Tom’s BaoBao: A Steamy Proposition

Say what you will about Tom’s BaoBao, but whoever writes its marketing copy is doing a stellar job. A brief, inconspicuous sign posted by the door of BaoBao, one of the Square’s newest eateries, promises an experience as metaphysical as it is gustatory.

“Bao shimmers like a pearl,” the sign croons. “Bao gives in,” it coos. “Find the sublime in the juicy borders,” it exhorts. When you sniff good bao, the sign counsels, “you should be able to exalt in its subtle aromas, just like a fine glass of burgundy.”

The food-as-fulfillment trope, a leading fad among College undergrads in recent years, is a centerpiece at Tom’s BaoBao. Despite the hyperbolic hype-building, though, the end product, though passable and even tasty, does not quite live up to its billing.

A brief note for the culinarily uninitiated: Baozi, or bao, as they’re popularly known, are pale, steamed dumplings generally about the size of a fist stuffed with any of a variety of meat and vegetable fillings. Baobao founder Tom Tong, according to a 40-second sizzle reel on the restaurant’s website, started his business as a way of “resurrect[ing] the forgotten art... of bao making”, and putting the “art of traditional bao-making... on display.”

Walking into the store for the first time, a customer could be forgiven for thinking it was a Chipotle-style “build-your-own” endeavour. Lined up right by the entrance behind a glass partition are three workers (or “Baoists” as the marketing personnel have christened them) preparing the raw bao for the bamboo trays in which they will be steamed.

There is something undeniably zoo-like about the Baoists. In their glass enclosure, they feed the dough through some sort of kneading machine, measure out balls of the stuff, weigh the balls on a digital scale, flatten the balls into circles, stuff the dough circles with filling, weigh the dough and filling combined on yet another digital scale, and finally twist the dough into a familiar scalloped clothing around the top of the dumpling. There’s a temptation to tap the glass to see how they might react.

Given the meticulous care with which they construct each bao, though, one wonders how the final product can suggest so much carelessness. The filling-to-dough ratio is wonky, leaving far too many bites in which the overriding taste is unflavored, unadulterated dough. The Reuben bao, part of a sort of fusion cuisine theme that’s prevalent throughout Tom’s menu, is tangy, cheesy, and overall pretty good, but that’s about it.

Perhaps these flaws can be put down to growing pains, and the restaurant does have that undeniably charming air of an eatery just starting out. Whether Tom’s can survive the constant, business-destroying churn of Harvard Square capitalism, though, will depend on whether it can elevate its already-decent offering to the mythic heights that its marketing materials and sizzle reels seem to promise.