Crouching against a 23 foot high stucco wall under a concrete staircase cracked thirty six different ways gently blasted by the 23 degree (celsius) Southern California summer breeze in constant lookout for the ruthless aluminum-bat-weilding, way-too-old-for-highschool dorm proctor I was introduced to the heretofore unknown to thirteen-year-old me term “manual human being”. The individual that introduced me to this term was a 17-year-old outcast 2 days removed from conformist Japanese society wishing to instil his considered-anarchist-only-in-Japan philosophy on anyone he could practice his English on.
I was just there to enjoy the hysterics of watching him smoke a cigarette Bill-Clinton-style . I had to see it for myself. I had to personally witness the amount of smoke a non-inhaling cigarette smoker generates while taking a drag. Was he holding his breath? Was he shutting out the airflow through a manually-created vacuum in his throat?
Surprisingly, his disregard of the “manual human being” resonated with me. I could totally envision the how pathetic it was to live a life according to the prescriptions of magazines. Dress like they showed you in GQ. Buy PC’s recommended by PCMag. Play a game that Nintendo Power tell you you must play. Eat and drink according to Food and Wine.
Might as well give away your free will. Might as well give in to determinism. Might as well…stop being a teenage rebel. Might as well start listening to New Kids On The Block.
Hell No! At least not while I was a teenager…
But, you know, life happened. I wouldn’t say that I became more mature, but I have definitely aged. I got hitched and had munchkins and had to deal with everything everyone else had to deal with. I no longer had the time to contemplate. I needed answers fast. College and grad school taught me to research and prioritize and compromise. If I wanted to try a new dim sum restaurant, why not listen to the “experts” at Vancouver Magazine?
I did. I regretted it. I recalled my teenage years. I remembered my utter distaste for “manual human beings”.
I am a manual human being. Dim Sum at Dynasty Seafood sucked.
Phoenix claws tasted like crap-canned-sweet-sauce. This $hit won’t fly even in Saskatoon.
Roast Duck was portioned for a hobbit with a texture fit for an endurance gum-chewer.
Soy-sauce fried noodles were so limp and sweet they tasted like expired candy-floss.
And what’s with their award winning dish, the lemon char-siu (BBQ pork) pastry? The lemon flavours totally overpowered and they were not pleasant. The lemon tasted fake and lab-manufatured. The lemon flavours were so completely unmatched with the BBQ pork and the pasty it wasn’t even funny.
The egg tarts were so limp that it felt like I made them.
The soy-sauce fried rice rolls were okay. They were push-cart-dim-sum quality.
The best dish I had was the siu-bang/sao-bing. The pastry was flaky and the filling was full of salty ham and fresh scallion flavours.
Again, as I’ve mentioned in other posts, one good dish does not a restaurant make. And that one good dish was only fairly good as opposed to “good” good; and to pile on to the crapy-ness, the food was lukewarm going on cold. Not quite frozen but devoid of soul-indicating heat.
Dynasty Seafood Restaurant serves crap dim sum. That’s what I get for being a “manual huam being”.