Hiroko Masuike for The New York Times Dumplings with a smile at Nan Shian in Flushing, Queens.Over the past three weekends, two Sundays, and one Saturday, I have woken up at 8 a.m. to indulge my newest obsession. When the alarm goes off, I leap from the bed, and squeal, “Soup dumplings!”
I live near Union Square in Manhattan, 10.9 miles from the source of my devotion: Nan Shian Dumpling House in Flushing, Queens. The 30-seat place, which Julia Moskin wrote about last summer, makes what I think are the best soup dumplings in New York City, if not the world, and that includes China. (My five companions are divided on this point. Four say they’re the best in the world, and one says they’re the best in the United States, but that there are ones in Beijing that come close.)
I abandon my half-asleep consort. He doesn’t think I’m crazy but he does ask, “Why not kreplach?” — he’s Jewish, I’m Chinese.
By 9:30, I’m at the N-train platform by Bloomingdale’s, for the ride to Queensboro Plaza and the 7 train to Flushing. When I arrive with my friends at Nan Shian, at 10:15, there are no lines outside. By 11, there are.
The Nan Shian dumpling has a thin, delicate skin, a huge burst of hot soup, and a small, loosely packed pillow of minced pork and a smidgen of crabmeat.
We get two orders of dumplings, which are called steamed crab meat and pork buns (6 for $6.25) and a second, small dish.
While the dumplings steam, the side dish arrives. One week, it’s turnip puffs, each the size of a 50 cent piece, a tablespoon of cooked, shredded turnip wrapped in flaky pastry, crusted on one side in sesame seeds (4 for $2.95). Another week, it’s the golden, puffy, piping-hot scallion pancake wrapped around a slice of sauteed beef, with a dab of hoisin sauce ($3.50). A third time, it’s a bowl of the salt soy bean curd ($1.95), with a long, savory, deep-fried cruller ($1.95).
Finally, the dumplings arrive. We each put one in a soup spoon, ladle a bit of ginger-flecked vinegar on to it and bite the tip. We let the steam shoot out, and slowly, gingerly, bite more deeply into the dumpling, savoring the broth, and the morsel of meat.
Nan Shian has a communal feel. Since you sit nearly elbow-to-elbow with the people at the next table, you talk to your neighbors, who tell you what they’re eating, so that you can explore the menu.
But tranquility reigns. No one rushes you, even when 8 people are waiting outside in 28 degree weather.
Nan Shian Dumpling House, 38-12 Prince Street, Flushing, 718-321-3838.
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