Dumplings' Legend's legend
Spring is illusory right now.
The skies are bluer, and yet the temperatures still hover below double digits. Sometimes we get double digit days, even edge close to 20 degrees, and there will be a palpable shift in the collective mood of the city. Then it will hail.
Saturday was deceptive London weather at its best. Blue and bright enough for sunglasses, golden rays beaming down on us as we crossed Waterloo Bridge from the Southbank Centre into Covent Garden, but cold enough to kick myself for not wearing four layers (the number that Phil has deemed it still necessary to wear). This city’s favourite topic of conversation is the weather, and so we weren’t the only ones to comment on our lack of layers and how surprisingly cold it was as we walked.
I decided that as well as being cold enough for four layers, it was cold enough for soup. Specifically, wonton noodle soup at Dumplings’ Legend. I suspect it will always be cold enough for soup here. And so, after winding our way through the streets of the West End, we found ourselves back at Dumplings’ Legend, at the very same table we’d dined at a week ago. I did wonder whether we were foolish not going to Wong Kei, where the wonton noodle soup is six quid cheaper, and you don’t pay a service charge, but based on our earlier dinner experience I was convinced the Dumplings’ Legend version would be good.
The plan for wonton noodle soup was quickly shelved when we realised that at lunch time there’s a tick the dishes you want on a sheet of paper dim sum service, and a small army of nimble-fingered cooks shaping xiao long bao by hand behind a glass window that separates the restaurant from the kitchen. Of course, we had to have dim sum.
We took a while mulling over the list of options, though there was a rare display of decisiveness from Phil, when before even consulting the paper menu he said he wanted the stir fried green beans with spicy pork mince that we’d passed up in favour of the bloody cucumber salad last time. We settled on prawn and chive dumplings, spicy pork xiao long bao, crispy prawn cheung fun and what I thought was a peculiar choice from Phil - glutinous rice with chicken and Chinese sausage wrapped in lotus leaf.
Shortly after we’d ticked the right boxes and handed over our order to the woman who was serving us, the waiter we’d had the week before noticed that we were back. He bustled over to say hello, perhaps unsurprisingly looking genuinely surprised we’d returned, and said, “Same day, same table, just day not night.”
He picked up the sheet of paper that had our order on it, scanned it, rolled his eyes and said, “You’ve not even ordered the house specialty.” As I started to ask what the house specialty was, he said, “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out.”
Our food began to appear - first the beans, then four steamer baskets of food, even though we’d only ordered three things that should come in baskets. Our friend had organised us a basket of the fresh crab roe xiao long bao, a house specialty, which the restaurant only makes a limited supply of each day. The prawn cheung-fun appeared, along with a small oval plate topped with three little savoury, and yet slightly sweet, pork and vegetable pastries - one of our waiter’s favourite dishes, and one he doesn’t think people order enough. He told us he likes to have them for breakfast with a cup of coffee.
I’d left the glutinous rice for last. It was the dish I was least interested in, and I figured it wouldn’t matter if I left some of that behind, since it was Phil who’d picked it, rather than it being one of the dishes our waiter wanted us to try. My surprise at just how good it was matched our waiter’s surprise at our return visit. The rice was savoury and packed full of small pieces of tender chicken, salty Chinese sausage, soft mushroom and little ribbons of bright yellow egg omelette. I ate the lot.
By this point we were full. Very full. And yet, our waiter appeared again with yet more food. This time a small plate of egg custard tarts. My heart sank ever so slightly when he did - how on earth were were going to eat all of these as well? But in a great surprise to nobody - not even us - we ate all of them too. They were extraordinary.
Our waiter came over to clear our plates and baskets and we commented on how delicious everything was. He said he thought the food was better at lunch time, because the dim sum are all made fresh to order, and we agreed with him. I asked if he’d been busy. He thought I said I was from Brazil. We then proceeded to talk about where we were all from - us from New Zealand, him from Thailand - and that he’d ended up in London so he could earn money to pay to go to university. He told us that he works all the time, and that he hates it when it’s busy, because it’s good for his boss but not good for him because there’s too much to do, too many people, and the money is rubbish. He rolled his eyes telling us about all the British people that show up at Chinatown on Bank Holiday weekends. “They’re annoying. Good for the boss, not good for me.”
Our waiter asked if we wanted anything more to eat. We insisted we couldn’t possibly fit anything more in. He rolled his eyes at us as he finally relented to the fullness of our bellies, and said there’d be more the next time we came.
When it came to paying, our waiter said the three extra dishes were on the house. Good for his boss? Not so sure. Probably though, because we’re bound to go back now. Good for him? Also not so sure. Hope he still has a job the next time we’re there. Good for us? Absolutely.