a quest for dumplings

since I’ve been back I’ve been feeling like a superhero. biking for hours, biking for days. after yoga this morning I was dreaming of dumplings and a bike ride when I realized I can go anywhere in the entire world (in Seattle). so, encouraged by the yelpmaster, I decided to check out fu man dumpling house in bitter lake.

I biked with my friend around green lake till she zipped up Wallingford and I headed toward the interurban via Dayton. it’s a residential street – small houses set back on patchy green lawns, front fences. lots of cars. a kid playing tennis in the driveway with his dad; the ball bounces into the street. dawnit.

yellow wildflowers give way to pink roses. an old school bus gives way to hoo. a family continues celebrating on a wooden deck. yes dogs yes dog poop no cats.

I hop on the interurban for a minute and it’s glorious. what a trail! no bumps, flanked by art. art like a flip book; art like a sunrise on metal plates.

then a wrong turn then a right turn then fu man dumpling house.


here I am.

it is crowded inside but there is a seat for me. I know I want hot and sour soup with dumplings. I do not know I want, but adore, a plate of pickled vegetables: fresh cucumber cut lengthwise, green beans popping with peas, slivered cabbage.


then: soup.


the broth is thick with egg and tofu, onion and cilantro, pulled meat, slivered carrots, leeks? the soup is fat with dumplings, skin pulled translucent, here pink, here green, over a quivering ball of meat and scallions.

it is hot. it is sour. it is delicious. everything melts.

I eat – sip and slurp. I slow. 80s rock gives way to gaga and back again.

the walls are orange.

I am full and
surrounded by dumplings.



About Emily Suggests

Pineapple rock, lemon platt, butter scotch. A sugarsticky girl shovelling scoopfuls of creams for a christian brother.

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