One out of five white people in the entire restaurant – I was the minority for once. Twice the average Asian man’s size, I towered over my waiter as I was seated.

After two years of eating at Happy Chef in Chicago’s China Town, I feel like I can blend right in.

Granted, I am not Asian, and never will be, despite my friends’ continuous efforts to convert me with their Korean dramas and newfound Dance Dance Revolution obsession.

Growing up with Chinese, Filipino and Korean friends, Asian culture has always played a role in my life. And the best way to embrace any culture, I believe, is to try out their cuisine.

And that’s what I’ve done with my friends the last few years. Whenever we had a free afternoon, I would drive us all to China Town for a bite and some shopping. After trying out a few restaurants, Happy Chef became our regular hot spot.

It wasn’t long before my love for dim sum developed.

In light of Asian Awareness Month, the Taiwanese-American Student Club hosted “Dim Sum Night: A Culinary How To” at their cultural center in Urbana, Wednesday night. It was free and open to the public.

There I learned that dim sum, which means “to touch the heart” in Cantonese, was originally a Chinese food and has spread to many Asian countries as well as the United States.

The tasty treats come in hand-held sizes, and three or four are served per dish. Our Happy Chef waiter would lay all our dishes out on a spinning platform in the middle of our table, and we would dig in.

Never before had I known exactly how they cooked my favorite dishes. At dim sum night, I made the food myself. Members of the Taiwanese group had stations set up where visitors made different types of dim sum with their direction and pre-made ingredients.

The first table had dumplings. I grabbed a thin, circular sheet of dough about the size of my palm and placed a small spoonful of meat mixed with green onions and chopped carrots into the middle. My instructor said a common mistake is to put too much stuff inside, causing the casing to break when cooked. I mournfully spooned half my carrots back into the bowl.

I wet the dough’s edges with some water, making them stick when I folded the concoction in half. Typically you would pinch little creases in the dough, giving the dumpling a wavy look. I’m not that talented so my sad little dumpling joined the other ones students had made.

They can be deep-fried like spring rolls, or boiled. The instructors took the food to the kitchen where other Taiwanese group members were hustling to cook them and put them out for everyone to taste.

My favorite type of dim sum is the steamed barbecue pork bun, or Siao Pao in Filipino. I kneaded out a clump of dough into a larger circle. I was told to make the edges thinner than the middle, so again, it wouldn’t break. The small bits of barbecued pork was already cooked. You close the meat in, creating what looks like a ball of dough that you pinch together at the top.

These are steamed in bamboo bins, fluffing out the dough. At restaurants, they’re placed on top of a small, thin piece of paper that sticks to the bottom. The first time I ordered Siao Pao at Happy Chef, I mistakenly ate the paper. My Asian friends shook their heads in disappointment.

Lucky for me, these buns went strait into the steamers- no paper added. It’s the best tasting of all the different types of dim sum. The dough is thick and very sweet, like the sauce.

Learning how to pick up these odd shaped items with chopsticks makes the entire process all the more invigorating and occasionally frustrating. I can’t count how many times my dim sum has plopped into my lap because I don’t hold the sticks right.

But don’t give up, because eating dim sum with forks is plain sinful.