"Big restaurants usually claim such things are beneath them," he replies with a grumble. "Not that they don't have their own versions, but no one gets it right like Jiao-auntie does."

Street vendor food was one of the things he loved, especially those vendors that knew him and always tsked at the sight of him and his friends fresh from a new adventure, looking like they saw someone's ancestors and ran for it. Jiao-auntie ran a large stand a corner away from his Wushanju, and often she would scold him in the local dialect even while shoving more food on his plate than he could possibly eat.

"Ugh don't get me started on ration bars. I don't know what it is, but even the expensive ones taste like someone decided to use sawdust and grit as the main ingredients and then add color."