My childhood Chinese restaurant was on a corner a long walk or a short car ride away. My parents usually found the time to cook, but on very rare and special occasions we’d get Chinese take-out. Its different flavors—sweet, spicy, umami—bewitched me and encouraged me to demand we go to Chinese restaurants for my birthdays. Soon we found a place that was better than that corner place, instead overlooking a bus station in the center of town. Up the stairs from its tiny shop front were dark and cozy tables, and the meals were enormous and hearty.
Though Do De Li here on Kantstrasse is much smaller, and lacks the glamorous view of a bus station, it did bring me right back to that childhood comfort zone, spooning up hot-and-sour soup like liquid nostalgia.