Connecticut Learns to Say Momofuku

On my way to a friend’s apartment, I walked the New York City sidewalks with a full backpack pressing my feet into the concrete. Block after block, across each rush-hour street. Restaurants and vendors beckoned, but I ignored them. I strode past busy women in long trenchcoats and sleepy-eyed hipsters. Turning left on 13th street, I reached my destination on the corner of 2nd Avenue: Momofuku Ssam Bar. No one stood in line at the Milk Bar “take-out” section of the restaurant, and I put down the pack and ordered two pork buns. Three minutes later, I squirted generous helpings of Sriracha onto the tender pork belly cradled in the pillowy bun, and bit into one of the best things I’ve ever tasted...

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