I Scientifically Measured KFC's New Soup Dumplings

KFC has launched a limited run of soup dumplings in China. They are now available everywhere except Hainan (Covid, probably) and... Shanghai.

So this holiday weekend, I did what any regular person who is just a little bit into soup dumpling math would do — I went to Suzhou to measure them with a scale and calipers.

If you're not following along, I started a project nearly ten years ago called The Shanghai Soup Dumpling Index, where I applied precise measurements to various soup dumplings from 52 different shops. In 2015, I published the results and got on TV because of it. I've been trying to live it down ever since.

But KFC pulled me out of retirement. It was never a question. As soon as I saw the ad, I knew it was happening.

The night before my Suzhou trip, I started packing. Scissors? Yes. Digital scale that measures to the hundreth of a gram? Yes. Notepad and pen to record the weight of the meatball and soup to the gram? Yes. Calipers? Wait, where were my calipers?

I dug around in my kitchen equipment. I found my portable refractometer for measuring sugar density, I pulled out my digital pH gauge for measuring acidity, and my instant read Thermopen for highly accurate temperature readings. But the calipers, the ones I had used for years to accurately assess the thickness of soup dumpling skin? They had gone for a walk.

I say this only because it led me to a discovery that, no doubt, will be useful to you at some point in your Shanghai life. Along with sushi, green groceries, and vibrators, you can also buy highly precise scientific calipers on Eleme and have them delivered to your house within an hour.

With my kit prepared, I took an early morning train to our sister city (soup dumplings only available from 6-10am) and stopped at the first KFC I saw. It was at the train station. Soup dumplings weren't on the printed menu but they were in stock.

I conducted a bit of due diligence on the cashier.

Were the dumplings frozen?

Yes, they were.

Were they steamed or microwaved to heat them up?

They were heated in an oven.

This was not looking good. I ordered three sets of six (15.5rmb each). Twenty seconds later, they were ready, on the counter, in the disposable aluminum trays that airline food usually comes in. This was looking worse.

KFC has said they have produced 12 million soup dumplings, or two million sets, and when they sell out, they are gone. I was under no illusion that they suddenly hired thousands of Shanghainese ayis and assigned them a spot in their countless locations across China (except Hainan and Shanghai), to wrap and steam soup dumplings to order.

Twelve million dumplings. That is something like the Gross Annual Soup Dumpling Industrial Output of Shanghai. It's a hell of a lot of dumplings. These would be factory made.

Still, when I opened the lid of the first tray of dumplings, I gasped a little. I have no animosity towards KFC in China. It has gotten me through many Chinese countryside meals and train journeys. It cracked the code of delicious fast-food congee and bought and perfected the recipe for Portugese egg tarts. If there is a way to industrialize a soup dumpling and maintain its integrity, KFC will be the one to figure it out.

The smell came first, a clear whiff of "generic" with wheaty undertones. But what happened to the tops? Instead of pleats, the most elegant feature of a soup dumpling, there were stamped grooves in a loose imitation of pleats. The dumpling wrappers were thick and soggy from sitting around in the heater, and despite the formidable width of the skin, one had managed to break.

As I began to measure, dissecting dumplings in a corner of the second floor, I understood that breaking hardly mattered; even when intact, these soup dumplings contained almost no soup (1.33g on average).

I moved on to taking the weight of the meat, a foamy ball that smelled like wet cat food. Finally, I took out my new set of Delixi calipers and it all fell apart. In 2015 Shanghai, a good dumpling wrapper would have been about 1.25mm thick, and a great one under 1.0mm. This was KFC's biggest failure: wrappers that averaged 2.49mm.

As my Shanghainese dining companion remarked, "That's not a soup dumpling. It's a mantou."

In KFC's defense, they are not the only dumpling shop to offer such a thick skin.

Before Nanxiang Mantou Dian in the Yuyuan Garden complex renovated, the soup dumplings on the ground floor take-away had mantou-like wrappers and only a trace of soup. They also sucked.

In Nanxiang itself, today part of Jiading district, the ayis still err on the side of pudge.

But as many Shanghainese have told me, it's no longer 1975. We have options now, and Shanghai wants soup dumplings that stick to the Shanghainese mantra: thin skin, a lot of meat, a lot of soup, and a savory taste.

As a soup dumpling, prized for draping a savory meatball filling in only the barest of wrapper, KFC's fortified skin is an architectural failure. Yes, we might understand it as technically necessary to serving 12 million dumplings across China and having them stay intact. This might be the best that the current world of food engineering can do, might even be the pinnacle of 2022 industrial soup dumpling technology. As an eating experience, however, it's disappointing.

There's a reason KFC won't bring these to market in Shanghai, the soup dumpling city, and here is the mathematical proof.

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