Soup Dumplings, Fish Wontons & Eating the Season in Shanghai
What I ate (and loved) in the Chinese megacity
If you’d asked me 15 years ago, I wouldn’t have picked Shanghai as my food destination in China. I probably would’ve laughed and stayed loyal to the bolder, spicier dishes of Sichuan. Shanghai food? Too sweet. They even put sugar in tomato and egg stir-fry.
But my curiosity and appreciation have grown for food I didn’t grow up with. It’s also undeniable that Shanghai offers an ever-evolving and exciting food scene: time-honored local specialties, perhaps the most complete collection of regional Chinese cuisines, plus international and creative fusion kitchens. It’s a city of contrasts, where you can find street food for one or two euros or indulge in luxurious fine dining, reflecting the city’s wealth divide. The internet even jokes about a separate currency, “hubi,” to describe Shanghai’s crazy pricing. In the French Concession, with streets lined with English and French signs, I sometimes feel like I’m strolling through Berlin. But just a few blocks away, baos are steaming and scallion pancakes are sizzling for busy commuters.
Shanghai cuisine—even its street food—doesn’t make the cut for the Eight Great Cuisines of China, but it’s heavily influenced by the surrounding culinary powerhouses, which are on the list: Anhui, Zhejiang, and Jiangsu. You’ll also find traces of other regional cuisines and even Western influence, forming a unique subgenre called Haipai cuisine, with localized borscht and schnitzel on the menu.
I visited the city in late 2019, again in spring 2023, and now in 2025. This time, I focused on eating as locally as possible. As someone who didn’t grow up with this cuisine, the meals gave me a solid and much-needed introduction.
Xiaolongbao 小笼包
Steamed soup dumplings—xiaolongbao—are probably the first thing that comes to mind when people think of Shanghai street food. Locally, they’re called xiaolong, xiaolong mantou, or tangbao. I had half a dozen places bookmarked just for this one dish.
I ended up at Jiajia Tangbao (佳家汤包), just around the corner from our hotel on Huanghe Road—recently made famous by Wong Kar-wai’s latest TV show. It was already packed at noon, but we quickly found a shared table with two young women. One corner of the room displayed a large calligraphy sign reading “Shanghai Tangbao,” while the other featured a see-through kitchen, where skilled chefs folded dumplings at lightning speed—each bun shaped in seconds by their dancing fingers.
We ordered a trio of fillings: classic pure pork, pork with crab, and pork with shiitake mushrooms, plus a simple egg and seaweed soup. The bamboo steamer arrived about ten minutes later, and we devoured the dumplings quickly. These were some of the best soup dumplings I’ve had. The skin was thin but sturdy, the filling well-seasoned, and the broth pleasantly hot—not mouth-burning. My favorite was the pork with crab: xiefen, 蟹粉 (a mix of crab meat and roe), which added a natural sweetness and umami that didn’t overwhelm. Already excellent on its own, but for balance, a dip in seasoned vinegar and shredded ginger adds a nice sharpness.
Another spot I visited in 2023 was Lailai Xiaolong (莱莱小笼), known for its crab xiaolongbao and higher price point. It’s now an internet-famous destination with a reliable line out the door. Their pure crab version came individually plated, flatter and chubbier than usual, with a higher soup-to-filling ratio. Rich, creamy, and bursting with umami, yet not fishy. They run their own crab processing facility outside of Shanghai, where the meat and roe are picked, cooked, and delivered fresh daily. For the true crab roe enthusiasts, there’s even a pure roe version.
Shengjianbao (生煎包)
Compared to the delicate xiaolongbao, shengjian bao or shengjian mantou (生煎馒头) are pan-fried soup-filled buns that are heartier and more humble.
I first tried them through Xiaoyang Shengjian (a national chain also spread across Shanghai). Still, this time I followed friends’ recommendations to two spots on the same alley—each representing a different style. Shu Cai Ji uses a half-leavened dough (半发酵), which rises after wrapping. Da Hu Chun uses a fully-leavened dough (全发酵), rising both before and after wrapping. The result: a fluffier, thicker skin.
At Shu Cai Ji (舒蔡记), I watched the chef assemble a new batch through an open street-side kitchen. I’d visited another branch in 2023 and was impressed, but this one was even better. The menu is simple, with both shengjianbao and guotie (potsticker dumplings) filled with only pork. A huge flat griddle cooked the batch—first frying, then steaming, sealed tightly under a lid, and the chef has to swirl the pan to ensure even browning. The buns came out with a texture dream: crispy bottoms, fluffy tops, and soft interiors. The filling was more seasoned than xiaolongbao, leaning slightly sweet, but it gave out more juice (thanks to the similar stock jelly added in the filling). Local diners, mostly middle-aged, clearly treated this as a quick lunch spot.
Da Hu Chun (大壶春), a chain where the original shop was crowned a Michelin Bib Gourmand recommendation, offered both pork and pork + shrimp fillings. To distinguish fillings, pork buns were fried, sealed-side up, while shrimp pork ones were sealed-side down. The dough was thicker and chewier—likely due to the longer fermentation—and the filling was leaning on the sweeter side. I didn’t care for the bland curry beef soup, but I did like the plump shrimp and the excellent house chili sauce.
Wontons with Chinese Tapertail Anchovy (刀鱼馄饨)
Shanghai and the surrounding area are famous for different types of wontons, but I came here to try a seasonal specialty: wontons made with Dao Yu (刀鱼), or Chinese tapertail anchovy (Coilia ectenes), a migratory species swimming from the seas into the Yangtze River for reproduction. By the time the fish reaches upstream like Jiangyin and Jingjiang, the salt in its body has dissipated, and the ratio of fat to flesh is just right. This is a sought-after and pricey delicacy, praised as the “most umami of the Yangtze River” which peaks in March and April.. Nowadays, the jiang dao (those migrate to the river) is extremely rare because of overfishing, so most places use hai dao (海刀), fish still living in coastal water. We came a bit late because people believe the best is before the Qingming festival, when the fish bone is still tender.
At Lao Ban Zhai (老半斋), a spacious local restaurant with Yangzhou influences, the setup is divided: there’s a takeout window selling wonton fillings and snacks, and a separate dine-in area for à la carte meals. Two versions of daoyu wontons and noodles were on the menu, and following the cashier’s recommendation, I went for the large wontons. The broth was subtle, and the filling was blended with a bit of pork and only mildly seasoned. It had a mild, lingering fish flavor–more distinct than typical freshwater fish, but nowhere near as pungent as anchovy. What stood out was the texture: softer and more tender than pork wontons, with a light, almost cloudy mouthfeel thanks to whipped egg whites in the mix. Given how bony daoyu is—almost too troublesome to eat whole—turning it into wonton filling is a clever and efficient way to enjoy this prized seasonal fish.
Noodles
Sesame Noodles 麻酱面
While researching sesame paste last year, I came across Shanghai-style sesame-dressed noodles, majiangmian, and added it to my list, though I was skeptical. I grew up with noodles dressed in chili oil and vinegar, and feared a big scoop of sesame paste would feel too heavy.
