Shambhala Restaurant
Happy to add another dumpling type to the bucket list, if only I knew ye sooner. — Shambhala Restaurant
You know, up until this point I don’t think that I’d ever eaten Tibetan food before. Shame on me for ignoring the Tibetan Momo Bar stall whenever I used to go down to the Ithaca Farmer’s Market. Consider this my apology.
Despite not having had it, and moreover not really knowing what it was, I get the feeling that the momo has been stalking me for quite some time. That, or it’s been on the rise and I just so happen to be in the habit of surrounding myself with Asian cuisine whenever possible. Honestly, whenever the word comes up I can’t help but think of the little lemur companion from Avatar (not the James Cameron one), and I can’t see myself eating lil’ ol’ Momo!
So consider me pleasantly surprised when I was invited out to lunch at Shambhala Restaurant in Queens. After a decent length commute, not to mention the several laps that I did just trying to find the damn place, I found myself at a cute little establishment. Pictures depicting rural Tibetan life gave some history to the interior. Glass bottles of chili oil adorned the tables. Classic affair.
For once I yielded taking the charge on ordering, letting my more versed companion shepherd the way through the menu. When our three dishes had arrived, there was a beautiful plate of steamed dumplings among them. Was the fabled momo really just a close friend this whole time? Short story even shorter: Yeah.
Having been properly educated in the field, the momo surge makes a whole lotta sense. I’d describe a momo as a halfway between a baozi and a soup dumpling. Stocky, juicy (so much so that I left the restaurant wearing some of the beef broth after one overzealous bite), addictive. Like with soup dumplings, you’ve gotta start with a halfway bite, making a channel so that all of the marbled juices inside can flow freely. It’s a three step process: Bite. Slurp. Gorge. It’s tastier than I make it sound, I swear.
Main event aside, we also ordered a spicy cucumber salad (though I think they went easy on us with the spice) and a stir-fried noodle dish. I’m struggling to find the names or any online version of the restaurant menu, so hopefully these photos will help connect the dots where I can’t.
The cucumber salad was dressed in the flavors of toasted sesame and a mild chili heat, acting as a great palate cleanser between dishes, not to mention just being refreshing yet still flavorful on its own. It shares a lot of qualities with Chinese smashed cucumber salad actually.
Apparently Sichuan influence has reached many Tibetan establishments lately, which does work to explain some of the familiarity in flavors. There wasn’t quite that distinct zap on the tongue from Sichuan peppercorns, but the desire for heat definitely struck a chord.
Departing from the restaurant, sufficiently fed, I told myself to remember the momos this time. Proving my earlier suspicions, I walked past a number of momo vendors on my way back to the subway, steam wafting through the air as if I hadn’t just eaten. Don’t taunt me further momos. I said I was sorry! We will meet again some day, I promise.
And whenever that day does come, it’ll be more momo for me (mo).
[It turns out that Momo (the lemur) is actually named after the Japanese word for peaches! Still wouldn’t eat the little guy…probably.]
