Growing up in Kitsap County, WA with a large Asian (especially Filipino) population, I was able to grab a bao from our local grocery store’s deli section, any time I wanted.
A big ole delicious baked BBQ pork bun, right next to the cheeses, meats and soggy croissant sandwiches.
I was one lucky young man (with zero weight or food issues).
For some reason, finding a good Bao in LA has proved to be a challenging affair. Whenever I go to dim sum, all I see are those bland, sticky, white as a ghost, steamed buns.
“Not the same!”, I cry in protest.
“Stop staring at me!”, I continue to yell.
When I found out a restaurant existed with “Bao” in the title, I knew I had to pass go and not collect my $200 dollars, or however that ridiculous saying goes.
The bao itself was tasty but not really the shining star of the show.
Those deadly, juicy pork dumplings (magically filled with piping hot broth) were fantastic.
And quite adroit at burning the shit out of my mouth and had me wondering what part of my buttocks the doctors would use for the skin graft.
If you look closely at most of the pics, I’ve smothered each and every item with a fun combo of chili paste, spicy mustard and ginger.