NO NAME DUMPLINGS

I'm at Chestnut and N. State street in Bellingham Washington. I round the corner. There's a man sitting on a bench, hunched over a take out box of food. The way he cradles it suggests that it's the first thing he's eaten in days. I keep walking a few more steps where I reach a storefront. There is no sign hanging, just inconspicuous letters painted high on the front window. I can't read them.

The people inside, huddled around tiny round tables, all feast out of bell shaped togo boxes. I pause. There's a man behind a long counter and all you can see are five huge pots. They each emit clouds of steam, the sight of which excites the imagination.

A young man confidently approaches the store front. I ask what this place is and if it's any good. He smiles and replies "dumplings" as he enters. The man on the bench looks up from his food at me. He tells me that if I like meat that I should get the meat dumplings.

I enter.

The chatter of pleased patrons is an undertone to the soft crackle of records being played.

There are two other people crowded around the counter eagerly talking to the man making the dumplings. He's busy and doesn't waste time trying to maintain face with the drunken college students who keep trickling in.

There's no menu, anywhere.

He looks to me and the man who just entered before me and asks what we each want. "How many meat dumplings can I get for five dollars?" I ask.

"Okay." He says as he continues.

Five minutes later he hands me a take out box and a small container of sour cream. I give him five dollars which he puts into a circa 1940's cash register.

There's a perfect table for one which I take.

When I open the box a cloud of steam rises bringing with it the smell of cumin and cilantro. As I bite down on my first dumpling a wave of warm, sweetly savory liquid is released.

I'm speechless.

The perfect ratio of dough to filling to liquid and all seasoned just right. Someone knows exactly what they're doing. The chilled sour cream evens the temperature so you can pops freshly cooked dumplings into your mouth without burning your tung.

As I sit at the table the gentleman cooking the dumplings brings me a second box. "I made too many by accident." he says "These ones are potato."

Potato dumplings paired with sour cream creates a whole new flavor dynamic.

I now know why the man on the bench ate his food with such intensity.

Clearly, 1211 N State Street, is the place to be at 2am.