I went for a first visit to then-week-old Dumpling Story, sister restaurant to Dumpling Home in Hayes Valley. After taking on the other dumpling-ery on Valencia Street — Bao, which opened during the pandemic — I was curious to see how they would compare. And, though I’d never tried Dumpling Home, its reputation preceded it; it’s a Michelin Bib Gourmand restaurant. I was on the prowl for xiao long bao — delicate steamed soup dumplings — purportedly their specialty.
The space, formerly Luna Park, is a dim fantasyland festooned with white, frolicking chimpanzees bearing light fixtures and enormous black-and-white nature scenes. The transformation only whets your appetite further: Dark, delicious magic is happening here.
You’re handed plastic menus and a marker, and you check the boxes for what you’d like, taking care to distinguish which size; some dumplings come in four pieces, some in eight.
We started with the ginger scallion noodles:
Utterly delicious, lovely, springy, bouncy, craveable, sexy-ass noodles heaped in a bowl of sesame-ginger splendor. We had to stop ourselves from eating these all because we had so much more coming. (If possible, they were even more delicious cold the next day.)
Then, a dish from the small plates menu that we were familiar with at Sichuan restaurants, here called a sliced potato salad with house dressing:
In this dish, crispy, underdone potato “noodles” are barely blanched and then tossed in a sesame oil/Sichuan peppercorn dressing and served cold. I adored these, and the only issue here is they were quite salty. That didn’t stop me from wolfing them down, but my sister did not love the combination of the saltiness and the peppercorns’ numbing sensation. By the next day, the saltiness had tamed, but the ma la (peppercorn) was still going strong. If they could take the salt down a notch, these would be another absolute winner of a dish.
Next, pork and crab soup dumplings:
From the first glance, they fit the bill. Note the slight sagging of the supple skin, the tenderness weighed down by hot soup, the skins so thin they’re barely able to contain the scalding broth and nugget of pork.
The myriad, tell-tale folds give the rest of the story: These are house-made, and it shows. Hard to count, but isn’t the magic number 16 folds? I think that’s what the famed Taiwanese chain Din Tai Fung requires. In any case, the tops were kissed with crab, and the interiors contained an ultra-clear, deeply flavored broth, surrounding a precious lump of sweet minced pork.
At their best, soup dumplings are almost translucent, tender and delicate. To eat, gently transport one with your chopsticks, placing it deftly onto the wide spoon while trying not to tear the fragile skin. Nibble gently at the nipple (easy there, Tiger), or poke gently at it with your chopsticks until a hole forms. Sipping gently, trying not to burn your tongue, drink a bit of the broth. Pause a moment and look at your handiwork. Then drizzle the provided soy sauce/white vinegar and slivered ginger over the dumpling, making sure to get some into its steamy interior. Take another long, deep sip, cooling it with your breath. Finally, let the whole morsel slip into your mouth, at which point you may chew once or twice and swallow yourself into ecstasy. Have a cigarette. Repeat. Well, that’s how I did it, anyway.
Next came the boiled pork and cabbage dumplings:
I think if I’d known the only option was to order eight, I would have thought it was too many, but I would have been wrong. These delectable morsels go down like nobody’s business. Cabbage, pork and ginger make up the typical filling, surrounded by a thicker, springy skin, making for a very satisfying bite, after the requisite dunking in soy sauce.
Finally, the juicy chicken pan-bao arrived:
These were a surprise to us, as we’d never seen dumplings or bao that have a fried crust that comes so far up. These were as hearty and soup-laden as the xiao long bao, the bottom half flaky, the top half perfectly chewy, with a chicken filling, but I found the chicken a bit bland. But my sister loved these, and when we couldn’t eat another bite, a few went home with her.
On my second visit, friends and I started out with smashed cukes in garlic sauce:
Typically fresh, crunchy, and oh-so-garlicky, these did not disappoint.
Next, an appetizer of cold, thinly sliced seasoned beef in soy sauce:
Very five-spicy, tender, delicious. I could see making a meal of these over a bowl of steaming rice.
Beef tongue came next:
Also thinly sliced, it came in a soy sauce-based stock — a “1,000-year sauce” — known as a master sauce in Cantonese cuisine. It can typically consist of soy sauce, Chinese cooking wine, ginger, garlic, coriander, pepper, salt, sugar and chili powder. Sometimes cinnamon, star anise and dried mushrooms are used. This tasted similar to the five-spice of the beef slices, but in hyperdrive. As much as I loved the previous dish, I preferred the tongue for its luxuriant beefiness. One of my favorite items of the night.
Next, shrimp, egg, chive and wood ear mushroom steamed dumplings:
Served with very pungent, almost fermented-tasting black vinegar, these were thicker-skinned, like the pork and cabbage dumplings of our first visit, and gently flavored. I loved the tender eggs, and the whiff of sesame oil, which played so nicely with the tangy, almost boozy, vinegar.
We segued into the spicy, numbing xiao long bao dumplings.
Again, the requisite amount of beautifully thin, droopy skins, and we loved the heat in these. My second favorite of the night.
We felt it was about time for a little more green:
The dry-cooked green beans were wonderfully crisp, green, garlicky; they provided a good, light respite.
Unbelievably, the dishes kept coming. Pork dumpling with sesame sauce and chili oil:
Not as spicy as I would have thought, and I actually found these a little bland, although the nutty sesame sauce made up for it.
Finally, the grand finale: Beef brisket noodle soup.
Lovely, chewy noodles, with crispy baby bok choy, and gorgeously toothsome brisket, with a hint of five-spice and sweetness to the broth. I only wished it had been served hotter. I’d order this on any cold, rainy San Francisco day.
So much more dumpling magic to try!
Dumpling Story
694 Valencia St.
San Francisco, CA 94110