In 2017, Shanghai’s longest-running open-air market at Tangjiawan Lu, which had provided the neighborhood with fresh produce, fish, and seasonal foodstuffs for almost 115 years, shuttered its doors. The market and much of the area around the Laoximen metro station were some of the last historical (albeit run-down) structures in an otherwise central area full of expensive new residences. Construction has already begun on the entire city block’s worth of high-rises being built in its place, and the surrounding blocks – like many of Shanghai’s backstreets – are on notice, as the wrecking balls and construction crews continue to reshape the urban landscape at an incredibly fast rate.

Sometimes a word in Chinese so perfectly captures a mood or feeling that the English approximation seems woefully inadequate. To take one example, the Chinese combine “hot” (热) and “noise” (闹) to describe the loud and lively nature of local hotspots, but in English, the best we can do is “bustling.” To experience what China’s “hot noise” is really all about, head to Wei Xiang Zhai. Not for the claustrophobic or timid, this wildly popular noodle house demands that you elbow your way to a table for your chance to slurp down a bowl of the city’s best sesame paste noodles (麻酱面, májiàng miàn). Don’t be intimidated by the Chinese-only menu here. It may look long and complicated, but over the years, the character for “sold out” (无) has become a permanent menu fixture, collecting dust and reminding diners that once, long ago, there were other options here.

Dining like a local in Shanghai often requires a small leap of faith. You have to forget about ambience and brave tough crowds with even tougher elbows to join the raucous, slurping masses with their steamers of the city’s famous soup dumplings, xiǎolóngbāo. Even with its thriving economy and sky-high construction boom, Shanghai still has a street food culture that is deliciously cheap and easy to find. To become a part of the appetizing fun, just look one street off the main road or wander into the city’s disappearing lilong (里弄, alleyways), which more often than not are teeming with Chinese pancake hawkers, wonton shops or makeshift grills emitting the smoky aroma of charred lamb kebabs.