On Christmas Eve, I called to see if Mr. J Hand-Pulled Noodle shop was open. After living in China for two years, I came back with a permanent craving for noodle dishes, like an itch that needs to be scratched, no matter the timing.
“Wei,” a voice answered in Mandarin. This was a good sign. My husband and I jumped in the car and headed to Ocoee to try this new spot.
As I ate my bowl of beef noodle soup, I peeked into the kitchen to see strands of dough and noodle threads flying in the air. I was smitten and knew I had to meet the noodle-making magician.
Kirsten Harrington 