dumplings Archives - Painting the Bridge

Okay its been a while. So long in fact that the few notes I took on the night are mostly meaningless now. I mean, New York shoes, what could that refer to? Anyone? Now that I’m showing visible signs of ageing, I must take more meaningful notes – the old memory is not what it used to be. Either that or write things up sooner.

Anyway, what I do remember about this particular outing was that it was a lot of fun. Strop organised it as an excuse for us to go back to Luyu & Yum Yum for their dumplings which are both yummy and spectacularly presented. However, from my point of view the main draw for returning was actually their whisky sours variants. These are called King of Newtown on the cocktail list, come with a culturally appropriate sprinkling of tea leaves on top, and are delicious.

Strop decided that as Luyu & Yum Yum could accommodate their various dietary pecadillos, she would invite the Stropolina and her housemates, collectively known as Babetown along on this outing. As it turned out, the Eleanor part of Babetown was unable to attend due to breaking her wrist playing netball. So while she was stuck at home with only a handful of serious painkillers for company, the rest of the team kept Strop and me company in Newtown.

The Babetown-lite faction was made up of Katherine, Jess and the Stropolina. They were joined by Maddy, one of their mates, who helped maintain the symmetry of our table. Strop and I had carefully positioned our aging and wrinkled forms facing each other in the middle of the table, so that we would haved gorgeous young things on either side, ready to give us a polite and caring poke if we happened to exhibit any embarrassing symptoms of ageing. Such as falling asleep or dribbling.

Luyu &Yum Yum is a relative newcomer to King St. It moved in to the upstairs space that used to be occupied by Paju BBQ, and transformed what was a bit of a barn of a space into something much darker and sexier. At one end there is a glassed in kitchen full of sizzling woks and bamboo steamers, at the other end is a screened off space with tables for large parties. In between there is a bar and lots of tables which mostly seem to be occupied.

There are plenty of staff out on the floor and in the kitchen. All very friendly and efficient. First order of business was drinks, and I successfully managed to convince everyone to try a King of Newtown to start with. Everyone said they enjoyed them, but I did notice that a couple of Babetowners switched to other cocktails for the next round. Oh well, more sour whisky for me I suppose.

Luyu & Yum Yum is a high concept dumpling joint. The little steamy or crispy parcels are like the Faberge of dumplings. Artful and yummy, and likely to dump a burst of hot tasty soup in your mouth when you bite into them. Some are shaped like hedgehogs or white rabbits (complete with red eyes), some just look like dumplings. All are yummy.

Despite my wish to go off the reservation and try things that weren’t actually dumplings, Strop and Babetown were adamant that they were happy just to have lots of dumplings. And cocktails.

The room was quite noisy, so even the young people were cupping their hands around their ears in order to hear what was being said on the other side of the table. It was Friday night and I have a theory that people are louder on Friday nights after they have been let out of work for the weekend. The pent up pressure of a week’s worth of quiet desperation leads to a quick and noisy release. And there was music too, which appealed to Babetown and resulted in a little bit of seat dancing when they thought no one was looking. They decided the music selection sounded like the So Fresh 2001 compilation (back when they were ~13 year olds!).

I just remembered what the New York shoes note referred to. The Stropolina was telling a long and involved story about trying to buy some special designer shoes for her cousin’s eighteenth birthday when she was in New York recently – the point of which still escapes me. Oh well I suppose it’s some progress. What about Who’s Hannah? Anyone have any ideas what that might mean?

It’s great to see places like Luyu & Yum Yum opening up in King Street. Smart, fun and yummy, Asian with style and attitude. More of that please. Next time I go I want to try some of their teas, and the non-dumpling offerings.

Luyu & Yum Yum – Level 1, 196 King St, Newtown

It has finally happened. We’ve lost our mojo. It’s gone. Buggered off. Wandered off into the dusk, last seen slithering through the grating of a King Street storm water inlet, no doubt well on its way through the ancient root clogged pipes to Rozelle Bay along with an assortment of plastic bottles, used condoms and inner-west staffy turds. Come back you chicken-hearted bastard, we’re only a quarter of the way to St Peters, you can’t quit now.

I knew we were in trouble when Strop didn’t set to immediately checking in with Facebook (I know I hate Facebook too, but I think Strop owns shares). This is a ritual that I have complained about many times on our past outings but now I miss it, now I realise that it was the pulse of our mojo. Without that little throbber we’re just a rudderless agglomeration of appetites adrift on a sea of cheap eats. No purpose, no direction.

The second bad sign was Strop questioning me taking notes on my phone. “What are you doing?” she asked. I look at her, not sure what she means. I look down at the notes I am tapping laboriously into Evernote (rather than writing in a Moleskine notebook because it is more socially acceptable to be a bore with an iDevice than it is with paper and pen). What can she mean? This is what I do. Desperately take notes, in the hope that some of the Friday night King Street mundanery can be turned into Saturday morning blog-wittery (fuck-witterings?). She be’s all entertaining, I be note taking. Surely she understands this break down of labour by now. Surely she doesn’t want me to talk as well.

Ok, I am blathering here. In a panic, trying to rescue last night’s mojo-less debacle. Better get back to the story, stick to the facts.

6pm on Friday night. 194 King Street. Dumpling King Chinese Restaurant. It was an early start, still light out, but cooling rapidly. The evening buses were growling and farting on their way out of the city, as I turned up the collar of my jacket against the wind and stubbed out my Winfield Blue. She was late…

Sorry – no idea where that was going (Do they still sell Winfield Blues? I gave up smoking in 1979, maybe they’re called Gangrenous Greens now). Back to dinner. We are starting early because tonight’s eating adventure is just a precursor to a night of scintillating wit courtesy of Mr Wil Anderson’s show at the Enmore. It starts at 7:30 so we need to get a wriggle on. To my surprise, we are joined tonight by the Stropolina who is not coming to the show and has been suffering from a bout of gastro all week. She is sloshing with artificial electrolytes to stave off dehydration, so I’m not sure that going toe-to-toe with a King Street Chinese is the wisest move, but I think I lost my right to give that kind of advice when she turned 25.

As has probably become clear by now, Strop and I are quite literal in our interpretations, and the Stropolina is the fruit of our loins, so there was a fair bit of consternation when it becomes apparent that Dumpling King serves dishes other than dumplings. Consternation turns to outrage when the menu claims that the signature dish of Dumpling King is Sang Choi Bao. I’m sorry, what?

We are nothing if not bloody minded – so we ignore the lettuce leaves, and all the other offerings and stick with dumplings. Pork and chive dumplings steamed, and prawn dumplings fried. And some simple steamed veges for the poor Stropolina’s battered belly. The food is good. Not brilliant, but good (this is King Street after all not Enmore Road), but the service is… uninvolved might be the best term. There are plenty of them, but they do seem to spend a lot of time milling around the counter, pointing at the order dockets. Several tables around us were getting huffy due to a lack of menus, or drinks, or wine glasses. Dumpling King does seem to regard itself as a bit of a phenomenon (you can buy a tee shirt emblazoned with “I ♡ Dumpling King” for a mere $15) and by the time we left for the theatre it was packed with punters. Maybe they know something we don’t. We weren’t terribly impressed, but I think our mojo-free status may have meant that we didn’t really give them a a fair shake.

We were impressed by Wil Anderson though. Very funny. I was also impressed by the young woman sitting next to me who sounded as if she was going to laugh up a lung when Anderson turned his attention to the inevitable causative correlation between gay marriage and sex with animals.

Some Indian joint is next.

Luyu & Yum Yum – Babetown vs the King of Newtown

194 – Dumpling King Chinese Restaurant – Can we get some mojo with that?