September in Shanghai has a smell, but it isn't a food smell, not yet. It's the humidity finally breaking, the last of the summer heat loosening its grip on the streets, and one morning you notice the wet markets have all put out the same new sign …
阅读全文 →I was nine years old, standing on tiptoe outside a shop on Yunnan Road with my grandfather, watching a man in a white apron arrange sixty raw white …
阅读全文 →It’s 2am. You’ve just gotten off a late conference call with the Redmond office — the kind where you spent forty minutes explaining the …
阅读全文 →The smell hits you before the door opens. Soy sauce and caramelized sugar, star anise and ginger, pork fat rendering slow. You’re six years old …
阅读全文 →The bamboo lid comes off and the steam rushes up in a thick white column. Through the fog, you see them: eight perfect dumplings, each wearing …
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