Lai Lai on NW 23rd Street serves Cantonese dim sum and larger plates from a menu that splits cleanly between lunch carts and dinner ordering. This guide walks you through which dishes justify a trip, which are better skipped, and how pricing compares to other dim sum operations in the metro area.
Lai Lai runs traditional dim sum service from roughly 10:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. daily. Carts roll through the dining room; you flag down a server and point to what you want. Pricing clusters in two tiers: smaller steamer baskets of dumplings and buns run $3 to $4 per basket, while larger plates of fried items or noodle dishes cost $4 to $6. This is standard for Oklahoma City dim sum, where Lai Lai's cart service sits at the center of the market (neither the cheapest operation nor notably pricier).
Har gow (shrimp dumplings in wheat starch wrapper) arrive translucent and properly sealed at the top. The shrimp filling is chunky rather than paste-like, which separates competent dim sum from rushed work. Order these.
Siu mai (pork and shrimp dumplings with a visible pea on top) show restraint in seasoning. Some Oklahoma City dim sum venues over-salt this item; Lai Lai lets the pork quality come through. The wrapper sits at the right thickness.
Char siu bao (barbecue pork buns) come in two versions: steamed (white, fluffy) and baked (golden, slightly crisp exterior). The steamed version carries sweeter filling and suits diners who want comfort-food warmth. The baked version appeals to those seeking textural contrast. Neither excels at the level of dim sum in Dallas or Kansas City, but both are competent enough that you won't regret ordering them.
Taro croquette arrives in a golden-brown basket, hollow inside with a starchy sweetness. This is an occasional dish; don't plan your visit around it, but accept it if you see the cart.
Chicken foot in black bean sauce (fung zhaau) is the polarizing item. Lai Lai's version uses a light hand with the sauce, leaving the tender meat and cartilage as the dominant flavor. This is one of the few dim sum items where Oklahoma City's limited competition means Lai Lai has little pressure to either match a regional standard or differentiate aggressively. Order it if you've had it before; skip it if dim sum is new to you.
Turnip cake (law baak gou) should be crispy on the exterior and creamy within. Lai Lai's version doesn't consistently hit both marks across visits. It's worth trying once, but don't reorder if the first attempt was rubbery.
Egg custard tart (dan tat) appears near the end of lunch service. The pastry should shatter when bitten; the custard should set firmly but remain creamy. Lai Lai executes this correctly. The custard has a clean, eggless flavor that avoids the burnt-sugar notes that indicate an oven temperature that's run too hot.
After 2:30 p.m., dim sum service stops. Dinner ordering works via printed menu or point-at-menu on the wall. Prices range from $10 to $16 for most entrees.
Chow mein (crispy egg noodles with protein and vegetable) represents competent execution without invention. The noodles have sufficient wok heat to yellow slightly without burning. Chicken and shrimp versions cost the same; vegetable costs $2 less. This is a category where Oklahoma City lacks serious depth: Lai Lai's offering is the most consistent option, but it's not destination-level cooking.
Seafood clay pot combines shrimp, squid, and white fish with bok choy in a dark soy-based sauce. The clay pot itself matters here: it should be scorching hot, and the food should arrive still bubbling around the edges. Lai Lai's clay pot service is reliable. For $13, this dish represents better value than the noodles because the protein quality matters more and Lai Lai sources adequate-to-good shrimp. Squid can be tough at dim sum restaurants that don't rotate their freezer stock; here it's usually tender.
Roasted duck (half or whole) comes with a thin, crackling skin and meat that pulls cleanly from the bone. This is a carry-trade item: Lai Lai sources the duck from a commissary rather than roasting on-site. The quality is stable but not exceptional. Order this if you've exhausted the dim sum cart and want something warm; don't plan a trip specifically for duck.
Salt and pepper squid: the squid here is thinner-cut than in the clay pot and arrives fried and dusted with salt, white pepper, and scallion. The exterior stays crisp longer than typical, which speaks to decent oil temperature. At $11, this is the most singular dish on the dinner menu, and it's the one item where Lai Lai's execution noticeably outpaces other casual Cantonese restaurants in the metro.
Lai Lai works best for dim sum lunch (10:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m.), where the cart service and basket pricing let you sample multiple items. Arrive before noon to catch the full variety; after 1:30 p.m., carts thin out noticeably. Dinner service is competent but undistinguished; if you're coming for dinner, order the salt and pepper squid or the seafood clay pot and accept that you're eating functional Cantonese cooking, not refined cooking. The dim sum experience is the argument for the trip.
