Shanghai’s best scallion pancake shop. You can’t find cōngyóubǐng like this anywhere else in the city. It’s a dying art, and Mr Wu is well-loved for his cheerful demeanor and his dedication to his delicious pastries. They’re so good locals hire “yellow bulls” to wait on line for them! The original location closed after neighbors complained about the fragrant fried treats. Luckily, a PR campaign launched by a food delivery service saved the day. FYI, he only sells 300 daily so come early.

Where to savor Xiaohe Sichuan food, a subregional cuisine famous for spice and creativity. Don’t miss the yibin ran mian, aka “kindling noodles” for their heat. The skinny wheat noodles come with minced pork, pickled vegetables, and crushed peanuts. Another standout, the peppercorn-heavy Zigong spicy catfish, sets mouths abuzz. Other specialties include rabbit and mapo tofu. Pair the traditional food with one of 50 craft beers. FYI, the 2nd larger location, Ben Zhen, takes reservations.

Far from the Cali burger joint that shares its name, this spot slings Lijiang cuisine. Order the fried goat cheese (rǔ bǐng), a treat from this region at the foot of the Himalayas. We also like fried potato balls (tǔdòu qiú) and pan-fried tofu topped with chili and green onions (shí píng xiāngjiān bāo jiāng dòufu.) Pair them with rice wine. White is funky and the purple is syrupy sweet. The waiters sport traditional clothing, contrary to the modern setting of brick walls and hanging plants.

This Chengdu noodle house carefully walks the tightrope of spicy and tasty. Some dishes come in small 50-gram portions, like Shanghai’s best bowl of dan dan mian. The rest are standard size (150 grams). We dig the cowpea noodles (wǎn zá miàn – bàn de) with chickpeas, greens, and minced meat. Order it dry (the soup distracts) and add a fried egg. Foreigners will appreciate the meun’s bilingual spice levels. Each table has a spice box if you want more heat. It’s a slow burn – so add sparingly.

This haipai (local cuisine) restaurant is a guidebook darling. But it’s not always foreigner-friendly. The owners aren’t anti-tourists. They just need to maximize the small space – and Chinese feast more than foreigners do. To experience Old Jesse like a local, order specialty dishes ahead. Slow cooked, red-braised pork shank (hóngshāo tí pang) in fermented bean paste sauce. Pig trotter stuffed with “eight treasures.” The super-concentrated chicken soup (jī dùntāng) is a surefire cold buster.

This small shop strikes the perfect balance of cheap, fast, and delicious. Mr Huang uses his grandfather’s recipes. His most popular dish is stewed Jinmen pork knuckle. We also love the less-fatty minced pork or the braised pork belly. Around 28 RMB (around US$4) gets you a generous portion of meat over rice, plus two veggie sides. Crunchy sliced lotus root and asparagus lettuce are our favorites. Only 15 seats means you should avoid the 12 – 1pm lunch rush. FYI, there’s no sign out front.

Fish-lovers will be lured to this cute spot that resembles a coffee shop. The specialty here are boiled mackerel dumplings from Liaoning province. The beauties are made fresh all day – the kitchen’s floor-to-ceiling windows let you watch the action from the sidewalk. Pescatarians beware: the dumplings have a bit of pork for flavor. Tasty veggie sides include wood ear mushroom salad (Liángbàn hēi mù’ěr) and cucumber salad (Liángbàn huángguā). We also dig the kimchi, in regular or spicy.

Not to be confused with the Yang’s chain. This small, walk-up shop sells just two things. Arrive before 8:30 am for the breadier fried buns. The rest of the day, find our pick for the city’s best potstickers (guōtiē). Everything is done from scratch: rolling the dough, wrapping, and frying by the thousands each day. The minced pork filling is mixed with pork gelatin for a soupy inside. Douse the dumplings with rice vinegar before devouring them hot. Be careful of spurting broth when biting in.