Vanishing Flavours:
2025. July 18. INSIGHTS
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Lately, the phrase “vanishing flavours” has become a common thread in culinary conversations—used to headline chefs’ menus, heritage food campaigns, and wistful Instagram posts. But when it comes to Cantonese dim sum, the disappearance of certain dishes isn’t just about nostalgia—it’s about the quiet fading of a craft that was once deeply ingrained in everyday life.
Dim sum was never meant to shout. It whispered—through paper-thin dumpling skins, gently simmered broths, and the soft discipline of a kitchen that knew restraint. But in today’s fast-turnover, reinvention-hungry world, the quietest dishes are often the first to go.
Here, we revisit four dim sum classics that once defined a generation of taste—and the rare places still keeping them alive.
Quail Egg Siu Mai
Once a hallmark of icon on the dim sum cart, quail egg siu mai was the pride of banquet-era tea houses in the ’70s and ’80s. A quail egg is nestled on a pork-and-shrimp siu mai base, its yolk ideally steamed to a tender, slightly runny center. But this dish is unforgiving—too long in the steamer, and it turns rubbery. Too short, and the pork’s texture suffers.
At very few of traditional dim sum restaurant, this siu mai is still on menu as a nod to discerning longtime patrons. Appreciating it means understanding its subtlety—a dedication to detail that transcends mere nostalgia.
Photo source: Ding Dim
Paper-Wrapped Pork Ribs
A rare find even among traditionalists, paper-wrapped pork ribs are deep fried parcels of marinated ribs, garlic, and soy—wrapped in parchment and left to braise gently in their own juices. Peeling open the paper was once a childhood thrill: the aroma would rise first, then the tender meat, falling softly from the bone.
In Hong Kong, only a few veteran dim sum chefs prepare it by special request, deep fried for depth rather than appearance, preserving the magic of that moment when the paper is peeled back.
Photo source: Facebook
Superior Broth Dumplings
Superior broth dumplings stand apart from their steamed cousins by being lightly fried, creating a delicate crisp that enhances their rustic texture. The filling—a modest blend of minced pork, shrimp, bamboo shoot and shiitake mushrooms—retains a slight coarseness, a testament to traditional handcrafting rather than smooth refinement.
Served alongside is a clear, aromatic superior broth, gently sprinkled with fresh flowering chives (韮王) just before serving. Diners savor each dumpling dipped into the broth, experiencing a harmonious contrast of textures—the crispness of the skin meeting the warm, herbaceous broth.
This understated classic remains a guarded secret at places like Hong Kong’s Fung Shing where tradition still holds sway amidst a changing culinary landscape.
Photo source: OpenRice
Black Sesame Rolls
Once a staple on family dim sum tables, black sesame rolls (zhi ma juan) are made by steaming a smooth paste of black sesame, glutinous rice flour, and sugar, then hand-rolling it into thin, layered ribbons. Served chilled, each slice offers a gentle sweetness and an elastic, tender texture.
At Ying Jee Club in Hong Kong, the chef has revived this dessert—not as a mere nostalgic throwback but as a statement of subtlety and restraint.
Photo source: DayDayCook
The Flavours We Fight to Remember
These dishes are not trendy comebacks but quiet survivors—kept alive by chefs who remember, diners who ask, and teahouses who resist the pressure to simplify.
Because some flavours don’t need to shout to be heard. They just need space to speak.
