I have been making dumplings with my mother and my grandmother ever since I could remember. Everything surrounding dumpling-making was done by hand, and as usual all the recipes were handed down but never written down. When I was tiny, I had a tiny little rolling pin along with a small stool to match, and I would sit there and roll the wrappers with glee. Dumplings symbolized tradition, celebration, and family time, and I embraced the chance to help make dumplings just like my mom because it also meant that I was a big kid and that I got to be a part of the bustling kitchen. I guess I loved the kitchen even before I realized it.
A couple of months ago, I went home and I finally got taught the secrets of my mom's recipe. Again, I opted not to write anything down but to just remember what the dough should feel like and the what the filling should smell like along with a hundred other little intricacies and "feelings".
The end result is always better than what I can get at the store. Maybe it's because of the extra bit of nostalgia and history that comes with every bite.
