Like many of the culinary love stories that preceded this one, my first memory of Shanghai soup dumplings was set in a long-forgotten restaurant in a tiny corner of my hometown. My mother and sister, sensing a golden opportunity to play me for a fool, ordered a basket of dumplings and let me eat the first one. When I bit into that perfectly onion-domed parcel, hot broth poured down my chin and onto my lap. I hadn't had my face melted off like that since my ill-advised death-metal phase. Dumplings: 1, Me: 0.

I've had soup dumplings numerous times since then, but the embarrassment I felt still flares up like an unwelcome rash every time that bamboo basket hits my table. Strangely enough, I had forgotten the whole ordeal by inadvertently avoiding the dish, which isn't at all common in the Chinatown-less Twin Cities. At the new-ish Szechuan Spice in Uptown, the dumplings finally caught up with me under a catchy alias: "Shanghai Mini Juicy Buns."

For the uninitiated, Shanghai soup dumplings (also known as xiaolongbao) are generally golf-ball-sized buns that contain a filling of pork, crab, or both along with about a tablespoon of broth. They originated, logically, in Shanghai, on the eastern coast of mainland China, and have become a very popular dim sum dish in the United States in the past 20 years. Here, the dish is served in the typical way, steamed and presented in a basket.

Now here's where you should pay attention to avoid the soup dumpling tragedy. The proper protocol is to use a spoon to carefully pick one up. Bite off the top of the bun and blow into the hole to cool the soup. At this point, you may pour some gingered rice vinegar into it, but you should probably try it unadorned your first time. Once the broth is sufficiently cooled, suck it out and eat the whole thing.

At Szechuan Spice, the "juicy buns" come in either the pork or crab variety ($6.50-$8). Their rendition is absolutely addicting. The wrapping is perfectly tender, with the slightest bit of tackiness, and the meat fillings are minced so fine that they surrender easily to even the most ambivalent bite. The pork filling was much more flavorful than the crab, but the broth in each was consistently silky-smooth and rich-tasting. At $6.50 for six dumplings, I could see myself biking through sleet and snow for a takeout order, despite the very likely probability of their bursting in my backpack like little soupy grenades.

One intriguing question: How do they get the soup in the dumplings? In addition to the meaty filling, uncooked dumplings already contain the broth in gelatinous form. This allows the cook to neatly shape and close the dumplings. As the dish is steamed, the heat melts the gelatin back into liquid. A good cook will be able to make a wrapper that walks the line between a delicate texture and a tough constitution that can hold the soup without breaking.

Szechuan Spice's "Shanghai Mini Juicy Buns" are perfect for diners who love their dim sum served with a side of danger.

The churn

The Town Hall Brewery is getting into the neighborhood pub business with the Town Hall Tap (4810 Chicago Av. S., Mpls. 612-822-1449), a (shockingly) beer-centric spot with 24 taps. General manager Scott Krebsbach said the menu would include specialty burgers, paninis, appetizers and a few entrees "made as much from scratch as possible -- corn our own beef, stuff like that. We want to make it less deep-fried, but we'll still have chicken wings. It'll be an upscale sandwich place."