Truffles and gold leaf can’t save dim sum: What the masters know

(Photos provided by Summer Pavilion unless otherwise stated.)

If you’ve ever wondered what separates good dim sum from unforgettable dim sum, the answer lies not in gold leaf, truffle or fancy Instagram-worthy shapes. It lies in the hands that make it — fingers that know exactly when to press, when to fold and when to let go.

For me, those hands belong to 66-year-old Dim Sum Chef Ling Chung Tak of one-Michelin-starred Summer Pavilion at The Ritz-Carlton, Millenia Singapore. He has spent more than 50 years perfecting the translucent skin of a har gow (crystal shrimp dumplings) — and still believes he can make it better.

For over a decade, I have kept returning to his dim sum. I trust his hands and the quiet care he folds into each petite parcel. Chef Ling works unseen, never seeking the limelight. For him, the greatest reward is not the Michelin stars on the wall but when guests order the same dish again and again, and ask to da bao (打包) to take home.

The roots of yum cha in Guangdong

To understand what drives masters like Chef Ling, it helps to look back at where dim sum began. Literally meaning “to touch the heart” (点心), these bite-sized morsels originated in Guangdong province along ancient trade routes, where humble teahouses offered weary travellers light refreshments to accompany their tea.

The custom of gathering to chat, conduct business and share small bites over tea stretches back to the Tang dynasty, when Silk Road travellers would stop for tea and simple snacks. But the dim sum we know today took shape in 19th-century Guangzhou, with the rise of the “two-cent teahouses” (二厘馆) during the Xianfeng period of the Qing dynasty. 

The name was literal: a pot of tea cost just two cents. These modest establishments were humble roadside shacks, often built from tree bark and bamboo, with simple wooden tables and stools. They catered to labourers, hawkers, porters and other working-class folk, offering cheap tea, hearty, stomach-filling fare and a place of rest and community for the city’s toiling masses.

As these simple tea stalls evolved into grander teahouses, a dazzling variety of dim sum emerged. From fluffy char siew bao (steamed barbecue pork buns) to delicate rice noodle rolls and flaky pastries, these bite-sized treasures are traditionally served in bamboo steamers from pushcarts or ordered freshly made à la carte. The iconic har gow was invented in the 1920s at the Wu Cun teahouse in Guangzhou’s Wushancun district and remains the ultimate benchmark of a chef’s skill, its translucent, pleated wrapper revealing the plump shrimp within.

It is this rich heritage that Chef Ling carries with him every day in his kitchen.

A lifetime of quiet artistry

His journey in dim sum began straight out of primary school in Hong Kong, navigating the intense, high-volume teahouses of the 1970s. “They open from 6 or 7 in the morning and run dim sum all day, almost like a factory line, with everyone focused on their one step,” he recalls.

In the traditional Hong Kong dim sum kitchen, specialised stations divided the intense workload: filling masters, skin specialists, cheong fun experts, steaming specialists, and deep-fry and grill masters. 

As an apprentice, he started by mastering the prep work before ever touching a dumpling skin. “Every step was broken down into small pieces you had to master before moving on,” he explains. “Even with har gow, there are different types of prawns to learn to work with, each giving a different texture and flavour.”

After mastering the filling, Chef Ling moved on to mastering the dumpling skin, which he learned mostly by watching the chefs around him. “There was no 1-1 mentorship, and you couldn’t simply ask someone to teach you as there wasn’t a culture of open communication in the kitchen,” he recalls of his younger days in the kitchen. “To avoid getting scolded, everyone at the same rank pitched in and helped each other.”

Balancing legacy and modern flourishes

For Chef Ling, good dim sum is a harmonious balance of flavour and handcrafted texture in every bite, and it starts with hygiene and the freshest seafood and ingredients. 

“There are many dim sum restaurants out there and everyone can make dim sum. But how do you perfect all the tiny details at once? How do you make it soft, fluffy, flaky and delicate, but also full of flavour?” he asks.

He found that answer after honing his skills across kitchens in Hong Kong and Singapore, including a decade at Lei Garden before joining Summer Pavilion in 2004. The dim sum specialist now oversees every station, coaching and mentoring younger members of the team. His philosophy centres on handmade dim sum with subtle elevation rather than overt spectacle. Instead of relying on artificial colourings or dramatic shapes, Chef Ling extracts natural juices from spinach to colour green dumpling skins, red rice for blush tones, and orange peels for warm hues.

To achieve superior depth of flavour, he utilises and maintains a “mother” dough, a prized starter that predates his time at Summer Pavilion. 

“Working with the starter is much like working with a person,” Chef Ling says. “It takes time to understand its temperament, which is why I personally oversee every batch of char siew bao myself.”

Fermentation is highly localised, shaped by the specific conditions and the environment in which it is kept, which can produce noticeably different results. This natural fermentation is what gives Summer Pavilion’s char siew bao its distinctive open-face texture — a structure that commercially cultured yeast is unable to replicate. Meanwhile, another unexpected secret ingredient — preserved vegetables — adds a nuanced flavour to this savoury treat. 

While retaining classic foundations with premium ingredients like wild mushrooms, dried scallops, and lobster, Chef Ling introduces subtle modern textures, such as utilising light filo pastry for deep-fried rolls or pairing fragrant yam with sweet pumpkin.

Novelty and creative evolution

His innovations remain subtle and grounded, while chefs across Asia have embraced a more dramatic spirit of reinvention, putting their own creative spins on classic recipes, reimagining classic dim sum with bold flavours, premium ingredients, and eye-catching presentations. The results are as varied as the cultures that inspire them.

In Singapore, playful tributes to local food culture appear as butterfly pea-hued laksa seafood dumplings and otah siew mai (a variation of steamed pork and shrimp dumpling using spiced fish paste). In Malaysia, pork-free halal dim sum has opened the culture to broader multi-ethnic audiences.

Reinvention extends beyond flavour combinations in Hong Kong, where classics are elevated with premium and seasonal ingredients, such as a lobster har gow, a black truffle siew mai, or a baked pastry featuring Yunnan wild mushrooms, paired with inventive cocktails or champagne for a contemporary dim sum experience.

Everywhere, there are chefs who continue to delight diners with Instagram-worthy creations — steamed mixed mushroom buns with caps so lifelike they could be mistaken for the real thing; a goldfish-shaped dumpling; panda-shaped chicken buns; carrot-shaped glutinous rice dumplings, each one brought to life through dough, showing how dim sum is as much a feast for the eyes as it is for the palate.

Pure pursuit of tradition

While modern trends chase visual novelties for social media, true masters remind us of the unshakeable foundation required before any innovation can truly succeed.

A decade ago, Chef Mak Kwai Pui taught me much of what I need to know about dim sum. He famously left his high-paying position at three-Michelin-starred Lung King Heen to open Tim Ho Wan, a modest twenty-seat spot in Mong Kok, which went on to earn a Michelin star and expand across continents. 

I’ll never forget the earnestness in his voice — unhurried, composed, carrying the quiet certainty of a man with nothing to prove. “Cantonese dim sum is made using the Guangdong traditional way,” he said firmly. “And that is an important point to keep.” 

The world around him chases after the new and the novel but he simply stays the course, choosing to hold fast to tradition, freshness, speed and consistency.  “We don’t have any innovative dim sum,” he says matter-of-factly, “that is exactly what makes our restaurant special.”

Two masters, one heart

His reasoning is simple: when chefs chase visual flair and prioritise whimsical presentation, they thicken wrappers to hold elaborate shapes, compromising freshness and texture — the very essence of great dim sum. “Innovation is good,” he concedes, “but doing it well is another matter.”

For Chef Ling, innovation is not about chasing loud trends but an internal standard built on respect for his guests and an unwavering work ethic. 

After all these years, it would be so easy to simply do the bare minimum.

But for someone who places firm belief in time, discipline, dedication and effort as the most important fundamental traits to mastering his craft, it’s built into him to keep pushing for ways to innovate and improve, while thoughtfully allowing the dim sum tradition to breathe and evolve.

“You don’t do dim sum to become rich,” Chef Ling recalls a senior chef advising him decades ago before he moved to Singapore. “Do it for the love of the craft, and for the desire to give your guests the best, most satisfying meal you can.”

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