ORGAN GRIND
        Journalism, home & abroad          

What is it about the Shanghai soup dumpling that impels the restauranteur to affix the name "King" or "Kingdom" somewhere in the title of his establishment dispensing of said delicacy? There IS a certain regal bearing to the soup dumpling, similar, you might imagine, to the comportment of King Henry VIII at the height of his considerable corpulence. As you lift the succulent pouch out of its basket, glistening with pork juice, and plop it into the shallow ramekin of dipping

For those interested in the consumption of fine entrails, we present to you here within a weekly collection of macabre signposts pointing towards zones of high offal-saturation scattered throughout our little slice of peninsular heaven. They lay there, our guts, steaming with primordial, magmic heat, waiting for the slightest chance to jump out of our elastic casing like a troupe of eager, mucus-covered chorus girls from behind a scarlet curtain, brazenly kicking out their he

Large, central markets situated in cities with lax or non-existent health codes always make a strong impression upon the senses of smell and sight, and, if you're somewhat brave, taste. Peru boasts many markets and most I've frequented are loose affairs; no one blinks an eye at seeing a cadre of beige mutts wrestling over a butcher's offal down one aisle, and the strongest reaction you're likely to notice from a person having just witnessed the al fresco execution and summa

What is it about Burmese food and long waits? Burma Superstar in the Inner Richmond is legendary for the starving throngs that gather like cicadas at the entrance, killing over an hour in the hope of obtaining a table. Yamo isn't nearly as popular, but it's a fifth the size, consisting of just one long counter facing onto a small, open kitchen at which a trio of stone-faced and silent women sauté, chop and boil various food stuffs with an efficiency which belies their ponder