Wang's appears to be livelier in the afternoon, with more tables occupied than during their visit just a few days ago. A smattering of quiet conversation permeates the silence hung so heavily in the air before, along with the soft clinks of chopsticks against bowls.

The girl at the cashier smiles as Halle approaches, eyes lighting up. "Welcome back! Will it be a table for one again?"

"Yes, please." They take a quick glance around the place as the girl leads them to a table, finding the walls just as bare as they were before. After they've sat down by one of those walls, they pull the thin menu towards themself and flick it open.

The menu is written in both English and Chinese, text printed simply in wine-red and devoid of the flowery borders or motifs indicative of the restaurants Halle is used to reviewing. There aren't even photos. The name of every dish is surprisingly on-the-nose, with no flowery title or metaphor to describe them. Well, at least they don't have to Google any terms here.

"Oh, it's you again."

The waiter from last time — Leon, they believe is his name — leans against their table, hair once again half-concealing his eyes. His notepad, half-covered in illegible handwriting, is sticking out from his pants pocket. Halle looks back up at him. "Hi."

Like last time, Leon sets down a cup of steaming tea and cutlery in front of them, then nudges at the menu. "Have you decided on what to order yet, or do you want a surprise like last time?"

"Uh, I'm not sure yet." They glance at the menu again, where the block text lists more dishes than they expected. "Do you have any recommendations?"

Leon tugs the menu out from right under Halle's hands and scans it before setting it down again and pointing at one of the dishes. "I assume you're just here for a light lunch, so you might like the fried pot-stickers, which we make entirely from scratch. If you want a side dish, the deep-fried tofu would be a good choice, and to finish off, the osmanthus jelly."

They weren't expecting to come across an unfamiliar dish so soon, given the Google search they did before visiting. Feeling like an idiot, Halle prays he won't laugh at the question and asks, "sorry, what jelly?"

"Osmanthus," he repeats. "It's a type of flower with a very fragrant, distinct flavour. The chefs make a syrup with that, mix some wolfberries in and that's basically the jelly."

Oh, gosh. "Er, what are — "

"Wolfberries?" Leon tilts his head, making more of his hair fall over his eyes. "Uh, I'd say they're kind of like cranberries but smaller and not as round. They're tart and slightly sweet, too. Some people say they're good for your eyes."

"I see." Halle looks back at the menu, the tips of their ears warm. "Sorry about the stupid questions."

"Don't sweat it, I wouldn't expect you to know every ingredient in existence or something. So do you want the stuff I just mentioned, or do you need some more time?"

The review is practically writing itself. The waiter is informative, yet unprofessional. At any other restaurant, he would've been let go without a second thought — especially considering the fact that he's my age. But perhaps the head chef at this establishment has few options for staff —

Not yet, they remind themself. You're here to review the food, and that's it. "I think I'll just have the pot-stickers and the osthmanthus jelly, please."

He whips out his notepad and scribbles down the order, pen practically a blur, and asks, "d'you want anything to drink?"

"Just the tea you brought is fine, thanks."

"I'll be back with your food shortly."

Once Leon has left his table, Halle flips their notebook open and uncaps their pen. They could probably comment on the cup of tea in front of them, on how its bitterness fits perfectly with the gentle perfume of jasmines in full bloom, or its precise shade of golden-green. It's a different type of tea from the one they had last time, which could change the meal entirely as rare as the chance may be. They busy themself with a few sentences rambling about the sweet-smelling steam that rises from the stout little cup and how it might be an exciting prologue to the food they're about to have (disregarding the rather unsophisticated atmosphere of the restaurant, of course), and a good half a page is filled before Leon returns with a plate.

"Your pot-stickers." He sets it down on the table. "And I probably should've asked you this before serving, but you don't happen to be allergic to anything, right?"

"Nope?"

"And you're not a vegetarian or vegan?"

"No and no."

"Okay, good." Leon nudges the plate closer to them. "Enjoy your meal. Just give me a wave when you're ready for dessert."

Halle stares down at the plate, which displays ten off-white dumplings arranged in a circle. They pick up their chopsticks, making sure not to drop them and pick up the first pot-sticker.

The bottom is a deep, rich brown from being fried, and crunches audibly when they take a bite. An explosion of scalding-hot flavour hits them, nearly burning their tongue, and a hand flies to their mouth in shock. The minced pork inside the pot-sticker is unbelievably juicy, and the crunch of cabbage and scallions offsets the meat's richness so that it's not too overwhelming. Halle finishes the first pot-sticker and quickly writes a few lines before moving on to the second.

They dip a corner into the little dish of vinegar at the centre of the plate and start to eat, taken aback by how sharply sour the sauce is. But as shocking as the sudden burst of acidity is, it's the perfect counter to the meatiness of the filling. After a quick scan of their surroundings to make sure nobody's looking, Halle adds a bit more to their notebook.

With every pot-sticker they eat, another sentence is added, each one pointing out something particularly appetising about the dish — the softness of the wrapper for the most part, its amazing contrast with the crispy bottom, the way the pork filling is so juicy but never greasy, the hint of ginger in the vinegar and, just to tie in with the first few paragraphs they wrote, how the jasmine tea helps wash it all down. Halle raises a hand to get Leon's attention another page later, taking another sip of the now-lukewarm tea.

"How were the pot-stickers?" He asks while picking the plate up.

"Really good," they reply. "If it's not too much work, give the chef my compliments."

"My brother will be happy to hear you liked them."

"Your brother's the chef here?"

"Both of them, yeah." Leon refills their cup of tea. "And that's my sister at the cashier."

Well, that explains how he got this job. "That's cool," they say awkwardly. How do you reply to stuff like this?

He shrugs and takes the plate away. No more than ten minutes later, Leon returns with a smaller plate, holding two cubes of clear yellow jelly. Suspended within them are crimson, almond-shaped berries.

Just as Leon described, the jelly is sweet and flowery, almost resembling the taste of honey. The wolfberries scattered throughout have a subtle tartness unlike anything they've ever had before, though it doesn't overpower the aroma of osmanthus. Light and fleeting as dandelion fluff in the wind, the two cubes of jelly are gone before Halle knows it, and they scrawl down what they can lest they forget.

Leon's sister counts their change once they're finished, sliding coins across the small surface of the cashier so quickly they barely manage to catch them before they fall onto the floor. "Thank you for dining at Wang's, and we hope you visit again!" She says cheerily while giving them the last of their change. The last coin drops into their purse as they hear her sneeze. Raising her voice, she shouts across the restaurant to Leon, who nearly drops his teapot in shock, in what sounds like Mandarin.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Ling!" is the only warning Halle gets before Leon flings his red hoodie towards the cashier. Miraculously, Ling catches the hoodie and they avoid getting smacked in the face by its sleeves. She slips it on while waving them goodbye, smiling smugly at her older brother.

They decide to walk home while flipping through the notes they made. The remarks on the pot-stickers and osmanthus jelly might be able to make up half of their review, but there's no way they can dedicate that much of their article to only two dishes when the menu offers so many more. But to cover the entire menu on their own would take countless visits, enough that it'd get suspicious.

Next visit, they'll have to take someone with them. But who to bring?