Sleepy-eyed, I would watch him slide portions off the skewers to wedge between the soft white buns: a medallion of char siu (barbecued pork), a hunk of chicken liver, a slab of pork fat—all of which had been brushed with a honey-soy sauce glaze and flashed under the restaurant's broiler. Even with its bun, it was a mess to eat. The sauce stuck to our teeth, and oil slipped down our forearms. But was it tasty. First, there was the subtle smokiness of the pork; the smooth chicken livers added a metallic zing; and the moist bits of fat burst inside our mouths.

From the early 1920s on, at restaurants with roasting ovens, gold coins—a reference to the tidbits' circular shape and two-bite size—were stacked high on platters like doubloons, a means of using leftover meat. They were favored by laborers who saw the hearty parcels as a way to sustain their energy. But by the end of the 20th century, a new generation of diners had dismissed the dish as unrefined. Slowly, gold coins became less common, and the extra bits were reserved for staff meals instead. But I still have a favorite place where I go for a fix: the Manor Restaurant, a dim sum specialist that roasts its own meats. I make sure to cozy up to the chef there so he'll prepare me an extra-thick portion of gold coins, with double the filling.