Is that laundry on those clothes lines? No, those sheets are are actually strands of noodles being hung out to dry. My roving correspondent shot this photo while cycling along the Sichuan-Tibetan highway. (Hint: he's a recurring character on the blog.)

I wish I had brought a camera to this wet market in Shanghai several weeks ago. Hidden away from the fish mongers, tofu mongers, and vegetable mongers, was a closet-sized room that was making a bit of noise. I peeked inside. Noodle makers were rolling out huge sheets of dough in what looks like an enormous pasta machine, and the same machine would cut strands about 20 feet long. They sold the noodles just a few feet away.

How's that for freshness?

Over the weekend, while biking to Shanghai's Silk Market, Jacob and I got lost in a maze of side streets. This was a side of Shanghai visitors seldom see. We rode past a few "free-range" chickens (with feet leashed to a pole, to prevent straying) pecking on some dirty lettuce. On the other side of the road was a scene that would never pass American health inspection, but which made my heart skip a beat.

Open air duck roasting! Now, I think Peking duck is a neat art form, but the elaborateness of the preparation, ordering, and eating gets tiring after the 20th time. Some days you just want a crispy, juicy duck without the fuss. For example, one you can pick up while whizzing by on a bike.

So what does the inside of the metal inferno look like?

Inside the drum, nude-colored ducks were neatly hung around a circle of flaming charcoal. 

The skin of the pre-roasted ducks appeared to have been lightly boiled, if only to remove the feathers. Some scallions and garlic cloves are stuck into the cavities. According to the duck stand vendor, the roasting takes only an hour. Then, he hangs the just-roasted ducks in his little wooden stand, behind a Plexiglass case, and sells them for only 12 rmb a jin (about 1 pound).

Now, America isn't the only country that adores fried Chinese food. In Japan, diners go wild for karaage, Chinese-style fried chicken. According to Maki from Just Hungry, "the word kara refers to China, meaning that this method of preparing chicken originated in Chinese cooking (age means deep-fried)". Like the Chinese, the Japanese also marinate their chicken with ginger "to get rid of any gaminess". (Check out Maki's recipe.)

If biting into the crispy shell of General Tso's chicken releases pent-up sugar, biting into karaage will unleash a dark and brooding mix of soy sauce and sake. Dark meat, skin on, is best. And this is a dish that begs to be washed down with cold sake or beer.