Prawn 'n' chive dumplings (top) and kimchi gyoza at Xoong Asian fusion restaurant, Mt Eden, Auckland. Photo / Sylvie Whinray
With September 26 known as International Dumpling Day, Amanda Saxton looks into the evolution of the tasty pouches in New Zealand
While dumplings – defined by food champion Connie Clarkson as "something wrapped in dough" - have evolved independently in cuisines around the world, those of Chinese origin are now New Zealand's go-to. This is a very loose story about how that happened.
The first Chinese dumplings encountered by most New Zealanders were not especially Chinese. Deep-fried wontons – that staple of old-school Chinese takeaways – were for places without the requisite ingredients to make authentic dumplings, for people that wouldn't appreciate the real deal anyway. Chop suey, incidentally, falls into the same category. Kiwis were a parochial tribe, pre-80s, and liked deep-fried wontons for their proximity to our beloved fish 'n' chips (often made alongside). You won't find them on the menu in China, but there was a time, across the English-speaking world, when they were "Chinese food".
That was the case when Clarkson, whose roots hark back to southern China, moved from Singapore to New Zealand in the 1970s. The 64-year-old is now head of business development at Peter Gordon's Homeland, a food innovation incubator in Auckland. Those old-school Chinese takeaways were run by families who'd been in New Zealand a generation or two and were cooking to survive, she says. "Their take on Chinese cuisine was very rudimentary." But that's not to say deep-fried wontons are bad. Crisp and golden, in shapes seemingly envisioned by Salvador Dali, they're a satisfying snack in their own right.
In the late 80s, New Zealand loosened its immigration policies. The trickle of migrants from Asia surged. Many came from southern China and Hong Kong and brought with them the art of yum char. Yum char is the Cantonese meal of tea and dim sum - and dim sum includes the dumplings that are in fact eaten in China: orbs of prawn flesh and minced bamboo wrapped in tacky, transparent dough (called ha kao) and open-topped siew mai with flimsy skins tinged yellow by egg yolk. These were the first authentic Chinese dumplings available in New Zealand, served in bamboo steamers from tea trolleys. Cantonese became the Chinese norm in New Zealand.
Pauline Kan was a yum char pioneer. The Hong Kong-born chef opened her restaurant, Pearl Garden, in 1975. She also helped get key ingredients for Chinese cooking, the likes of bamboo shoots and water chestnuts, into New Zealand via tins. Pearl Garden became a Newmarket institution and is now run by Kan's daughter-in-law, Mabel Kan.
"Forty-five years ago, we were very small and it was just migrants from China queuing up outside our door," Mabel, 70, remembers. "Then when New Zealanders started travelling more, they got more interested in trying different food. It took them a long time to get used to chopsticks and our communal way of eating, but now they love it."
As more migrants arrived from all corners of China, the availability of regional specialties grew – representative dumplings included. The now ubiquitous crescent-shaped dumpling is jiaozi and hails from northern China. Manti are bigger, plumper, and filled with fatty lamb; they're a Uighur speciality, from the far northwest. Bian rou are wontons served in a vinegary broth, popular in China's southeast. Grapefruit-sized and made with leavened dough, baozi also come from the north. Xiao long bao and sheng jian bao, both soup dumplings, are from Shanghai. You'll find them all on Dominion Rd.
Soup dumplings have become fashionable of late; there are slews of "Auckland's best" and "definitive guide" articles on them. Xiao long bao are neatly pleated feats of chemistry resembling plump volcanoes. Their delicate skins encase minced pork and the soup dumpling's namesake: a surprising amount of sweet, gingery broth. How does this liquid get in, one may ask. It is in fact meat gelatin, called aspic, made from pig skin stripped of fat. Chilled aspic has a jelly-like texture and is folded into the mince filling. As xiao long bao heat up in a steamer, the aspic completely liquefies. Bulbous sheng jian bao contain minced pork and aspic, too. Their skin, in contrast, is made from a more robust and slightly chewy dough. Sheng jian bao are pan-fried in oil with sesame seeds, giving them delectably crunchy bottoms.
Eating soup dumplings requires several utensils, practice and courage. At Little Yum, a Shanghai eatery with branches in Albany and Northcote, owner Mandy Wang, 38, says amateurs "burn tongues and destroy their clothes a lot". Placing a whole xiao long bao in your mouth is bad. Piping hot liquid will scald you. Take a bite and piping hot liquid will spurt out the back. Accidentally pierce a soup dumpling's skin with a chopstick, the broth will escape. Wait too long and it will congeal.
Wang explains the correct way to eat soup dumplings. First, brandish a spoon. Then, using chopsticks, lift the dumpling over the spoon's bowl. Lean forward and nibble a small hole through its side (or poke one with a chopstick). Rotate your chopsticks to pour soup out through this hole and into your spoon. Give it a few seconds to cool. Now, slurp down that heavenly liquid. Devour the dumpling, still held aloft, in one fell bite.
Wang sees the soup dumpling trend as happy evidence New Zealanders are becoming more explorative, food-wise. Nevertheless, she says only 10-20 per cent of her customers are non-Asian, and the bulk still order jiaozi. Regional Chinese restaurants like Little Yum often face a trade-off in Auckland: be authentic, or bend to non-Chinese diners' tastes and capabilities. Wang takes a third path: education, sticking posters on Little Yum's walls showing the uninitiated how to eat authentic soup dumplings.
But a lot of regional Chinese restaurants opt for authenticity alone. They can afford to because Auckland's Chinese population is big enough. These eateries' menus may be in Chinese only. Lighting can be harsh, interior design utilitarian. They're not places to linger over pricey cocktails. And cheap, excellent (only sometimes perilous) Chinese food is not enough to woo a large and lucrative segment of Aucklanders. Enter Asian fusion.
This genre of cooking started in the late noughties. Rule-breaking, playful and flamboyant, Asian fusion melds traditional cooking techniques and flavours from around the world. Presentation is paramount, taste must be exciting. A prawn jiaozi garnished with sliced chilli, coriander leaves, lemongrass and slivers of fresh ginger is one example. So is gyoza stuffed with kimchi, this marriage of Japanese and Korean cuisines. No traditional kitchen would dream of serving either, but at Xoong, in Mt Eden, you can try both.
Another Asian fusion hallmark is an ambiance that encourages long conversations over multiple courses. Xoong hits this mark, with intimate seating and colourful Chinese lanterns; lingering over cocktails is a pleasure. Owner Minh Lu grew up in Vietnam (xoong is Vietnamese for "big pot") and is a trail-blazing restaurateur who says he'll "never stop innovating". Most of the 44-year-old's customers are non-Asian.
New Zealand's most recent dumpling era could be classified as "high-end authentic". Huami, in SkyCity, is just that. Executive chef Raymond Xue is from Shanghai and makes food that looks new but tastes – "to an old-timey Chinese diner" – incredibly familiar. The 66-year-old says his dumplings are "elementally the same as what you'd eat in any good Chinese folk restaurant". But they're elevated by subtle tweaks and the highest-quality ingredients, many now grown here in New Zealand.
Xue's most striking dumpling is glossy black. Squid ink gives it the colour, says Xue, but little else. The flavour is pure juicy prawn. His ha kao is made blissful by fresh truffle (a truffle's earthy charms linger, so don't eat or drink anything in its immediate aftermath). Xue crowns siew mai with fish roe and a teeny tiny abalone instead of the usual finely diced carrot. A vegan jiaozi, with translucent skin stained green with spinach, is stuffed with shiitake. They all sit proudly, beautiful as nudibranchs, atop bamboo steamers.
Reflecting on how far dumplings have come in New Zealand, Clarkson says she's "more than delighted" with the array on offer in New Zealand today, especially in Auckland.
"Each one has its place and history, and each one brings me pleasure."
It has nothing to do with passion.