Dim Sum and Cantonese Cooking

Yum cha means drink tea, and the tea does come first: a pot chosen at the table and refilled by tipping the lid. Then the baskets. Har gow, shrimp in a translucent wheat starch skin pleated a dozen times or more; siu mai; barbecue pork buns; rice sheets rolled and flooded with sweet soy; sticky rice steamed in lotus leaf; egg tarts; chicken feet braised soft; turnip cake crisped at the edges. Older halls still push trolleys and stamp a card, while newer ones take a ticked order sheet. Behind it sits the wider Cantonese kitchen, which trusts the ingredient: fish steamed whole with ginger and spring onion, roast goose, congee, and soups double-boiled for hours.

What you actually see

• Har gow - shrimp dumplings judged on the thinness of the skin and the count of pleats.
• The trolleys - baskets pushed between tables in the older halls and chosen by sight.
• Cheung fun - rice sheets rolled around shrimp or beef and flooded with sweet soy.
• The tea itself - pu'er or chrysanthemum, topped up by lifting the lid off the pot.

When to go

Morning tea runs from around six to eleven, and the early end is when the regulars come and the kitchen is at its sharpest. Weekends are packed, with numbered waits at the door and shared tables inside. Autumn is the pleasant season in Guangzhou. An evening service exists but is a lesser thing.

Honest expectations

Menus and order sheets are frequently Chinese only, so pointing at a trolley is easier than reading. Feet, tripe and offal appear alongside the familiar baskets. Weekend waits of forty minutes are normal at the known halls, tables are shared with strangers and the noise is considerable. Hotel dining rooms charge several times a neighbourhood teahouse.

Nearby

Guangzhou's old Xiguan lanes and the Pearl River waterfront are the usual walk afterwards.