At 10 a.m. one recent Saturday, we manage to beat the crowd at Empress Pavilion in Chinatown's Bamboo Plaza. Amazingly, there's no line at the door, but, looking up from the courtyard, I can see the escalator and the glass elevator descending from the parking structure are packed with people, all headed for the same place. We, however, wait only a few minutes before the hostess seats us at a prime table where we have a good view of the vast dining room that seats 596. On a busy morning, Empress Pavilion might turn the tables three or four times. Twenty-three cooks, 19 dim sum specialists, plus three barbecue chefs prepare the intricate handmade delicacies (40 to 60 kinds on any given day).
Before we can unwrap our chopsticks or pour fragrant tea from the large porcelain pot, one of the dozen or so waitresses pushing metal carts around the room has halted next to our table. "Siu mai?" she asks, using tongs to lift the lid off a stack of round aluminum steamer trays. When we indicate yes, she sets down a tray holding four of the steamed dumplings. Filled with minced pork, mushrooms and shrimp, siu mai are particularly delectable. Har gow? Yes, please. The wrappers are so fine and transparent that you can see the barely cooked shrimp through them. A different dumpling features chopped shrimp, pork and bamboo shoots. And yet another is filled with an enticing forcemeat of minced chicken and pine nuts.
A cart puffing steam approaches us from the other direction. From this one, we take some bao, the pale, fluffy steamed buns with richly spiced Chinese sausage tucked inside. "Deep-fried egg roll?" this waitress asks. Yes, that too. With a big pair of scissors, she deftly snips the egg rolls in half. These, I'm afraid, are a little greasy (frying is not Empress Pavilion's strong point), but the filling of bean sprouts and other vegetables is nice. The plump, half-moon-shaped "pot stickers" contain coarsely chopped pork, mushroom and shrimp. I also like the balls of winter melon stuffed with a mixture of egg, pork and shredded dried scallops.
In 10 to 15 minutes, we have accumulated enough little dishes to cover the tabletop. We polish off a few to make room for pork riblets and slivered red chile in a rich, gelatinous stock flavored with black beans, always one of the best items here. Bean curd sheet is rolled around enoki mushrooms and garnished with salty julienned Virginia ham. I try to persuade everyone at my table to try the tripe or the chicken feet, but they prefer the moist barbecued pork sliced and slathered in a sweet bright red glaze. And after that, we ask for Chinese broccoli splashed with oyster sauce, the stems stacked like logs next to the emerald leaves. How much more can we eat?
As the next dim sum waitress steers her cart past at a smart pace, we spy her last plate of egg custards on the bottom shelf. She laughs and gives us the thumbs up as she hands us the shimmering deep-gold tartlets. All around us are happy faces. Toddlers wield their chopsticks like pros, while little girls in pink dresses listen demurely to their grandmother urging them to taste the taro root croquettes. Across the room, one man picks his teeth politely behind the shield of his hand as another, a nonogenerian perhaps, in tweed cap and three-piece suit toting a bulging black briefcase, hesitates just inside the huge dining room. Spotting his family at a table of teenagers wearing baseball caps, he threads his way gingerly between the tables.
China's tradition of dim sum could teach Americans quite a bit about fast food. Dim sum is not only the ultimate quick bite, it's also an incredible bargain, one that no other cuisine can match for food of this intricacy and quality. The selection of dishes is always interesting, and it's about as soulful a meal as you'll find anywhere on the planet.
— S. Irene Virbila
Times Restaurant Critic
Times Restaurant Critic
