Crackle! Crackle!
The sound echoed from within the clay pot like a whisper from the culinary gods. As the temperature slowly rose, soft popping noises could be heard as the oil began to shimmer and dance inside. A rich, savory aroma started seeping out—first a trickle, then a wave—curling its way around the tavern like an invisible spell. Within moments, the entire room was filled with the intoxicating fragrance of pork, scallions, and dough kissed by heat.
Leonora's nose twitched first. Then Alice blinked rapidly, her eyes wide as saucers.
"Is he… frying them?"
"No, wait… roasting?" another onlooker guessed aloud.
"Could it be braising?" someone else added hesitantly.
"No," Leonora muttered, her voice low, puzzled. "No… this is something else entirely."
Her brows furrowed as she leaned in. "Could it be… fire dumplings instead of boiled dumplings?"
Alice blinked, still lost in the haze of sensory confusion. "Fire dumplings? What's that?"
"They're a specialty from Nantong, in Jiangsu Province," Leonora explained, regaining composure as her chef's instincts took over. "Different from the boiled kind we're used to, fire dumplings are typically deep-fried to a golden crisp. But…"
She trailed off, eyes fixed on Zane's setup.
"But he's not deep-frying them in the usual sense," she murmured. "Fire dumplings are usually made using freshly boiled water for the dough and fried over medium-high heat. Yet he's using a bamboo rack inside a clay pot over charcoal—something I've never seen before in my life."
Just then, Erina, arms folded, rolled her eyes at Alice's dazed expression and cut in dryly, "The filling is classic—fresh pork, juicy and fragrant. But the shape and cooking method? That threw me off."
Leonora nodded. "I thought they were just pan-fried at first."
"So dumplings can be… boiled or fried?" Alice asked, still stunned.
"To a chef, that's only the beginning," Leonora answered. "There are endless ways to manipulate technique and tradition."
In China's vast and storied culinary world, Nantong fire dumplings shine like a hidden gem.
While cities like Yangzhou and Huai'an often take the spotlight as the cradles of Huaiyang cuisine, Nantong quietly boasts a history just as rich and flavors just as unforgettable. Nestled by the rivers and seas, Nantong cuisine draws from abundant seafood and seasonal produce, reflecting both refinement and rustic depth.
And among its treasures, fire dumplings are a dish that seizes both appetite and imagination.
Simple in appearance. Complex in execution. Unexpected in every bite.
Time passed slowly in the tavern, tension rising like steam.
At the perfect moment, Zane extinguished the fire beneath the clay pot. He waited, letting the residual heat do the rest—an elegant nod to restraint and patience. When the temperature dipped slightly, he carefully opened the lid and used long wooden chopsticks to lift the dumplings, one by one, with surgeon-like precision.
Each dumpling was placed onto a ceramic plate adorned with minimalist blue patterns—classic Chinese porcelain.
"Fire dumplings, served," he said simply.
Leonora and Alice leaned forward. The dumplings were shaped almost like tiny flames, plump at the base and twisted at the top, and still gleamed faintly with a sheen of oil. But their appearance surprised the crowd.
"They… don't look done?" Alice blinked, puzzled.
"Are they… braised?" another whispered.
"No, I definitely heard sizzling earlier," Alice said. "So why aren't they crispy?"
Zane merely smiled. "Because the dish isn't finished yet."
He reached under the counter and pulled out a culinary torch, its metallic frame glinting ominously in the soft light.
Fwoosh!
The torch roared to life with a deafening flare. A column of blue and orange fire, over half a meter long, surged forward like a dragon's breath. Zane moved with fluid confidence, directing the torch's flame in sweeping arcs across the dumplings.
The room gasped collectively.
Under the searing heat, the skins blistered and crackled. Pockets of air burst in micro-explosions, and a golden crust began forming before their eyes. The surface browned, then deepened into a gradient of bronze and caramel, ending with a gentle char that added texture and aroma.
The sizzle of sauce bubbling out from the dumpling cracks was music.
Dumplings couldn't breathe fire—but they could be born from it.
"Normally," Zane explained, eyes still on the food, "this would be done with a fire-breathing stick and strong grain alcohol—just like the old Chinese street performers."
"Wait, that's real?" Alice blinked.
"But I can't drink alcohol, and blowing fire during service isn't exactly safe," he added with a smirk.
The torch died out with a final hiss.
What remained on the plate was breathtaking.
Golden. Crisp. Dramatic. Alive.
The dumplings looked almost too perfect to eat. Thin trails of sauce had escaped through their tiny cracks, caramelizing at the edges. The tops were golden yellow; the bottoms, slightly scorched in an artful way. Under the soft light of the tavern, they glowed like amber jewels.
Even without tasting them, Leonora was impressed.
"These… these are real fire dumplings," she whispered, as if saying it louder would break the spell.
Alice's jaw dropped. She looked like she could fit an entire egg in her mouth.
Sizzle!
More sauce oozed out from the edges, hitting the still-hot plate with a satisfying hiss. The fragrance—sweet, savory, slightly spicy—was enough to make anyone dizzy.
Leonora picked one up with reverent hands.
Crunch!
The wrapper shattered under her bite, thin and crisp like lacquered sugar. Inside, the pork was tender and juicy, bursting with umami and interlaced with hints of scallion and ginger. The sauce coated her tongue—a balance of salty, sweet, and spicy with just a hint of numbing heat.
Her eyes widened. "What…?"
Each texture, each taste exploded in waves across her palate.
Alice followed, shoving one whole dumpling into her mouth.
"Mom! What's the secret? It's so different from other dumplings!"
Leonora took a breath. "You saw the clay pot, right?"
"That weird thing?" Alice blinked. "It looked old."
"It's actually brilliant," Leonora replied. "The material retains and distributes heat evenly. It's airtight. It creates a convection effect inside. It's like the dumplings are being slowly roasted in their own little storm."
She set her chopsticks down. "It's not just about ingredients. The vessel… matters."
Alice grew quiet.
She remembered her early defeats—especially the one during the fall selection—and how her ignorance of traditional methods had cost her. Since residential training, she'd tried to improve, but she realized how much more there still was to learn.
Meanwhile, Leonora continued.
"The dough was made with boiling water—hot water dough. That gives it elasticity and allows it to hold its shape under fire. Regular dumplings use cold water dough, which would've cracked or burned."
Zane gave a modest smile. "It's not revolutionary. Just tradition, interpreted differently."
"But this dish still has secrets," Leonora murmured. "I need to eat more."
She picked up another, then another.
With every bite, the filling revealed hidden layers: light sweetness from the cabbage, earthy notes from mushrooms, the faint sharpness of black pepper, and something she couldn't quite name—an aromatic profile that wrapped around the pork like a ribbon.
The texture was unlike anything she'd ever tasted. Crisp. Melting. Juicy.
She couldn't stop.
Suddenly, the flavors triggered something in her mind—
A dream, or perhaps a hallucination.
She was riding a white warhorse through an emerald field, her crown shining, sword raised. Her aura radiated nobility and confidence. Across the field came Zane—riding a wild pig with smoke pouring from its nostrils, a spear in his hand, a manic grin on his face.
"CHARGE!" Leonora cried.
"WRAAAH!" Zane responded.
Their steeds collided in a dramatic clash. But to her horror—
Thud!
She was gored.
She sat up with a gasp, dumpling sauce still on her lips.
"What… was that? Was I just… gored by Zane's pig?"