Stories for bakeries sweet shops

Shanghai's dining scene was abuzz with controversy this fall as the Michelin Guide landed in the city for the first time ever. You can't please everyone, but no one seemed happy with the disproportionate number of Cantonese restaurants that were recognized. Thankfully, there's still plenty of delicious variety in the city, starred or not, and we continued to chow down across the price and regional spectrum.  A Da Congyoubing After 34 years of making the cult favorite scallion oil pancake, Mr. Wu was shut down by the government in September for not having the proper licenses. Thanks to the serious outcry from the city’s foodies, the district government helped him expedite his licensing, and delivery start-up Ele.me found a new spot just a couple blocks from his apartment.

Downtown Rio, full of historical monuments, colonial architecture and daytime bustle, grows emptier during the evenings. But for the last half century, one cobblestone street has given commuters a reason to stick around: sardines. Salty, crispy, scrumptious fried sardines. Sitting at the foot of the Matriz de Santa Rita church, Beco das Sardinhas (Sardine Alley) is a cluster of five bars that pour into Rua Miguel Couto, a pedestrian-only street dedicated to the little fish, and is both a favorite after-work destination and jumping-off point to downtown Rio’s nightlife. On a recent Friday evening, customers – some in suits, some in shorts and flip-flops and others dressed for a night out on the town – sat at the plastic tables that fill the alley.

When people think of rice and Spain, they think of paella. In Barcelona there are hundreds of places to eat paella. And every Thursday you can find it on the menú del día at most restaurants across the city. There’s more to Spanish rice dishes than just paella, though. The word “paella” didn’t even appear until the 18th century; recipe books from the Middle Ages talk only of rice, and particularly the Valencian and Catalan kinds. In fact, “paella” originally referred to the pan used to cook the grain, but eventually came to describe the dish as we know it: rice prepared so that the water or broth completely evaporates and sometimes is left with a toasted layer on the bottom. But enough about paella!

Rio’s bar culture is crazy for chicken. It’s common to see at bars dozens of the cooked birds laying within heated glass cases, awaiting hungry customers. The more popular the botequim, the more parts of the chicken are available. In the fancy bars of Ipanema and Leblon you can only find voluptuous breasts and legs, accompanied by salads and risottos. But in more humble botequins in the North Zone or further out in the suburbs, you’ll find gizzards, feet, beaks, and even rear ends. Yes, cu de galinha is a rare delicacy in Rio... Not only is every part of the chicken appreciated, but also all ages of the bird.

On a Sunday morning in Mexico City’s Condesa neighborhood, the few people on the street mostly jog or bike or power walk. Trainers adorn their feet, spandex hugs their thighs, dogs tug their leashes. These paragons of fitness select exercise to combat their hangovers, a choice that reflects the aspirational character of the upper-middle-class neighborhood. Many of the restaurants and cafes in the neighborhood encourage these health-centric lifestyles, as “natural this” and “green that” and “vegan blah blah blah” stores appear on every block. But like a chocolate chip cookie infiltrating a salad, the puesto on the corner of Alfonso Reyes and Tamaulipas stands in open defiance of the neighborhood’s pursuit of physical wellness, opting instead to pursue hedonistic aims.

When Wuyuan Bingjia first opened in 1936, it was one of many Shanghai-style bakeries around town, churning out trays of benbang dim sum dishes to be eaten on the go or taken home and enjoyed with the family. Now, as the city grows skyward and Shanghainese palates skew more international, these old-style bakeries are slowly dying out. Wuyuan Bingjia is one of the last ones standing, and it’s not thanks to the service. (Word to the wise: Be ready to order when you get to the cashier or you’ll get an earful from the waitstaff.)

Standing on a sidewalk at 9:30 a.m. in Mexico City, waiting for food, one typically imagines pan dulce (sweet bread), tamales and piping hot atole, a drink made from corn. Yet there we stood waiting for Arroz Black Tiger – a steaming, heaping, fried rice dish with salmon, surimi, shrimp and white mushrooms, something you might find for dinner at a trendy Asian fusion restaurant in Roma or Polanco, but certainly not for 135 pesos (US$7.30) and not at that hour. Nevertheless, business was humming, and several clients rushed in and out to place orders for their office, buying early before ingredients start to run out. Why so early?

Athletes, spectators and everyone else gathered in Rio for the Summer Olympics will have no shortage of good eating options – and not just in the usual touristed areas. We’ve rounded up some of our favorite spots around town. CADEG The 100,000-square-meter market is divided into three warehouse-style floors, with a pavilion just for flower sales at the rear of the second floor. (The building sits on an incline, so you can enter from the street either on the ground floor or from behind the second.) The market is open 24 hours. Early mornings on Thursday and Saturday are the top time for flower shopping. Saturday afternoon is Cantinho das Consertinas’s Festa Portuguesa, with up to 1,000 attendees queuing for a host of salt cod dishes on the second floor.

When you’re in the capital of Sichuan province, snacking is a way of life. Noodles made of bracken, wheat, chickpeas, mung beans and more, as well as tofu puddings and dumplings, make up the city’s “small eats” (小吃, xiǎochī) scene, served from what’s colloquially known as “fly restaurants.” A step above street food, these family-owned eateries are so called because they attract diners like flies, despite what might seem like a less-than-hygienic atmosphere, because the food is too good to miss. Find a hole-in-the-wall that has more diners than stools, and order one of these local specialties for a delicious meal.

Glória is a crossroads of Rio de Janeiro. It’s where the beach and bayside South Zone end before you hit the historical and commercial Centro. It’s home to the storied, luxurious Hotel Glória and the working-class favela Santo Amaro, a five-minute jog away through lines of rifle-armed soldiers meant to keep crack users at bay. There’s the state archdiocese by day, and by night, a red-light zone for legally operating transvestite prostitutes. It comes as no surprise then that Glória’s weekly feira is one of the city’s most authentic and most colorful street markets. Like the vendors on foot on Rio’s beaches, would-be restauranteurs experiment at the feira before spreading their wings on the wider urban gastronomical scene.

The sound of bombs has become an all too frequent occurrence in Istanbul as of late, and residents of the city's Cihangir neighborhood were spooked as ever when an explosion occurred in a building overlooking the main square early on a recent Sunday morning. Blasts sound no less scary when they are the result of gas leaks. When the smoke cleared, 75-year-old Feridun Yükseltürk was found crushed under the fallen rubble, just steps from the spot where he sold simit from a cart daily for the past six years. The tragedy sent shockwaves through Cihangir, where Feridun was a beloved figure renowned for his unwavering generosity.

When the nationalist Kuomintang army retreated to Taiwan in 1949 after losing to Mao’s communist forces, the island experienced a sudden influx of immigrants from around Mainland China, many ripped from their homeland and moved into crowded, hastily-assembled housing complexes. These gave rise to tenement communities, called military villages (眷村, juàncūn). During the years after the war, these new immigrants kept the memory of their hometowns alive, recreating the dishes of their childhood but – out of necessity – using local ingredients and adapting the recipes. Out of this homesickness arose a new type of Taiwanese cooking called Military Village Cuisine.

Rego Park and Forest Hills are home to much of Queens’ Central Asian Jewish diaspora. The neighborhoods comprise two main thoroughfares, 63rd Avenue (which changes to 63rd Street) and 108th Street. Both roads have a range of markets, restaurants and bakeries catering to local tastes. Here are a few notable addresses. Queens Gourmet Bazaar Food Brothers Yusuf and Juda Saz run this long, narrow market that is filled with Persian staples. Mini barrels of nuts, seeds, dried fruits, several Samarkand raisin varieties as well as fruit molasses, barberries, and other provisions in cans and glass jars cover the floor and walls. The brothers make some of the ready-made food in-house.

For those interested in visiting Tashkent or Samarkand, an easier trip might involve heading to the Rego Park and Forest Hills neighborhoods of Queens, home to much of the borough’s Central Asian Jewish diaspora. The neighborhoods comprise two main thoroughfares: 63rd Avenue, which changes to 63rd Street, and 108th Street. Both roads have a range of markets, restaurants and bakeries that serve local tastes and evoke places left behind. On one recent afternoon, I walked west on 63rd Avenue, away from Queens Boulevard, passing Public School 139 Rego Park, where parents and grandparents spoke Tajik, Mandarin, Arabic, Uzbek and Russian, crowding the street as they await their children’s dismissal from school.

The triangle of Kurtuluş, Feriköy and Bomonti represents an Istanbul on the verge of fading away. Though still inhabited by significant numbers of Greeks, Jews and Armenians, there are more local churches and synagogues than are used by the remnants of those diminished communities. The numerous schools, houses of worship and cemeteries are relics testifying to the cosmopolitanism that once defined this segment of inner Istanbul. Another nostalgic quality of the area is its small-business culture, still thriving, yet on the verge of a major shift.

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