Seven years ago, or so, I stood at a street stall in a Beijing hutong (alley), hunched over a bamboo basket, biting into a perfectly pleated soup dumpling that scalded the roof of my mouth in the most satisfying way. The broth was rich, the pork filling deeply savory, and the wrapper impossibly delicate. That dumpling ruined me, in the best way. Ever since, I’ve been on a quiet, obsessive quest to find a version here in Utah that lived up to that first, steamy encounter.
It’s a story that is common enough among food lovers. Go abroad, eat something transcendent, and come home to the disappointing realization that it’s nearly impossible to replicate the magic. The broth is never quite right. The skins are too thick or too thin. The balance, the alchemy, is off. Or maybe it’s just the location and experience, but you always try to find that thing as close to home as possible.
So when I first heard murmurs about a new spot in Taylorsville called Zhu Ting Ji serving up housemade soup dumplings, I was skeptical. But the name stuck in my head, and eventually my curiosity got the better of me. I made the drive, found the modest storefront tucked into a nondescript strip, and walked in.
The smell alone gave me hope; warm, yeasty, deeply umami. The menu was impressive and promising, with hand-pulled noodles, braised pork belly, and more. Too many to name here, and I’ll be back to try more. But I was here for one thing: xiaolongbao, Chinese soup dumplings.
They arrived in the traditional steamer basket, with six dumplings nestled inside, each pleated by hand. I hesitated just long enough to snap a photo (for journalistic purposes, of course) and then dove in.
They were perfect.
The wrapper was thin but resilient, sturdy enough to hold the piping hot broth without tearing, yet tender to the bite. Inside, the soup was velvety and rich, clearly made with long-simmered stock and just the right amount of collagen to give it that signature silkiness. The filling was porky and aromatic, with a hint of ginger and scallion, juicy enough to satisfy without overwhelming the delicate wrapper.
But it was the broth that got me. That broth, the same hit of umami and fat and depth I remembered from Beijing, washed over me like a wave of nostalgia.
While the soup dumplings were the headliner, I couldn’t resist trying a few other dishes. The Chashu buns—soft, fluffy clouds filled with sweet-salty pork—were a hit. The Spicy Cucumber Salad, a seemingly simple side, turned out to be a revelation: crisp coins of cucumber tossed in a chili oil dressing that built heat slowly, layer by layer, until I found myself chasing every last drop of it with my chopsticks.
And then there were the Szechuan Dandan Noodles—beautifully chewy noodles swimming in a just-on-the-verge-of-too-spicy sauce that clung to every strand. They packed a slow-building, numbing heat that left me flushed and smiling, and paired brilliantly with the cooling crunch of that cucumber salad.
Still, the xiaolongbao were the star of the show. It’s rare to find them done well, rarer still to find them transcendent, and almost unheard of to find them in a strip mall in Taylorsville. But that’s the magic of food, isn’t it? Sometimes, the thing you’ve been searching for shows up when—and where—you least expect it.
Zhu Ting Ji might not look like much from the outside, but inside that steamer basket, there’s a little bit of China waiting to surprise you. And for this dumpling lover, the search is finally over.
When you go:
Zhu Ting Ji 竹亭记
5486 S 1900 W, Taylorsville
www.zhutingji.com
385-361-1725
