Center of Gravity

This is a story about abundance. 

It was a Sunday and I had just finished a huge DnD session, the first of a campaign that I’d been preparing for three months. It had gone as well as I could’ve hoped, and I was feeling a peaky sense of vertigo. DnD is more than just a hobby; it’s where I feel most like myself, but it takes a lot out of me. After four hours of high-wire focus (and a seven mile run to temper my energy) I was running on fumes.

There’s an unspoken tradition that I go to Joey’s to debrief after major sessions. That day, he was at his mom’s place, which always bodes well for my appetite. Tricia’s the type of mom that says you can come over for dinner any time and actually means it. It’s always baffled me. I can only imagine it’s a pain in the ass to feed an extra mouth at a moment’s notice. And yet, generosity has always seemed like second nature to her. That’s the thing too—her meals are almost always homemade, and when she gets takeout it’s the good kind. Her candy bowl is always full. Usually, there’s fresh sourdough or pastries in the cloche on the kitchen table. Imagine that. A fucking cloche.

That night the clan was headed to this new spot called Dumpling Shack, and naturally, I was invited. And so we went. 

As we pulled up, the first thing I noticed was the location. The place was nestled deep in the corner of one of those copy-paste shopping centers, you know the kind—there’s a Target, a Panda Express, a nondescript department store, etc. I’d been to countless of these suburbo-capitalist citadels; I found it bizarre that a supposed hidden gem had found its way into such a place. That said, the crowd was reassuring. Even from across the parking lot I could tell it was full; the interior well-lit and bustling. While waiting outside, I could see a divider bisecting the floor plan; on one side guests, on the other, an enormous kitchen. Heaping steel pots billowed with steam, the aroma dissipating into the cool autumn air. My stomach growled. 

Service was tight. We got menus and water as soon as we sat, and the first dishes arrived 10 minutes from the moment we ordered. Before we could blink, the table was full of small plates; it was all we could do to keep up. See what had happened was, when we first ordered, Tricia basically went through the whole menu and asked the table if each individual item sounded good. Between the seven of us, we ordered better than 30 dishes. When we finished the first round we were already starting to feel full. That’s when the waiter came with two more full carts. We looked on with a mix of abject horror and hysterical joy—we had a long way to go.  

When it comes to dim sum, variation is the name of the game, and this place absolutely nailed it. Take the shrimp dumpling and pork wonton, for example: two bites with identical form factors, yet they couldn’t be more different. The almost mochi-like skin of the shrimp dumpling had stretch and give; a substantial buffer before rewarding you with the chunky and toothsome shrimp. Meanwhile, the pork dumpling skin had a softer, doughy texture. The meat had a supple bite, complimented by a well rounded mix of warm spices. Any time I got tired of one order, there were five more to cycle through to reset my palate. It wasn’t all savory, either. The boba was refreshing and complex, and I had an entire order of egg tarts to myself. 

Halfway through, I had to pause—a ball of food sat in my stomach like a fist. It throbbed with a dull, almost pleasant ache. As I waited for more room to form in the noneuclidean space between my appetite and the physical limits of my stomach, the orders just kept coming. I felt a burgeoning desperation. I wanted to try everything—fried pork chops, udon, spam fried rice, soup dumplings—but I couldn’t. Don’t worry, Joey reassured me, as he cleaned up another plate of udon. We can always come back another time.  

I don’t know why, but that really stuck with me. Another time? Why didn’t I think of that? 

For one, I’ve always believed that when the going is good, you gotta take what you can before it’s gone. Abundance is limited by nature; if you aren’t taking, you’re losing. Secondly, I’m especially suspicious anytime I’m given something “for free”. Nothing is free; that exists in my head as a mathematical truth. The scale is always ticking. Mind you, I’m all for indulgence and extremes—I’m just always ready for the rebound. But as I sat at the Dumpling Shack watching these friends that I could call family, I realized that was never the case with them. I was always invited, and they never asked me for anything. 

Dim sum is an interesting exercise in the nature of abundance. Such a feast is only possible with a group; any less than a party of three, and you lose value. Between bites, Tricia commented that a full house was ideal, it meant faster, fresher orders. I chewed on that, the causal relationship between the quantity of people experiencing something and the quality of the experience itself. She was right in more ways than one. Sure, the food was objectively better when cooked for a crowd, but I also couldn’t imagine myself enjoying such a meal alone. The difference between abundance and gluttony is generosity; excess is only good when shared.  

When we finally finished, we waddled back out into the parking lot. The air was sweet. Tricia hefted about a dozen trays filled with leftovers into the trunk (I’m not cooking for two days!) and, before I left, Joey and I took a nice long walk around the park. At some point I said goodnight.

As I drove home alone, I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was happy. That’s how happiness is for me, it comes unexpectedly, like a bird landing on my shoulder. No sudden movements. Tonight, though, I knew it would stay. And was that such a surprise? If I liked balance so much, then why shouldn’t I let myself be full after emptying myself out? Why shouldn’t I choose abundance? Here’s how I try to see it: Sometimes, the people I love put themselves in a position to give; it’s only right to put myself in a position to receive. That’s a type of balance all on its own. If I say that to myself enough times, maybe one day I’ll stop watching my back. 

As for Dumpling Shack, it gets an easy five stars from me. I’ll be back as soon as I rally enough friends to share in the wealth. You should go, too. Bring an appetite and the largest group you can find.