Dough Drop Soup - Dalian, China

Chinese people don’t just eat; they EAT. You haven’t seen a person EAT until you see a Chinese person digging in. Chopsticks become a shovel, and the bowl becomes a dignified trough, and they devour without spilling a single drop. And Chinese people don’t discriminate. They can cook anything into something exceptional, and it doesn’t matter what meal they’re eating. They’ll eat any meal and they’ll eat every meal with the same heartwarming enthusiasm, and I’ve never seen anyone bask in the pure joy of living nearly as much as a Chinese person eating.

Dough Drop Soup is one of those foods you can EAT. I may not remember the name of this restaurant, but I can assure you everyone else in Dalian does. It is known for its seaweed preparations, and one claim to fame is their tender little knobs of flour-and-water, flavored with marbled threads of interwoven green kelp and egg. The broth is thin, but the kelp and egg cling to the knotty balls of dough, which some have described as “Chinese gnocchi”.

On the side, we have a local favorite. A whole buttery, flaky fish deep-fried to golden perfection. Justin doesn’t even like Fried Fish, and here he is, learning to sever small strips of meat from prickly, abundant bones. Fried Turnip Balls are birds’ nests of julienned carrots and turnip, a crisp, earthy breath of roots. They tie with the fried fish for best dish, these crunchy, munchy chunks.

The Pork Juicy Dumplings are totally random, but I’ll never turn these down. The wrappers are thin enough, and the inside is full of pork-y broth.

There are also Kelp Dumplings, a famous filling, another star on the map. These dumplings are a bit bigger, and the chewy, rubbery-but-softer brown seaweed makes a lasting impressing between your teeth. I’ve never been a fan of seaweed, and I didn’t even care for nori until I finished college, but there is something special about these dumplings. The kelp is a vegetable of the briny deep with a texture that releases an irresistible salty-savory burst that makes you want to keep on chewing.

The soup is hot, and the dumplings are hotter. The Jelly Noodles are another Dalian delicacy, and they are a welcome cool-down between the sweaty bites. Gelatinous-yet-firm, French fry-sized strips are coated in a thick layer of bitter sesame sauce with pungent garlic. They refresh, they refine, and they wake up a sleepy palate slathered in seaweed and meat.

It’s not a Chinese meal if you’re not sweating from the heat of a steaming hot bowl, and the table is unbalanced without a vegetable (even if it’s deep-fried). There must be at least one dish that's hot and at least one dish that’s cold. You expect each dish at every meal, but it’s a rare gift to get every dish so perfectly crafted, so that each bite just blows your mind. It’s so much, and it’s too much, but it’s so hard to stop. The world is my oyster and I can’t slurp it fast enough.