Sterling Platt TO a newcomer in this glittering metropolis, the culinary landscape can feel like a mountain range. You start at the familiar foothills of Cantonese dim sum and roasted meats, delicious and comforting, but you know vast, unexplored peaks lie beyond. My Cantonese is non-existent, and my Mandarin is limited to panicked phrases about taxi destinations. So, for my first few months, I’ve navigated Shenzhen’s food scene the way most of us “laowai” do: by pointing at pictures on a menu app. It was this digital-age exploration that led me, one balmy Tuesday evening, to a small, brightly-lit eatery in the bustling Sea World area of Shenzhen. The restaurant’s menu was a departure from the robust, wok-heavy flavors I’d come to associate with Chinese food. This was something else entirely. This was my accidental, and utterly delightful, introduction to the cuisine of the Jiangnan region. Guided by vibrant photos, my friend and I ordered a feast. For a grand total of 120.8 yuan (US$16.9) — less than the price of a single mediocre steak back home — our small table was soon laden with seven dishes. The first to arrive were what I thought would be familiar territory. But the Suzhou-Hangzhou Sweet and Sour Pork (蘇杭糖醋里脊) was a revelation. Forget the gloopy, fluorescent-red sauce of Western takeout. This was a sophisticated creation. Each piece of impossibly tender pork tenderloin was coated in a shimmering, translucent glaze that struck a perfect, crystalline balance between tangy and sweet. It was light, crisp, and utterly addictive. Even more impressive was the Chrysanthemum Fish (菊花魚). Delicate pieces of white fish had been expertly scored and fried, so they opened like a blooming flower. The sweet and sour sauce here was lighter still, with a red-golden hue, allowing the clean flavor of the fish to shine through. The outer crunch gave way to a flaky, moist interior — a masterpiece of texture and taste. The best part is that it was bone free! Then came the dishes that truly challenged my preconceptions. The Nanjing Salted Duck (南京鹽水鴨) arrived, which was cool to the touch. The idea of cold poultry was alien, but one bite dispelled any skepticism and proved refreshing in the summer heat. The meat was succulent and tender, imbued with a clean, profound saltiness that was savory without being overpowering. It was subtle, refined, and served as a perfect counterpoint to the sweeter dishes. Equally intriguing were the cold vegetable starters. The Kalimeris with Tofu (香干馬蘭頭), a finely chopped mixture of a wild green called Kalimeris and firm tofu, was earthy, fresh, and seasoned with a hint of sesame oil. It was a texture and flavor combination I’d never experienced — a sort of rustic, savory salad that cleansed the palate. The rest of the meal was a celebration of vegetables treated with reverence. Tender pea shoots arrived, swimming in a milky, umami-rich broth (上湯豌豆苗) that was both light and deeply flavorful. A simple plate of tender greens: Chicken Feather Vegetable (杭州雞毛菜) was stir-fried just enough to wilt them while retaining their fresh, vibrant character. This meal wasn’t about the fiery punch of Sichuan peppercorns or the heavy, soy-based sauces I’ve encountered. It was about nuance — showcasing the intrinsic flavor of a fresh pea shoot, the delicate texture of perfectly cooked fish, and the art of balancing sweet, sour, and savory notes with a feather-light touch. I later learned that this style of cooking, hailing from the regions around Shanghai, Suzhou, and Nanjing, is celebrated for its elegance and emphasis on fresh, seasonal ingredients. It was a culinary lesson taught not in a classroom, but at a small table in Shenzhen. It proved that beyond the familiar peaks of Cantonese cuisine lie entire flavor profiles waiting to be discovered, one picture-menu tap at a time. | 