My dumplings take after my father’s.
I don’t remember how old I was when I first learned how to make them, but my palms were small enough for our floppy, store-bought wrappers to easily drape across and over their sides. Dumplings were always a family production, our four-person assembly line wrapped around a flour-dusted dinner table. My first role was wetting the wrappers; I eventually worked my way up the ranks.
