The man who ate 5 plates of dumplings

Have you ever eaten something so irresistible that you just wanted to keep ordering plateful after plateful? Long past the point of good sense or decorum?

That happened to me at a back-alley joint in Tokyo last week. "They serve only one thing—dumplings," announced our intrepid guide to the city, Satoko Icho. She looked awfully pleased to tell us that.

Once our small party had crowded in and taken counter seats, I found out why. The dumplings at Kameido Gyoza Honten are not just any dumplings. They are supernal exemplars of their gyoza genre. So supple and thin of skin; so feather-light of pork-and-vegetable filling; so crisped and brown on their bottom sides that they seem to laugh at the textural laws of dumplingdom. Dip one in a little sauce you make of vinegar and the restaurant's homemade hot red chili paste, and prepare to swoon.

I certainly did. These unassuming dumplings, I realized as I inhaled one after another, were among the best I had ever eaten. I couldn't remember any better. I'd had fancier dumplings, with more sophisticated fillings, but those did not spark the primal urge to gorge myself.

It was hard to believe the price, too: about two bucks the plateful. Sako, as she is informally known, originally got the recommendation from Taka, the same gentleman who was driving us that day. So the truism about cabbies and drivers knowing all the best places rides again.

"Yes, please," I nodded when the waitress came down that long, skinny counter with a questioning look, to see if I wanted another plate. Those went down the hatch in a flash, too. At the head of the horseshoe, the dumpling guy stood with his back to us, tending a mighty iron pan of sizzling oil. Music! He fried each batch a la minute and passed them down five-at-a-time to the attendant on his left.

They landed in front of us so hot we had to blow on them a little first. Just as I decided I needed another plateful—fifteen dumplings wasn't all that many, right?—I looked around at my comrades and realized they had that slowing-down look, that time-to-pay-up-and-leave demeanor. I was horrified.

"Want to split a plate?" I begged my friend Kathryn, sitting to my left. Sure, she agreed. Another friend cadged the fifth dumpling from us...noooooo, I wanted it!...which left me with a grand total of 12 dumplings under my belt.

"I could just keep going," I half-whined, as my party began the slow departure dance. They acted as if they hadn't heard me.

Then, across the room, I saw him. My hero. He was a stocky young guy in a charcoal vest and a baby blue necktie, attacking his dumplings like a man who meant business. He was sitting with a chic woman in black at one of the tables that lined the far wall. Soon I noticed he had a stack of empty plates at his elbow—that's the service style here, they keep 'em coming one on top of the other until you tell them to stop. They were piled up like badges of honor.

Enviously, I began to count. One, two, three, four, five. Twenty five dumplings! I was in awe. For all I knew, he was working on his sixth plate. He had accomplished what I had dreamed of doing, and in considerable style, too. There were a couple of hefty Asahi beer bottles set before him.

"That guy knows how to live," I announced to anyone who would listen.

I left that little restaurant with extreme reluctance. Sorrow shot through me. I felt a little panicky, even. "You'll never be back" crossed my mind.

How Western of me to want to cling to the moment and not let go. Earlier in the week, my traveling companions and I had visited assorted traditional teahouses and absorbed some of the principles governing this elaborate Japanese ritual. One of the most important: enjoy this moment, because it will never happen again.

Stepping out into the busy alleyway was a bittersweet experience. Kameida Gyoza Honten lingers in my head as a talisman, a reminder that joyous things can happen around any corner, even if you can't take them with you.

The man who ate five plates of dumplings, joshing with the staff like an old friend? I accidentally caught a photo of him stepping out into the alley just behind our party, looking mischievous and pleased with himself.

I'm convinced he'll be back there next week, doing it all over again. I bet he can eat six or seven plates of dumplings if he puts his mind to it. Maybe more.