Growing up, just slightly behind Italian cuisine, my family probably most enjoyed Chinese and Chinese-American food, whether at buffets, in restaurants or via takeout at home.
My mother swore by the spicy mustard for dipping the crispy noodles, my dad loved “General TSO, white meat, only” and fried rice (with no onions) and my brother had an inexplicable adoration for shrimp and lobster sauce . . . when he was maybe seven years old. My dad was also a massive proponent of P.F. Chang’s.
This instilled the same love for the cuisine in me, such as when I’d order takeout in college or scamper out of the office in a job I had in the city in order to head over to a dumpling shop a few blocks over for lunch. Those were some of my favorite lunches, too: filling, deeply satisfying and incredibly cheap, I looked so forward to those forays when I’d hurriedly leave the office to enjoy a brief
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