Review: Ocean City

The economy is in the dumps, the weather’s turning colder and, with the election over, we no longer have the fleece blanket-like comfort of Wolf Blitzer’s nightly prognostications to wrap ourselves in. It’s a bleak time indeed, and the temptation might be to curl up in fetal-position and simply wait for the end of days to whisk us away.

There’s another option, of course. Head on down to Chinatown’s Ocean City, pull up a Sunday-morning chair in the simply decorated, always-crowded dining room and drown your sorrows in dim sum. No matter how grim the rest of the world might be, I’d venture to say that you would need some sort of emotional Kevlar covering your muscles and bones to not find yourself at least the slightest bit sunnier upon leaving the place.

Such is the power of dim sum, especially as it’s being done at this humble spot right next to the legendary Sang Kee. As readers of this column know, I’ve been in an extended period of mourning since Lakeside Chinese Deli closed its doors, and engaged in a search, the results of which have been reported right here, for some sort of replacement. And while I’m not yet convinced that Ocean City will ever take Lakeside’s place in my grease-pumping heart, it has come closer than anything else in town—a pretty solid distinction.

Navigating the path from the front door to your table can be reminiscent of Frogger, and may very well necessitate some pretty slick hip-swivels and Brian Westbrook-like pivot moves in order to avoid the gleaming metal carts as they’re being pushed from table to table. But the effort is worth it, the reward being an hour-long gorge-fest that will not only fill your belly, but also, happily, leave your wallet pretty much intact, too.

The best offerings here are either deceptively simple dishes that rely on a few exquisitely prepared components, or savory, complex affairs whose intellectual challenge is shockingly enjoyable at brunchtime.

A translucent wrapper cocooned fragrant, almost miraculously tender shrimp. Just a quick drag through the soy sauce, or perhaps a miniscule dollop of hot chile, and it was ready to go. This, I think, was the one version Bubba Gump forgot to mention: dim sum shrimp. Shame on him for such a glaring omission.

Sticky rice dumpling was studded with tiny bits of pork that perfumed the entire assembly. And the rice, though certainly as starchy as you’d expect, wasn’t overly gluey, and as a result maintained a sense of texture that most versions of it ordinarily lack. Turnip cake, too, stood out for its brave straightforwardness. The inside was tofu-soft, the outside crusted and nutty, the flavor a pitch-perfect expression of its main ingredient. This was like the ultimate potato latke, but…well, you know, Chinese. And made of turnip. And not really for Hanukkah. But aside from that, pretty similar.

Even the sweet tofu found success in its almost monk-like refusal to peddle in the extraneous. It was nothing more, really, than silky soft tofu and a lightly sweet sugar-water, scooped from a wooden bucket atop the cart, served in a small rice bowl and enjoyed exactly as it was. It reminded me of a particularly restrained Chinese riff on the Indian dessert gulab jamun, but without either the aromatic element or the high-toned sweetness.

The fried fish—there’s a lot of guesswork involved in deciphering what you’re eating here, as details are few and far between—were lightly battered, pinky-sized baby sardines with a little ant-hill of chile salt in the center. Philosophically, they bear a striking resemblance to the fried frogs at Tai Lake around the corner, which is a very good thing indeed—those meaty amphibians are the best in town. As for these little swimmers, they were simple, salty and delicious.

Other dishes, like the shrimp and bean curd, worked because of their complexity. These looked like steamed spring rolls with their leafy, flappy wrappers. But biting into them revealed an entirely different world of flavor and texture, including an almost brothy use of soy sauce and an understated sweetness that was countered perfectly by a quick hit of chile.

Tripe and pork dumpling was the highlight, its nutty-crisp top leading the way to a Chinese-broccoli crunch and an element of scallion aromatics that was nothing short of addictive. Clams with black bean sauce tended in the direction of the fishy, but in the fish-sauce way and not the off-putting one. If the flavors on the ocean end of the spectrum are your thing, then this is a must-taste dish. Flag down that cart and grab two.

Especially if you’ll be ordering the sautéed pinpoint noodles, which, though perfectly fine on their own—how bad can a big glutinous plate of pasta, egg drops, sesame seeds and scallions be?—only achieved their true potential when anointed with the juice those clams were marooned in.

Most of us crave comfort food in times of hardship—economic, emotional or otherwise—and dim sum plays that role to the hilt. Even better is the price of such indulgence here. A recent Sunday-morning visit, during which my guests and I chewed through 13 different offerings, came out to $50, including tip. For that kind of money, and for food this tasty, you’d be hard pressed to find a better deal in town. Or, for that matter, one more appropriate for the times. Maybe we don’t need Wolf Blitzer after all.

Visit Ocean City

Photos by Dave Hong