Strolling Through Shanghai's Flavors and Alleys: Numbing Hot Pot and Crispy Jianbing
For me, someone who practically lives for Haidilao, my sister unleashed her full travel-research power as soon as we arrived in Shanghai. She dragged me straight to 'Zhu Guang Yu,' a hot pot spot so popular that locals wait in long lines. As we stepped into the bustling, noisy restaurant, the stinging scent of pungent and numbing mala hit the tip of my nose. A pot of numbing spicy Yin-Yang broth boiled furiously, and beside it sat a heavy, cold bottle of Black Lion beer.
However, we faced a slightly baffling moment as soon as we sat down. Instead of disposable wooden chopsticks, we were given faded wooden ones with clear signs of heavy reuse. A wave of hesitation washed over us, but my sister and I dipped our chopsticks deep into the bubbling, red hot pot broth. "At this boiling heat, wouldn't it be perfectly self-sanitized?" I burst into laughter at her words, and we merrily fished out meat and vegetables to eat. The numbing taste stimulated the tip of our tongues, and the ingredients were exceptionally fresh. Full to our limits on our way back to the accommodation, we decided to stop by a fruit stand to buy some dessert.
In a corner of the shop, sitting quietly inside a fruit box, a white cat was staring at us. Looking at its intense odd-eyed gaze, we joked, "She knows she's pretty, is she jealous of us?" We bought a large durian and returned happily to our room. But the real trouble started right after we put it in the fridge. The pungent smell of durian seeped through the door seal and filled the entire room. Covering her nose, my sister screamed, "Unni, it's escaping the fridge! Please eat it quickly!" and we spent the night laughing and devouring the durian.
The Best Taste of Shanghai: Starting the Morning with Jianbing
On the morning of our second day, the moment I opened my eyes, I desperately craved a savory crepe. Holding my sister's hand, I walked out into the early morning streets and stood before a tiny crepe stall with a line of locals. This place sold 'jianbing,' a Chinese-style crepe. The moment we ordered, the owner's dazzling hand movements began. Spreading the batter thinly over a round griddle, cracking an egg, brushing on a special sauce, and rolling it up with plenty of crispy wonton crackers and vegetables was a spectacle in itself.
We took a bite of the freshly cooked, piping-hot jianbing wrapped in paper. The outside was savory and crisp, while the inside combined soft egg, crunchy crackers, and a spicy, salty sauce into a heavenly flavor. My eyes flew open on the very first bite. "This is the best thing I've eaten in Shanghai! I want to come back just for this." I poured out my sincere admiration to my sister.
The Tree-Lined Former French Concession and Wukang Mansion's Presence
Energized by the jianbing, we began wandering the streets around the Former French Concession. Stepping into roads lined with grand, elegant Western-style buildings felt so exotic that it was disorienting. "Are we in Europe or Shanghai?" Elegant cafes and shops boasted stylish interiors beneath rows of hanging sycamore trees.
Walking a bit further past Cafe Collie, we reached a major intersection crowded with people. We stood in front of the famous 'Wukang Mansion' (武康大厦), a landmark resembling a giant flatiron or a ship. Designed in the 1920s by Hungarian architect László Hudec, this historic red-brick apartment building attracted crowds with its classic elegance.
I joined the crowd to take a commemorative photo with Wukang Mansion in the background. However, under the bright and harsh direct sunlight, my face in the photo looked ten years older than my actual age. "I took one photo and instantly aged a decade," I joked self-deprecatingly as soon as I saw the picture, making my sister double over with laughter.
An Unusual Basil Cocktail Meets the Best Mapo Tofu of My Life
Around lunchtime, we headed to a basil cocktail spot my sister had found. The moment the highly anticipated basil cocktail was served, we both fell silent. The green beverage looked exactly like pond water scooped from a neglected school garden. Hesitant to take a sip, my sister opened a bottle of Tsingtao beer for us instead.
The shock of the drink was brief, as the mapo tofu that followed instantly became the best mapo tofu of my life. The harmony of the moderately numbing, soft tofu and the rich sauce was outstanding. My sister and I were chatting and enjoying the food when, unfortunately, a Korean couple at the next table started arguing intensely. Because of the heavy tension, we had to eat our delicious food in quiet suspense, barely noticing what went into our mouths.
From sterilizing weathered chopsticks at the hot pot place, the mysterious gaze of the fruit stand cat, and the intense aroma of durian, to the unforgettable taste of jianbing and memories at Wukang Mansion. Every corner of Shanghai we explored—bickering yet laughing together—was filled with striking culinary adventures and exotic scenery at every single turn.
