As I stumble out of the Grand Street subway station, I am immediately caught and taken away by the crowds of people, each grasping flimsy plastic bags holding ingredients, ready for cooking. This is Chinatown, a place so teeming with people I often wonder where they all come from. The shops each specialize in their own brand of goodies, from clothes to housewares, meat to fish, exotic fruits and vegetables, to more bottles of condiments than you would see bottles of potions in an old-fashioned apothecary shop.
I could spend hours here, and I do. I stroll along the streets, more quiet, with people actually sitting along the curbs once you turn off of Grand Street. I look at all of the dried roots, and mounds of dehydrated shrimp in one shop. At the butchers there are cuts of meat that I have never seen, and [...]

There is a cake in Handler family lore, so delicate and eggy it is only spoken of in delicious memories. Baumkuchen, a peculiar-looking, cylindrical confection, German in origin, labor intensive, requiring not only a special post on which to bake it but a particular oven to bake it in, was a special treat for me while growing up. There was a lone bakery in San Francisco that made this cake of cakes, and we would make the special trip to the city just for this baked good. But alas, all good things must come to an end, the bakery closed down, and Baumkuchen was only a sweet memory.
That is until last week. I spent the afternoon exploring Chinatown. So many amazing shops, fish markets, and nooks and crannies, with labyrinthian streets that only seemed to stretch for miles, I could happily get lost here for hours. [...]