Fong Chong

301 NW 4th Avenue, Portland, Oregon, (503) 220-0235

It’s just a block so or past the nicer-looking restaurants that stretch out north of the brightly colored dragons of Old Town’s Chinese gate, closer to the concentration of social service agencies that serve the homeless population of Portland’s Skid Road. The fish wholesaler across the street dumps leftover ice at the curb, and on a warm day there’a a distinctively briny aroma in the air. But behind the grimy brick facade and streaked windows of Fong Chong, stainless steel carts maneuver between tables to dish out the best dim sum between San Francisco and Vancouver, British Columbia.

Dim sum is Cantonese for “little bit of heart,” and the bite-sized morsels evolved from the little snacks served at teahouses to hungry travelers as far back as the tenth century. Tea is still the preferred accompaniment to dim sum, but nowadays it’s almost secondary to the food. Dim sum takes many forms, and it can be deep-fried, steamed, baked, boiled, or pan-seared. Pork, shrimp, and beef and the primary ingredients for traditional dim sum, but you’ll also find scallops and crab as well as rice, tofu, mushrooms, and a variety of vegetables, all of it typically wrapped or enclosed in noodle-like casings made from wheat or rice flour. There are also organ meats like tripe or beef tendon, and clearly identifiable body parts, chicken feet being the most well-known example.

Eating dim sum can be intimidating for first-timers. The servers’ command of English varies considerably, and it’s usually busy enough that they slowly wheel their carts past your table to see if you’re interested. Lengthy explanations of ingredients, including time for deciphering each others’ comments, just don’t fit the dim sum time frame. Find an experienced guide to eat with you. Failing that, make your first visit during the week in the early afternoqon’s off-peak hours. You won’t get the freshest dim sum or have as many choices, but the odds are better of divining just what’s inside that pocket of deep-fried tofu.

Here’s how it works: When you’re seated a server will place a ticket that looks like the check on your table. As the serving carts roll by and you point out your selections, each server makes a few cryptic marks on the ticket. When you’ve had enough, ask a server to total your bill, then pay at the cashier by the door.

Shu mai (sometimes spelled sui mai) is the quintessential dim sum. The expression means “cook and sell,” so shu mai can be almost anything, but here and at most other dim sum restaurants it’s a chewy pork meatball in a thin wheat flour wrapper. Pour a small pool of soy, add a bit of hot oil if you like it spicy, and dip. Translucent rice paper wrappers with a hint of pink inside are another classic, har gow. The pink comes from tiny bay shrimp; if they look white and are sitting on a slice of carrot, they’re most likely the scallop-filled version, called dai jee gow. Yee chee gow have an infinitesimal sliver of shark fin hidden inside a wheat flour wrapper (most of the filling is ground pork). Looking like shredded wheat on steroids, wo kok are actually deep-fried croquettes of mashed taro root, with tiny bits of dried shrimp and barbecued pork inside.

Little stainless steel dishes hold creamy white rolls of rice noodle filled with either chicken, beef, pork, or shrimp. They’re served with a drizzle of sweetened soy and are nearly impossible to eat without slurping. Almost everybody know bao, the steamed rolls stuffed with barbecued pork. Fong chong also serves the baked variety called sticky buns, glazed with honey as well as a chicken-filled steamed version. It takes several hours to steam normy guy (aka sticky rice) to perfection. A lotus leaf holds a ball of gummy rice, chunk of pork, chicken leg, and short piece of slightly sweet Chinese liver sausage. Save a little room for a square, jiggly block of coconut milk pudding, surprisingly light not too sweet. Or try a bowl of almond milk squares, topped with canned fruit cocktail that can be spooned aside to get at the creamy dessert.

Weekday lunch is full of downtown office workers who catch a free bus ride inside TriMet’s Fareless Square for the short trip down to Old Town. Saturday and Sunday are more fun, with a mixture of dim sum fanatics in the booths, extended Asian families filling the big round tables in the center of the dining room, and a few solitary old Chinese men at the counter. Weekends bring better selection, as a few specialties appear that never make it to the weekday lunch crowd.