JingFong Dimsum

Morning in Chinatown always starts the same way for me—with the sound of bamboo steamers being opened, and carts slowly moving between red tables. At Jing Fong Dim Sum, everything feels familiar, like a rhythm the city has memorized. The waiters call out in Cantonese, teacups clink, and steam curls up into the light.I sit down, watching baskets fill the table—har gow, siu mai, chicken feet, all shining under the steam. Each one looks different, each one tastes different, but somehow, together, they make sense—like the people who gather here.Families talk softly, friends laugh, strangers share tables. No one rushes. The morning stretches, slow and warm.The smell of shrimp dumplings and jasmine tea mixes in the air. It feels like home, even if you’re far away from home. Here, food is not just breakfast—it’s memory, migration, and belonging, all served in small bamboo trays.