China. Where do I begin?
Yes, it is a place we all know. Home of the noodle, inventor of gunpowder. Did you know they invented paper too? Yes, I know. What an incredible history. This is one of Steven Seagal's favorite countries. A most nefarious virus originated here. The Opium Wars! From the Warring States Period to Kung Fu Panda, we can't get enough of China.
Why, then, if we are so mystified with China, so in love with its Qin Shihuangdis and Pos the Pandas alike, have I not tried one of its brothy delights? Well consider me a proverbial man upon one of China's state-of-the-art bullet trains according to one hilarious up-and-coming Chinese stand-up comedian — I was too buried in my social media (my Jewish soups) to take in the wonders of the train (Chinese soups).
But then, a new restaurant came to Davis, one that even I could not ignore. Like a new Marco Polo, I drifted to southern East Davis to taste the wonders of the Middle Kingdom at this new culinary establishment.
However, the restaurant received me in a gruff mood. I had just run to a nearby pharmaceutical establishment to pick up a few tests for coronavirus-19, which, has already been stated, very ironically originated in China. But arriving at this purveyor of Motrin and Magnum condoms, I found only two coronavirus tests, each priced at a shocking $9.99.
I am much too cheap for such high prices. Scoffing at this high sum, I took one last look at the Magnums and walked out the door. Now I would have to order the tests online, and I now also had anxiety about the size of my penis. "More like, Wrong-Aid, am I right?" is what the knee-slappingly funny Chinese stand-up comedian would say.
Dejectedly, I approached the storefront of the restaurant, for which I had already input my order. And, for the first time, I began to feel a sense of uneasiness. For, I glanced its name, the words forever haunting my mind. Yang Kee Dumpling.
Now, I am no scholar of Mandarin. Frankly, I do not know if this language is Cantonese, Hokkien, or something else altogether. I am, however, a scholar of soup. So I ask — why does this name resemble the name of a certain American sports franchise?
Many know me solely as a soup connoisseur. However, shockingly, I have a life outside of soup. Like what? What other hobbies does a soup connoisseur have, you may ask? Oh, likely, eating various sauces? Maybe enjoying various creams and ices? No, surely, you jest. Unfortunately, I enjoy the sport of baseball.
This misfortune does not arise from the fact that you will likely never see soup served at a baseball game. No, it is because, for all my life, I have been a fanatic of a team that is Campbell's clam chowder of baseball squadrons — the New York Metropolitans.
Like a matzo ball that has broken apart, the New York Mets have broken my heart time and time again. From collapses to dropped pop-ups to the food poisoning of embarrassing ways to lose — the walk-off balk — my eyes have sadly eaten it all in. Yes, the New York Mets, just recently, won 101 games, which, in soup terms, is like having an extremely satisfying viscosity. But, you ask, what did they do with this high record? They squandered it in the first round of the rigged playoffs masterminded by baseball's corrupt and illegitimate "head chef" Robert Manfraud to the Catholic San Diego team.
Why, then, am I so upset at Yang Kee, if it is my Metropolitans which afflict me? Yang Kee, of course, resembles the name of the Yankee baseball franchise, the object of my rage and anger.
If the Mets are the Campbell's clam chowder of baseball teams, the Yankees are the Katz's matzo ball soup of baseball organizations. Reputable, yes, easy on the eyes, yes — but, something is missing. Perhaps they should stick to the pastrami sandwich. The Yankees, the owners of 27 World Series titles — the endless taunters of my franchise, the owner of only 2 World Series championships.
Yang Kee. The name disgusts me. All I could think of was A-Rod and Roger Clemens happily putting a broth of steroids in their arms. But I forged on. I stepped into Yang Kee. And so there begins my review.
Like the Yankee franchise, Yang Kee is all about show, and yet, it seems very fake. There is a station where you can watch the employees make dumpling delights, and the decor is quite immaculate. Yet, it all feels phony, much like the New Yankee stadium and its self-aggrandizing Monument Park. But there was something far worse than this.
Like the Yankee franchise, it seems Yang Kee also prides itself on luxury. I was forced to surrender fifteen hard-earned dollars I had earned working to save wild cats to their chicken dumpling soup. This is by far the most money I have ever paid at a Chinese restaurant. And still, yet worse, I spotted few Chinese eating at this restaurant, which is usually the true test of a good Chinese culinary establishment. It was like a Yankee Stadium devoid of Dominicans.
But still, despite my misgivings, I took home my souply reward. Yes, I broke my own principle, eating soup in takeout form. Sometimes, a coronavirus-19 test-less soup connoisseur and esteemed broth reviewer must sacrifice practice for comfort. I had to run from the omniscient Yang Kee sign, rudely grimacing at me. Shirking its presence, I sped home in fear to eat my fill.
Thankfully, the soup gods showed me not all was lost. The portion packed was quite large. Following the soup price to quantity rule, this was quite good. At the very least, I was going to get the proverbial "bang for my buck". I shudder now as Buck is the name of the unfortunate manager of the Metropolitans.
I assembled the soup, and was quite disturbed. Where were the vegetables? I was given a paltry array of scallions and cilantro. This was not enough. Is cilantro really even a vegetable? I do not think so. But I must trust this restaurant that is oh so distantly related to the invention of the paper sheet.
I sipped the soup. Much too salty, I thought, noticing neurotically what could potentially be a feather. Much too salty, my tongue becoming engorged. Salt filled my mouth as it has filled my eyes time and time again at a Mets loss.
The noodles were actually quite good. The dumplings were also quite good. I suppose, hence the name "Yang Kee Dumpling". Yet, I believe I was deceived. These dumplings were good, but not "grand", if we still use the terms of baseball. Perhaps I assumed these dumplings would be as good as the soup dumplings which Yang Kee is purportedly known for. However, I refused to take those out, as one must need the special spoons they only have at Chinese restaurants to consume them. Many a novice soup connoisseur has burned their tongue on those half-soup, half-monstrosities.
I was naive. I believed these dumplings would be grand. But they were not. No, they were simply good.
The viscosity was quite normal, not too good, not too bad. Frankly, the broth disinterested me, the dumplings being the object of my culinary eye this evening. Behemoth of broth, Confucius of chowder I am, I still sometimes feel myself turning away from its unseemly hold.
I may yet make the long march across the sands of Asia once more to Yang Kee. Perhaps then, the Metropolitans will have triumphed in their pursuit of success. But for now, I must stew with the aftertaste of the Yang Kee Dumpling on my tongue, just as a woman did with famed baseballer Mickey Mantle's seed in the Yankee franchise's bullpen so many years ago.
Soup Score: 5.9/10
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