Koi Palace

I'm going to make a bold claim here. Right in our own backyard (Daly City) is the best dim sum restaurant in the Western hemisphere. No, I haven't been to every dim sum restaurant in the Western hemisphere, but I stake my claim confidently for three reasons: first, San Francisco boasts the second largest Chinese population in our half of the world, and it is, by a good mile, the best dim sum I've had here; second, I compare it favorably to the dim sum at the American outpost of what is widely considered the finest dim sum restaurant in the world (perhaps I should make the bolder claim that it's the best dim sum in the WORLD); third, I'm prone to hyperbole. Anyway, to continue with my hyperbolizing....wedged between an Outback Steakhouse and a nondescript office building, Koi Palace cranks out one bamboo steamer after another of near perfect dumplings. It's no wonder that empty chairs are seen for a few brief seconds only while tables are turned, and that scores of people are lined up outside, patiently, even gratefully, waiting for their chance to yum cha.

Koi Palace is huge. I haven't counted but there must be seats for several hundred, easily, and I'm sure more than the fire marshall allows. Unlike most other dim sum restaurants where large metallic carts are pushed along by strong-legged Chinese ladies, here trays of a few steamers are floated along by strong-legged Chinese ladies (more on them later). The key is to order as much of the food you like from the menu early on, and then supplement them with the occasional floating tray item. I suggest taking a regular with you to help with the ordering.

The best item is the Shanghai dumplings, the dumplings by which all other dumplings - not to mention the restaurant that serves them – is measured. Minced pork and a cube of solidified consommé wrapped in a delicate yet firm hand-rolled flour wrapper. The consommé melts during the steaming process and produces the distinctive soup inside. Carefully pick one up with your chopsticks, place it in a soup spoon, bite a small hole in the skin, and slurp out the soup. Then dip the dumpling into the accompanying sweet vinegar and eat it whole. It soothes better than music and comforts quicker than chicken soup.

Potstickers are typically made as if to compete with meat pies and deep dish pizzas for sheer weight and blunt flavors, but here they have a thin crispy skin and a clean, nuanced pork flavor. They’re my favorite potstickers. Koi Palace also serves the best shiu mai I've ever had. The broad rice noodles with shrimp? Heavenly. The shrimp and spinach dumpling? Devilishly delicious. But leave room for dessert. The Chinese - like most other Asian societies - don't really care to exert much effort on dessert, but one couldn't tell from Koi Palace's egg custard tarts, sugar egg puffs, and black sesame balls. Their embarrassingly odd names notwithstanding, they are proud displays of pastry achievement.

Service is the great flaw. It's indifferent, inconsistent, and sometimes down right rude. When the ladies floating the trays around aren't aggressive, they're manipulative, intent on pushing a few too many plates and steamers on your table. I'm certain they work on commission. I've learned, however, that they respond well to an equally aggressive customer. I gesticulate with excitement and laugh heartily with friends as we talk, but the moment a runner approaches I grow stone cold, my voice drops an octave, and I yell "NO!" before they even ask. On occasion, they narrow their eyes and flash a crooked smile that says "touché." Bad service aside, I love this place and I'm grateful that I live so close to it. When out-of-town guests visit, it's one of the few restaurants that I have to force upon them. And amazingly, we all walk out stuffed for about fifteen dollars a person. A true bargain.

There is a fourth reason why I claim Koi Palace must be the best dim sum restaurant in the Western hemisphere. People often mistake popularity for quality. The line at lunch time often extends out the door at one local Jack in the Box, Eliza's and Henry's Hunan have 20 minute waits on most nights, and the tourist-trap Scoma’s is the highest grossing locally owned restaurant according to one media source. If the place is packed then it must be good, the logic goes. The flaw in this reasoning is that it doesn't consider WHO the place is packed with. It doesn't discriminate between those with discriminating palates and those without. Indeed, a restaurant can be accurately judged by taking a peek inside and seeing who's eating and how. The only Chinese people at Eric's (for the record, I do eat there occasionally) are the wait staff. Koi, on the other hand, is packed with real, authentic Chinese folk, all yapping away in that most lyrical of tongues, serving each other portions of Chinese broccoli and passing along the har gow. Observe a while and you know you can trust these people to judge a proper har gow. And if you look carefully at the table next to the kitchen entrance, you're likely to see a man of thirty or so staring at the door waiting for his Shanghai dumplings to emerge like a puppy waiting for the can opener to finish it's job. And hopefully, you can trust him too.