And if you were to construct the ideal dumpling-eating experience, it would look something like this:
1. The dumplings would possess the scientifically perfect pan-crisp-to-chewy-skin ratio.
2. Their home would be simple. A tiny East Village spot. Somewhere down the road from a charming indie theater. Somewhere you could have a nice little pre-first-date date. Somewhere that looks like this.
3. There’d be some kind of adorable story behind the place. Like how two sisters were handmaking the dumplings with recipes they pried from their mother after years of resistance. Hey, at least they named the place after her.
4. There’d be a staunch refusal to deliver, on a freshness-integrity principle.
5. There’d be a solitary orchid. Perhaps you could write a poem about it. And about dumplings.
Oh, damn. Turns out you just invented Mimi Cheng’s. And it’s opening tomorrow.
Saves you the construction costs at least.