Shanghai Cafe Deluxe

We've got great Indian food here here in New London. Wonderful Thai. Excellent sushi. Delicious seafood. And more molto bene Italian than you can shake a stick at.

But -- except for Chinese New Year at Hsinny's -- you just can't get good Chinese food in southeastern Connecticut.

No. For good Chinese, there's only one place to go.

Chinatown.

First stop: Grand Central Terminal. I took the train to Grand Central every work day of my life, for 12 years, and although I don't miss the commute -- or the corporate world -- I loved arriving in that grand old building every morning.

And running through it to catch a train every evening.

Mom, MB, Jacquie and I walked many blocks downtown, as one does when in New York . . .

. . . oohed and aahed at the buildings and people . . .

. . . then got right down to business at one of New York's most venerable old* Taverns.

*I think something can be old without being venerable, but I do not think something can be venerable without being old.

Next Stop:

Chinatown.

There is so much to look at and see and smell and hear in that city-within-a-City.

It's all so bright and alive and foreign.

The peeps went nuts for the oddly-shaped, prickly, um, things.

MB was convinced they were sea urchins but we got it on good authority they were pineapple-like fruit from a tree.

Perhaps.

And then . . .

Our destination: Shanghai Cafe Duluxe. 喬家珊 to those in the know.

Luncheon!

Pink Luncheon.

These right here? These soup dumplings? These are reason enough for a trip to NYC.

The eggplant . . .

. . . and chicken and broccoli were pretty great, too.

Oh, my peeps. What a lovely time we had when our baby sister graced our Coast with her warm, sunny, Southern California presence.

Alas, we went our separate ways in Chinatown. Mom and I got on an uptown bus headed back to Grand Central and MB put Jacquie in a car to the airport . . .

. . . but not before they sang showtunes in a gay bar with the bartender, as a final NYC-hurrah.

Harrumph. They clearly win the last best memory in New York prize.

But we contented ourselves dreaming about the memory of those fabulous soup dumplings . . .

They don't call it Shanghai Cafe Deluxe for nothing.