The ringing of twin copper bells held together by a thin length of red string announces our arrival at Mayflower Bakery. On this sunny Friday morning, the back of the restaurant has been converted (to the grudging acceptance of the owners) into a makeshift mahjong parlor. While the bakery doesn’t serve dim sum in the traditional sense, Cantonese folks around the world know that dim sum is more about the lifestyle—sustained by free–flowing tea, snacks, and gossip. A proudly local establishment at the heart of Philly’s Chinatown, this cash–only bakery doesn’t advertise or deliver—choosing instead to sit comfortably atop its impeccable buns.
A warm, lightly sweet aroma wafts from the kitchen. Strong enough to knock you over, its arrival is announced on enormous iron trays of fresh–baked pastries of every color and taste—from savory meat floss rolls to milky sweet custard buns. A dazzling array of colored cakes and other sweets also decorate the display case. These treats distinguish themselves more by texture than taste—some fluffy and airy, others dense and indulgent. To wash it all down, the shop pours a fantastic Hong Kong–style milk tea, which is aerated by “pulling” the tea—back and forth, cup to cup, from up high.
I order the pineapple bun—named for its sweet, cracked, pineapple–looking shell but containing no actual pineapple. The bun is still hot out of the oven as I bite into the golden–yellow cookie layer on top with a satisfying crunch and am pleasantly surprised to find it to be richly sweet without being greasy. My only disappointment is that the buns are not served with a slice of butter inside, the way I remember enjoying them in Hong Kong. The curry chicken turnover (another Hong Kong staple) has cooled somewhat by the time I eat it, but the filling is generous, flavorful, and protected by a wonderfully flaky shell. The highlight, however, is the egg tart, which is filled with a smooth and surprisingly light custard. I could have eaten at least a thousand!
Finished with my afternoon tea, I chat with the staff about the origin of the bakery’s name. Mayflower … perhaps some connection to the ship that famously transported the Pilgrims to America? The kindly Cantonese aunties I speak with are not exactly WASPs, but maybe they feel some commonality in the immigrant experience? “Not at all,” they reply. It is a pretty flower with an English name that rolls off the tongue.
Simple enough. This is not a high–concept establishment with a lengthy origin story behind each and every dish. Instead of a leather–bound folio, the menu is slapped on the wall with big red block letters in a font last used for ’90s TVB serials. That said, it probably won’t win any James Beard Awards or attract influencers looking to see and be seen with their favorite Labubu.
In the end, that’s what makes Mayflower Bakery special: People light up when they walk in, fresh off a smoke break at the restaurant next door. One holds the door open for a partner of 30 years with a smile; another shares their excitement about a new job with the rest of the bakery.
In the half hour we’re there, we see people from all walks of life. The pastries may be uniquely Cantonese, but sitting there in the morning sun, we find it’s hard not to feel at home—regardless of how your reflection looks in the wall–length mirror that’s just there to make the small space feel larger.
TL;DR: Entirely unassuming, Mayflower Bakery is serving up sweet and savory Cantonese pastries to all.
Location: 1008 Race St.
Price: $
Hours: 7 a.m.–6 p.m. Monday–Sunday
