So here's the thing: I was supposed to have brunch in SoHo.
That was the plan. Cute dress, sunglasses, a little tiny purse that fits absolutely nothing, and I’m strutting down Lafayette like I casually own it (but in that humble, approachable way, obviously). But somehow, blame it on my 2007 Google Maps brain, I took a wrong turn and ended up very much not in SoHo.
I was in Chinatown. And I had no idea where I was going.
But oh. My. God. You guys. Best mistake ever.
The Accidental Detour
I stood there for a minute, trying to figure out whether to double back or embrace the chaos. There were vibrant signs I couldn’t read, the smell of scallions sizzling in oil, people bustling with purpose (literally everyone seemed to know where they were going except me), and for a second, I felt totally out of place.
But then I remembered something Monica always says: “When in doubt, just walk toward the food.”
So I followed my nose.
A Window, A Line, and a Miracle
A few blocks in, I saw a teeny-tiny spot with a line that wrapped around the sidewalk. It wasn’t anything fancy—no Instagram-themed neon sign, no minimalist light fixtures, no oat milk lattes—but people were standing outside, happily clutching soup-drenched paper trays like they’d found nirvana.
Naturally, I had to investigate.
After fifteen minutes of very un-glamorous waiting (and hearing a guy behind me say he’d been coming here “twice a week since 2003”), I made it inside. There was one woman behind the counter, absolutely dominating this old-school dumpling griddle like a culinary Beyoncé.
I pointed at the pan-fried pork and chive dumplings like a rookie, got a tray, and stepped back into the sunlight.
And then I took a bite.
I actually closed my eyes. On a New York sidewalk. With traffic and scaffolding dust blowing in my face. That’s how good they were.
The Dumplings That Changed Me
Listen, I’ve had dumplings before. I’ve done the upscale dim sum thing in Tribeca. I’ve tried vegan ones that were like "a journey" (read: edible cardboard with kale). But these?
These were crunchy, juicy, savory, piping hot little love letters folded into golden half-moons.
The outside was crispy and just chewy enough to give you that yes-this-was-pan-fried-by-someone-who-knows-what-they’re-doing vibe. And the inside? Tender pork, spicy ginger, mellowed by fragrant chives. I honestly debated going back in for another order, but decided to leave on a high note. (Okay I totally DoorDashed them two days later.)
What I Learned
Besides the fact that I should never be trusted with directions (seriously, I walked straight past my brunch place AND an adorable vintage store), I realized something important that day:
Sometimes, the best part of New York is getting lost in it.
Sure, it’s loud and messy and smells aggressively like a fish market on Eldridge Street—but it’s also warm, delicious, and just waiting to surprise you.
So from now on, I’m letting myself wander more. Less over-planning, more neighborhood hopping. More paper trays and street food picnics.
And if you ever find yourself wandering through Chinatown, look for the place with the line just off Canal Street. The dumplings are under $5, they come on a paper plate, and I swear they will change your life.
Or at least your lunch.
xo,
Rachel 💋
P.S. I did eventually make it to brunch. Two hours late. Hair frizzed. Dumpling-stuffed. Still worth it.
