A Dumpling Story

Once upon a time there was a girl with a car living in downtown Chicago. This girl had a friend who needed to pick up a bridesmaid’s dress on the other side of hell, so the girl offered to drive her, rather than let her friend trudge all over holding an expensive dress over her head to keep it clean through many bus transfers and a train ride or two. And because they’d drunk an inordinate amount of wine the night before, the girl and her friend were craving hangover food, so they went to pick up Chinese from a well-loved restaurant in the friend’s old neighborhood, which was near the bridal store.

As a thank you for the ride, the friend bought the girl some of the restaurant’s famous boiled dumplings, which she took home to share with her husband. It is important to note here that the sauce makes the dumplings. Say it with me now. The sauce makes the dumplings.

They only give you one tiny container of sauce.

The girl and her husband were so excited that they immediately ate a few dumplings, had a foodgasm or two, and decided to save the rest for later. At some point, the husband forgot there were more dumplings to consume and he THREW AWAY THE REST OF THE DELICIOUS SAUCE. THE SAUCE THAT TOTALLY MAKES THE DUMPLINGS.

The girl became disproportionately angry and may or may not have shouted at her husband (um, a lot), who was very confused about why this was such a big deal. He was sorry! It was just sauce!

But the girl wasn’t sure she could ever forgive him.

She stormed away and ignored her husband for a long time, fuming until he won her back with a homemade dinner (pork chops with pomegranate shallot sauce and Pioneer Woman’s crash potatoes) (OMFG.)

Later that evening the girl ate the rest of the dumplings without the beloved sauce. Because she is a motherfucking champ like that.

The End.

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