"Boss, check, please!"
"Coming, Tong Jie..."
There are a few street stalls in the South District, which Yan Huan hasn't eaten at much; she's only occasionally passed by the entrance.
Thus, she feels that not only do all these places look alike, but even the bosses standing at the entrance, wearing aprons, with a cigarette dangling from their lips, squinting as they stir-fry, seem like they were wholesaled in bulk.
Only those with rich experience, the "South District experts," can find the few delicious yet affordable SSR among these stalls with identical appearances...
Evidently, Tong Yingying is one of them.
This is the unanimous conclusion Yan Huan and An Le reached after tasting the dishes.
At this moment, the boss's vague words in response to the billing are struggling to penetrate the steamy air of the kitchen and the old exhaust fan.
