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.
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.