Which is the best restaurant in your city?
It is the hottest morning of summer in 1366, and an eight-year-old girl in Hangzhou is supposed to be writing characters. Instead she is listening to cicadas, watching ink dry on her sleeve, thinking about dumplings.
When two voices in the lane ask which is the best eating-house in the city, she has her answer. Not the famous one. Not the one everyone praises. Three lanes down, behind a red cloth, a woman makes broth before sunrise, and sometimes, if you bow properly, she gives you an extra one.
A monologue about small hands, hot soup, and the walk home.
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Bob Lynn | © 2026 Vox Meditantis. All rights reserved.
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