On a Thursday afternoon in mid-November, I met author Mara Hvistendahl at Tea Home on University Avenue. We were being instructed to sign in via a wall-mounted iPad, even even though the restaurant stood mainly vacant.
“Overcomplication as a result of technologies is extremely authentically Chinese,” famous Hvistendahl as we stood unattended by the host stand, ready for a little something to transpire.
“Mara!” introduced a host loudly and briskly, which was odd as we remained the only folks ready for a desk. But we got a terrific booth: back again in the corner, screened by carved wooden, further more obscured by ceiling-peak curtains of grey silk.
Hvistendahl seems to be like a writer as played by a motion picture star on display screen: She has a extensive mouth, grey-blue eyes, and a stylish blond ponytail with bangs. In a blink of her copper-shadowed eyes, our veggies arrived and I