I was recently introduced to the joy that is dim sum. For those who have never been to a dim sum restaurant, it’s the absolute ultimate in eating for lazy people with short attention spans and zero patience. I cannot comprehend how it wasn’t invented by an American.

The way it works is, you get seated, and black and white people get forks in addition to their chopsticks. They’re put there in case you need them. Bitching about this will only slow down the process, and honestly, there just isn’t time. Within 2 minutes, the wait staff rolls carts full of bite size Chinese food to your table. Within 8 minutes, you have a table full of food that you have selected with a lot of pointing and nodding. And then the carts keep rolling through the restaurant in an endless convoy for you to grab food off of whenever you see something you like.

Unless you consistently wear sweatpants to restaurants (you know who you are), it is guaranteed that within 25 minutes, you’ll be toast. Your stomach will be bloated enough to make you loathe the thought of getting up and getting your ass back to work where you will sit for the rest of the afternoon sweating and trying not to fall asleep.

I’ve done this 3 times so far, and every time I end up feeling like a goldfish with unlimited access to the whole can of fish flakes. If humans lived in water, you’d be able to tell my dim sum days because I’d be floating upside down at my desk trying to keep my little fish eyes at least half open.

The reason for my overeating can be blamed on one simple problem:

Jon Dyer loves steamed buns.

I grew up in the Asian center of Southern Massachusetts, and I can’t believe that I have never been exposed to such a delight. I also can’t believe an American didn’t invent them. Americans love rolls, and they practically invented BBQ pork, yet a Chinese guy beat the Americans to baking the pork inside the roll by about 2,000 years.

It’s like a self-contained BBQ Pulled pork sandwich, no bigger than a White Castle hamburger. I know what all my American readers are thinking: HOW DO YOU TOP THAT? HOW? I’ll tell you how. Instead of baking the roll, you fucking steam it. Oh mama. Yea. Then, your roll is essentially a big, sweet marshmallow full of pulled pork. Can you get more American than that? No, you can’t. It makes me want to sing a fucking campfire song and hump a den mother at tractor pull while combing my mullet.

Yet, it’s totally Chinese. The perfect food was invented by the Chinese.

As there is always ying where there is yang, the perfect food must have it’s its nemesis. Balance must prevail. Even though I ate at least a tray of steamed buns, I also figured I’d go Joe Rogan this time and eat some Phoenix talons. In America, we call those chicken feet. In America, we also throw that shit away. You know when you get chicken wings, and there’s that useless part of the wing that’s pointy and full of nothing but bone and skin? Yea. Take that and boil it. That’s what chicken feet are like. They’re not Fear Factor gross, but they’re essentially devoid of meat. If an American had invented Dim Sum, I can guarantee that he would’ve replaced chicken feet with something a hell of a lot meatier.

I didn’t really understand the point of them with all the filling and delicious other foods flying by, but the lady at the next table was sucking them down as fast as I could get through the rolls. Then again, I don’t think that she is sitting at her computer a mere 10 hours after eating, still feeling bloated, floating at the top of her virtual tank with her eyes half open, like I am. She’s probably comfortably sleeping by now, like I wish I could.

Then again, a good night sleep, just ain’t worth eating chicken feet for.

Posted in Food