, for others, like myself, who went there more infrequently, it was the place to gather and reconnect with old friends. In both cases our memories of Ton Kiang engendered a strong emotional attachment. For my friend Irene, it was her late father’s favorite dim sum restaurant. For the Ayuyang family (Rina’s), Ton Kiang was where they held their dad’s retirement party.
To be honest, I didn’t go to Ton Kiang because they had the best dim sum in town. There are plenty of other establishments offering more sophisticated, nuanced interpretations of the classics, though usually at higher price points. My food obsessed family invariably favored places like Hong Kong Flower Lounge in Millbrae or Mayflower in Milpitas. I liked going to Ton Kiang because it was more sociable and, across the board, reliable. They produced good quality standard dim sum fare, without all the crazy colors, fusion flavors or nouveau spins, consistently–no surprises. My friends and I knew we could order our favorites, catch up on personal news, enjoy our food, and not be disappointed. And, more importantly, not feel as though we’d be rush out of there so they could turn the table. I think the last time I went to Ton Kiang was to meet up with Laura and her family, who drove into the city from San Pablo to visit the museum or Academy of Sciences. We don’t get to see each other very often and rarely without her kids in tow, so dim sum is usually the best option–a variety of small plates to please even the pickiest eater.
What I always found oddly comforting about Ton Kiang was, despite the expectedly noisy, crowded nature of dim sum restaurants, you could actually carry on conversations at a reasonable decibel. One of my fondest memories of Ton Kiang was sharing dumplings and pork buns with Irene and our friend David, and teasing David (a chef) about his aversion to chicken feet. It was also where Irene introduced me to her favorite custard-filled sweet rice cakes.
In many ways, the pandemic took away the heart (“sum”) in places like Ton Kiang, because we can no longer gather around a table to share in the experience of dim sum. Take out may satisfy the occasional craving, but it can’t replace the conviviality and connection of sitting together over tea and dumplings. Bereft of the hustle and bustle of servers carrying trays of steamer baskets and glistening plates to tables, the cacophony of animated conversations and the din of clanking dishes, Ton Kiang sadly became another supplier of dim sum food. Given the pandemic induced seismic shift in the take out dining paradigm, merely providing good dim sum is no longer adequate for survival. Larger restaurants like Mayflower, Hong Kong Flower Lounge, and Koi Palace will probably ride out the pandemic and survive. But how many more small independents like Ton Kiang will fold?
When I started blogging about recreating my favorite dim sum specialties a couple months back it was with the intention of expanding my skill set and knowledge of Chinese cuisine. Getting to eat my creations was an added bonus. Nevertheless, I found the experience of simply making the dim sum yet not having the opportunity to gather my friends around to share it somewhat lacking. No doubt my friends Karen, Michael, Nicola, and Maria have all really enjoyed tasting my dim sum experiments from a distance–I’ve become very adept at the socially distanced “safe” hand off–but it’s just not the same without the “social” part of the equation. Social contact and human connection feeds the soul. You can’t “touch” (dim) the heart (sum) without it.
In tribute to Ton Kiang and all the lovely memories of sharing dim sum there with my friends, I decided to make Siu Mai or steamed pork and shrimp dumplings.
It was the one dim sum staple I hadn’t cover in the previous steamed dumpling post. I’d purchased a package of siu mai wrappers and stuck in my freezer, just in case I got around to making them. Oh well, no time like the present!
Siu Mai is considerably easier to make than Har Gow or shrimp dumpling, especially if you use pre-made siu mai wrappers, readily available at most Asian markets and even some larger chain supermarkets like Safeway. You don’t have to make fresh wheat starch dough and there’s no intricate pleating involved. I found thin wrappers already precut into rounds but if you can’t find those you can always use a round biscuit cutter to punch out disks from thin square wonton wrappers.
The traditional siu mai filling consists of two main ingredients–raw fatty pork and shrimp. Some recipes add finely chopped rehydrated shiitake mushrooms, which I did, while others include some finely chopped water chestnuts or even fancier chopped rehydrated dried scallops.
At dim sum places you’ll often find siu mai garnished bright orange tobiko (tiny fish eggs) or duck egg yolk. Since I had neither, I topped mine with a pinch of finely grated raw carrot in the center.
While hand chopped pork belly is the preferred form of pork, I substituted the more user-friendly fatty ground pork in its place, which worked just as well. I did, however, hand chop the raw shrimp to keep the texture chunky enough so that the shrimp wouldn’t just blend into the pork. As with the har gow, I tossed the raw shrimp first in sea salt, let it sit for about 10 minutes, then rinsed off the salt in cold running water. This method gives the cooked shrimp a firmer, “snappier” texture which makes stand it out from the pork.
Once the filling was thoroughly mixed I placed a heaping spoonful of it in the center of the wrapper, then used the space between my thumb and forefinger to squeeze and rotate the sides of the wrapper up and around the filling. To flatten and level off the top of the siu mai, I pressed the back of the spoon against the surface, while simultaneously squeezing the filling upwards.
I flattened out the bottoms of each assembled siu mai by standing them up and placed a pinch of grated carrot in the center. I arranged the siu mai in a parchment lined steamer basket and steamed them on high for about 9 mins.
Siu Mai (Pork & Shrimp Steamed Dumpling)
Yield: about 24 pieces
- 7 oz. raw shrimp, peeled & deveined
- 10 oz. fatty ground pork
- 3 medium dried shiitake mushrooms, rehydrated in hot water
- 1/4 t. ground white pepper
- 2 t. rice wine
- 1 T. oyster sauce
- 1 1/2 t. sea salt
- 1 t. sugar
- 1 t. sesame oil
- 2 t. corn starch
- 2 T. finely grated carrot
- thin siu mai or wonton (cut out) wrappers
- Sprinkle 1 t. salt on shrimp and toss around to coat; set aside for 10 mins. Rinse the salt off shrimp under cold running water, then drain in a colander.
- Pat the shrimp dry with a paper towel, then coarsely chop.
- Finely chop shiitake, then combine in a bowl with pork.
- Add the remaining salt, seasonings, and corn starch, then thoroughly mix together, breaking up the pork with your hand.
- Stir in the shrimp to combine.
- Place about a tablespoon of filling in the center of a wrapper, then gather up the sides. Using the space between your thumb and forefinger, rotate and squeeze the filling up and against the sides of the wrapper.
- Press the back of the spoon against the top of the filling while simultaneously squeezing the sides gently to level off and pack everything in.
- Stand the siu mai up to flatten out the bottom, then place a tiny pinch of grated carrot in the center.
- Arrange the siu mai in a parchment-lined steamer basket, lightly greased. Cover and steam on high for about 9 mins.