The living fire of the Muslim Quarter is a fragrance that has never left Chang'an.
On the Muslim Quarter street, your mouth arrives before your feet.
In the evening, the Muslim Quarter is shoulder to shoulder. Smoke rises from lamb skewers, the scent of roujiamo drifts by, the sweetness of zenggao mixes with osmanthus. Visitors walk with food in both hands, eating from one end of the street to the other without pause.
The quarter's roujiamo uses a white-baked bun, crisp outside and soft within, stuffed with chopped braised pork until the juice soaks in. The old shops always have queues; the owner slices and fills in seconds, movements as polished as a performance.
This street has been a lively market since the Tang. A thousand years later the signs have changed but the fires have not gone out. At eleven at night the street is still loud, the skewer master flipping meat and calling out — Chang'an's night is as vivid as ever.
