Zhenjiang Yanchun Soup Dumplings

Zhenjiang Yanchun Soup Dumplings

　　By Qianshui

　　　　The dumplings arrived, neatly placed in small steamer baskets, demurely emitting wisps of steam. They looked somewhat flat and limp, as if they’d dozed off in the steamer and hadn’t quite woken up yet. Their posture was certainly not dainty—nothing like a beauty napping in spring—but they did exude a kind of lazy charm, like a plump auntie fanning herself with a palm-leaf fan in the dog days of summer, lounging in a bamboo recliner under the shade of a tree for an afternoon nap.

　　　　When Zhenjiang locals talk about soup dumplings, they can’t help but sing their own praises, especially when comparing them to Yangzhou’s Fuchun Soup Dumplings. A friend of mine said, “What’s so great about Yangzhou? Back in the day, they had salt merchants, and their ancestors were a bit wealthier—that’s all. They’ve always tried to keep Zhenjiang down, using the grandeur of ancient times to intimidate us. Yangzhou folks love to boast about their Fuchun Teahouse, claiming how amazing their Fuchun buns are, how their soup dumplings are the best in the world. But it’s all just empty fame, bullying us honest Zhenjiang folks. Need I even mention our Zhenjiang vinegar? And the Yanchun Restaurant’s Yuerou (braised meat) is definitely the best in the world. Even our Yanchun Soup Dumplings taste better than Fuchun’s.”

　　　　There might be some truth to what my friend said. Over a decade ago, I specifically visited Yangzhou’s Fuchun Teahouse and tried their world-famous buns—they were pretty good, though I don’t recall why I didn’t get to try their soup dumplings. This year, when I revisited Yangzhou, a local foodie took me to the original Fuchun Teahouse, where we ordered crab roe lion’s head meatballs and crab roe soup dumplings. The lion’s head was tender, fragrant, and melt-in-your-mouth—truly top-tier, probably even more delicious than any meatball the Jade Emperor could have concocted in his alchemy furnace. But the soup dumplings? They had a strong, greasy pork smell, so off-putting it was hard to swallow. I even suspected the filling that day came from a dead pig. All in all, my first impression of Fuchun Teahouse’s soup dumplings was very negative, which made me agree with my friend’s praise for his hometown’s dumplings.

　　　　Zhenjiang’s Yanchun Restaurant is a time-honored establishment, founded in 1890. Hanging at its entrance is a couplet with embedded characters: “Feast unfolds in the Peach and Plum Garden, with poetry and wine; Spring lingers by the Golden and Jagged Mountains, rain or shine.” The name “Yanchun” (宴春) is taken from the first characters of each line. Locals not only brag about Yanchun Soup Dumplings but also claim that Zhenjiang is the birthplace of Chinese soup dumplings. Their favorite historical anecdote is about Ganlu Temple on Beigu Mountain, where they say Liu Bei’s marriage alliance during the Three Kingdoms period took place. After Liu Bei passed away, Lady Sun, grief-stricken, held a memorial ceremony for her late husband at the Jiang Altar on Beigu Mountain. She used meat-filled steamed buns, but due to a shortage of meat filling, she boiled and minced the pork skin, mixed it into the filling, and thus invented the soup dumpling. Of course, the legend isn’t to be taken literally, but it clearly points out that the process of inventing soup dumplings involved mixing cheaper pork skin into the pork filling. Unexpectedly, this created a delicious delicacy that became a unique local specialty. Zhenjiang’s soup dumplings have thin, semi-transparent skins and are bursting with rich broth. Their flavor is sweet and savory. Some call them “soup-filled buns,” but the soup isn’t actually poured in—it’s formed naturally when the minced pork skin in the filling melts during steaming.

　　　　Crab roe soup dumplings are made even more flavorful and silky by adding crab roe and crab meat. Local gourmets say the real secret to their deliciousness lies in the seasoning added to the minced pork skin after it’s been chopped up—the exact ingredients are a closely guarded secret. The dumpling’s pleats must be fine, neat, and resemble bas-relief carvings, with the sealed end pinched into the shape of a crucian carp’s mouth. The top is filled with crab roe to prevent the broth from leaking out. Once steamed quickly in small baskets and served still in the steamer, they’re ready to be devoured. Don’t forget—the best part of soup dumplings is their heat, but that’s also the tricky part. You must eat them slowly and carefully, following the rule: “Move slowly, lift gently, pierce a window first, then sip the soup.” Add a bit of Zhenjiang aromatic vinegar, and the flavor is simply divine.

　　　　After spending a few days in Zhenjiang and eating Yanchun Soup Dumplings, I felt as content as Su Dongpo did when he ate pork in Huangzhou.