You might think, especially if approaching from behind, that a morning line 30 people deep was for the bus (or buses, as there are at least two that share this stop). But no, it's for the steamed bun seller.

I'm pretty sure the local Starbucks doesn't get this kind of line.

Yes, there are more. These ones are my faaaavorite.

Also pork, but not much broth. Both steamed and fried (simultaneously), so they have the crispy underside and the soft upper. Aside from not being soup dumplings, they also differ from the other dumplings in shape: they're closer to a crescent or half-moon shape than spherical. They're don't have the sweet tinge of sheng jian bao, and they're not quite the same taste as the xiao long bao, although I'm at a loss to describe the difference.

Guo tie aren't exclusive to this part of China, and are the dumplings that you're most likely to find in other parts of the world (they're also related to Japanese gyoza -- and, sadly, to the disturbingly named "Peking ravioli" that you find in New England), although the quality and contents can vary tremendously.

When I said "these" are my favorite, I meant the ones in the picture, from this vendor. He stands in an open stall, facing the sidewalk, so that the dumplings (and their aroma) are smack next to you. Best. Advertisement. Ever.

These are the other (xiao long bao) Shanghai dumplings I mentioned. They have a thinner, less bread-like skin, and you dunk (or douse) them in vinegar before consuming. They're only steamed, no frying involved, but I would hesitate to call them a health food. Still, they're delightful. I actually like these better than the sheng jian bao, but it's just a personal preference. I'd definitely take either over most of the other food here!

I believe I've confessed that Shanghainese cuisine is not all that much to my liking. As with all good rules, however, there are exceptions. In this case, little meat-and-soup-stuffed exceptions.

Along with various seafood dishes (hairy crabs in the autumn), the fatty pork, and the overuse of sugar, salt, and oil, this part of China is also known for a couple kinds of dumplings: xiao long bao and sheng jian bao. They're both soup dumplings, but not the kind where the dumpling is served in soup -- in these cases, the broth is actually inside the dumpling. Both are traditionally made with pork, but you can sometimes get different meat or seafood fillings.

The little white bumps in the giant wok at the foreground of this picture are sheng jian bao. The outer skin is a thick dough; inside is a ground-pork meatball, and the resulting broth from its cooking inside the dough. The dumplings are both steamed and pan-fried, which means the dough is soft on top, crispy on bottom (and good for holding in the soup). The amount of soup in the dumpling is significant, or "enough to squirt all over your shirt if you're not paying attention."

The way most people eat both of these kinds of dumplings is to bite a small opening in the skin, let the steam escape and the soup cool a bit, and then consume. Biting straight into the dumpling usually results in either a seriously burned tongue, or soup flying in one or more directions (if you're lucky, merely leaking down onto your plate).

I took this photo on a food street where this little stall does so much business that it cloned itself, such that there are two of the same shop within about 20 metres of each other, both with long (but fast-moving!) lines. It takes the army of 5 or 6 dumpling makers behind the server to just about keep up with the pace of the line, but given the limited space in there (there's also the actual cook just to the right of the photo), it's a very smooth operation. And the dumplings are... mmmm, dumplings. 

One of the things I did in Hoi An was take a cooking class. If you've never taken a cooking class, let me give you this tip -- you get to eat all the food at the end (or sometimes, throughout). And they use good ingredients, so you really can't mess anything up too badly.

Among the dishes we learned to make was, of course, pho (yes, it's pronounced fuh; it doesn't rhyme with no). We took a bit of a shortcut by not boiling the stock for 8 hours, but we did do the rice noodles from scratch. Essentially, you mix rice flour and water until it looks like papier mache liquid, and then you scoop it onto that setup on the right, so that it forms a little steamed pancake. Then you gently pick it up, fold it into layers, and slice. It's actually pretty simple, provided you have the right setup, but a bit time-consuming. It turns out that pho vendors in Vietnam leave the noodle-making to others, and just buy the noodles to dunk in the soup. I'm thinking if it's not worth it to them to make their own, the chances of my making them anytime soon are very low indeed.

OK, so now that you know the route, we can get going. How about we start with the food?  Highlights from the two weeks over on the food page, conveniently broken into two parts (UPDATE: Links fixed. Apologies for the annoyance; there appears to be a new bug in the system). Convenient for whom?  Let's just say it's you.

Spot the animal LT in Big C did not eat while in Yunnan... Give up?  Guess you'll have to check the food updates.

Well, I've found internet, but the connection appears to be pretty poor, so this will be a short post in case it never makes it.

I'm spending about a week and a half traveling around Yunnan province, which is in southwestern China -- east of Tibet, south of Sichuan, and north of Vietnam/Laos/Myanmar. There's been some amazing scenery, and even Kunming, the largest city, is markedly different from Shanghai -- more relaxed, less honking, less construction and therefore better air, and not quite as dense (although the city is still 2.5million people, plus 2.5M again in the suburbs).

But never mind the city -- I've been logging some serious highway time getting shuttled from city to sights to city. This is helped by the fact that buses can only go about 60km an hour on the highways, so that a 330km trip today took us about 5 hours. This is normal.

Anyway, I deemed yesterday Rural Domesticated Animal Day. On a 40-min drive between two scenic points, I counted no fewer than 7 horses/donkeys, 27 oxen (including a baby with parents), and about 6 dozen goats, plus approximately one herding dog per dozen goats.

Also, I ate peacock for the first time. It was better in kebab form than in the ground-meat stirfry dish.

That's all I've got for now. With any luck, I'll be able to get this post up and another sometime before the week is out.

Yes, that really is what it's called (chou doufu, in Chinese). It's fermented, and to call it "stinky" is to be extremely generous.

It had been a while since I'd encountered this stuff in any strength, and my first run-in this time around was in Hong Kong, over Chinese New Year. My cousin and I had turned off of one of the main roads in Mongkok to enter a big outdoor shopping area, and before we rounded the corner, I got a whiff of something that my brain first dismissed as rotting garbage. There was an empty lot across the street to our right, and I figured the smell might be coming from there. But as we made our way up the block toward the pedestrian mall, the smell got stronger, and started to conjure up images of raw sewage. The aroma got so intense that I started to gag, and I finally turned to my cousin and asked, "God, that's horrible -- what IS that?!" She nodded up ahead to a stall with people lined up three deep, and said "stinky tofu."

People who eat the stinky tofu swear that it's delicious. Some of them, despite acknowledging that it smells terrible, claim not to smell it while they're eating it (I have a cousin who falls in this category). I have no idea how this is possible, although I will say that some stinky tofu is much stinkier than others. The batch in Hong Kong was especially potent, at least compared to what I've smelled around Shanghai -- no small feat considering that it was about 50 degrees when I was in Hong Kong, while Shanghai has for some time now been seeing the temperatures at which urban smells really ripen and take on a special full-bodied texture.

I wish I could tell you what those bowls next to the frying tofu in the picture above are, but I can't. Even the stinky-tofu-loving cousins couldn't identify them either; they're not toppings standard in Hong Kong or Singapore. I'm not sure whether they're standard here, or particular to this cart. Sorry.

For those of you who want a more elaborate description from someone who's actually tried it (sorry, smell and taste are far too intrinsically linked for me; I can barely get within two feet of it), I like this guy's summary (do not read while eating!). Also includes references in the comments for any Californians who want to try it out for themselves, although there's no guarantee of currency. I have in fact heard of some places in the Bay Area having to shut down their stinky tofu operations because of complaints (disturbing the peace?  nuisance violations? I don't know).

I lied. Some more short Singapore posts (sushi & stingray) added to the food page. If you're reading this in the US and haven't already done so... call your mother. (Incidentally, Mother's Day is not a traditional celebration here, but it's starting to catch on. I don't know whether people take their mothers out to lunch, give them flowers, or what, but I did see a sale ad the other day. As far as infiltration of American holidays goes, though, Valentine's Day is way ahead so far. I think chocolate may have something to do with it.)