Our children have shared the toy box at kindergarten. They've been in the same classes at primary school. We've said 'hello' and 'how are you?' for years on the playground. But I've never been to your house and you've never been to mine.
That is, until the day you invited me over to make chicken dumplings (or did I invite myself over?). Making dumplings takes time. All day in fact, particularly if you're going to make hundreds. You might as well.
After we'd made the pastry, chopped the bok choy, prepared the chicken mixture, hung out a load of washing, pinched together the dumplings and finally sit down to eat them, I think it's fair to say we knew each other a whole lot better.
I find out that you love cooking. And that we both want the best for our children. Two deliciously primal instincts that we share.
I also learn that you're from Szechuan province, the home of spicy hot pots. Dumplings are not really eaten there - a friend from northern China showed you how to make the little darlings we're working on today.
I try to mimick your chopping movements with the Chinese cleaver.
'Not bad,' you say.
I don't do so well with rolling out the pastry, which you make look so easy. You laugh at my first clumsy efforts to twist the pastry with one hand as I roll with the rolling pin in the other. I almost get there in the end.
And just like the time I made spanakopita at thiea Giorgias, I walk away with sated belly and arms laden with packages to take home. Thank you Xian for your generous kitchen and delicious dumplings!
Download Xian's chicken dumplings
