Josie knows dumplings: they need to be cooked delicately to maintain structure and texture. “You put love in envelopes. Or purses. Then you eat it.” She may know dumplings, but methinks she needs a little work on metaphors. She makes Korean Mandu with pork, tofu, shiitake mushrooms, scallions and ginger. Dana: “Is kim chee traditionally part of this?” “Sure,” says Josie, the Global Soul Chef, “Any time you go to any Korean restaurant, it’s one pickly, fermented, fishy type of town.” Yes, and any time I go to a Chinese restaurant, I get a fortune cookie, but that doesn’t mean they have anything to do with China. So does her dish contain kim chee too? I can’t tell. I hate to be a party pooper – you know I do – and I like Josie, but has the global chef (and Yankees exec sous, btw) ever travelled anywhere besides the Hamptons? Bravo refers to her as a “world traveler” but offers no specifics, and I can’t find any other information. Dana loves her complete-dish dumpling – it’s authentic, and she wants to eat more – and Josie wins; she gets immunity. I guess it pays to hang out in Korean restaurants.
Stefan also knows dumplings. Well, of course he does, he looks like one. No, wait, that’s a thumb he looks like. Anyway, he grew up in Germany for pete’s sake, and he manages to snag klopse off the board, so no excuses. “It’s a peasant dish,” he assures Dana, as if she doesn’t know. She likes the ground lamb filling, mashed potatoes, and caper sauce; it invites her into Grandma’s house: “This would be really good for a day at the harvest.” Stefan’s relieved; he couldn’t screw this one up and go back home. Top three.
Micah, bless his heart, is a little late getting to the board, so he ends up with Kazakhstan. “I didn’t know Kazakhstan was real.” Yes, it is, it’s where the nuclear weapons are. Or, maybe, were. Not to mention some biological and chemical shit that would keep you up nights if you knew about it. But it’s ok, even Sam Seaborn got it confused with Kyrgyzstan. Which is also real, but without the WMD. What does this have to do with dumplings? Nothing, but I just love any excuse to revisit The West Wing. In addition to WMD, Kazakhstan has some awesome dumplings called manti, and Micah does his best to approximate these (leaving out the horsemeat) by using lamb, dates, curry, and cinnamon. Dana’s impressed: “You went really bold.” Top three. Yes, Micah, there is a Kazakhstan.
Carla isn’t doing so well. She’s got a bandage the size of a volleyball on her hand, which gets in the way of using the product-placement tablet. And she’s got to make these West African fufu. So she makes Italian fufu instead. Dana is not pleased: “These dumplings came to Africa by way of Italy.” Carla understands, and, to give her credit, is appropriately chagrined. But when all you have is a hammer… Bottom Three.
Brooke has no flour. How can you have no flour? What, is this a new torture method, only provide enough flour for 16 chefs and let them play duck-duck-goose? Josie is sympathetic but hasn’t got any flour to spare. So Brooke’s Indonesian siomay are unwrapped filling. Tasty – Dana likes the flavors of the chicken, shrimp, peanut sauce, and daikon – but not a dumpling. Literally, a nudie dumpling; if only she was doing Italian, she could’ve called it gnudi. Bottom three.
Kuniko knows takoyaki (octopus dumplings), though she doesn’t make them at home; she goes to the takoyaki shop and buys them. Of course; where else would you get takoyaki but the takoyaki shop? She’s got the octopus cooked and chopped, but nothing gets to the plate. She’s embarrassed. Brooke is surprised: she’d expected more from the chef at Comme Ça. CJ feels bad for her. Is this more of the already-professed lack of focus? Bottom three.
Sheldon knows every dumpling on the board. Oh, wait, no, that was a joke. Hawaii isn’t big on dumplings, it seems, but he manages to get one he knows, Chinese jiaozi, with pork and shiitake mushroom filling. Dana’s excited to meet him, since he’s a Food & Wine Magazine Best New Chef. He does a good job. But not better than at least three other chefs.
John approves of the challenge, to the great relief of the TC culinary production staff, I’m sure; it’s technique-driven, and a good judge of the talent of a chef. That he’s right doesn’t make it any less annoying. But I agree: it’s a good challenge, combining several basic skills (dough, sauce, flavor combinations) with flexibility to produce something that might be out of one’s comfort zone and probably isn’t something any of them cook every day. John calls out a warning when he notices someone’s dumplings are burning, which is a nice thing to do. He’s a walking contradiction, isn’t he. Interesting. He’s got Swedish Kroppkakor, which, incredibly enough, I happen to know something about. My aunt, who came here from Sweden as a child, used to make them (along with vetebrod) for my family. I confess: as a child, I hated kroppkakor, though I might feel differently today. She pronounced it “KREP-Korker,” not “krep-KA-ka” as Padma and Dana do. Dana hasn’t seen it with a béchamel before. If John doesn’t stop wearing those glasses on his eyebrows, I’m going to develop a nervous twitch.
Lizzie makes Szilvas Gomboc , a Hungarian potato dumpling stuffed with plum and cinnamon. It must sound better than it tastes.
CJ loves pierogi, and uses veal, pork, and gooseberry puree. Dana compliments him on a pretty plate.
Bart makes a Norwegian hairball. Which is what happens when you make a Norwegian potetball, a perfectly innocent potato dumpling stuffed with lamb, and cover it with fried spaghetti for some reason known only to Belgian beer knights. Dana: “what about the crazy fried hair?” He wanted to add texture. Next time, try carrots.
Kristen‘s Nepalese momo, stuffed with pork and chicken liver spiced with ginger and cumin, pass without comment.
Some chefs got left on the cutting room floor (though, oddly, three of them are the only recipes posted so far), but international dumplings deserve mention, even Chrissy’s Indian samoas, the papas rellenas from Mexico via Danyele, and Eliza’s Mongolian buutz. Tyler made something, too – there’s a picture to prove it – but the details are a state secret, possibly to avoid an international incident.