Shanghai Terrace 
The Peninsula Chicago 

Shanghai, 1925. Imperial powers turn China’s biggest seaport into an international city of style and intrigue. Cognoscenti call it the Paris of the East.

Chicago, 1928. Chic buildings continue to scrape the Chicago skyline. Thrusting ever higher her claim to Paris on the Prairie.

The Peninsula, Chicago, 2005. East meets Midwest. A little corner of old Shanghai on a hotel terrace overlooks the once prairie, now magnificent mile.

Entering the cool restaurant, we leave steamy Chicago behind. Our eyes adjust to the dim light. We spy two square squat chairs, one burned, as if by an opium addict’s cigarette. Antique teapots adorn shelves in what could be an old Chinese tea shop. An Asian woman, dressed in black Chinese silk pajamas, escorts us to our table. We trod polished floors past walls of silk and Chinese lanterns. Our table, embellished by a single pale green orchid, is set with silver-tipped, black lacquer chopsticks.

In jasmine-yellow silks, the wait staff is smooth and professional. The menu, strong on Shanghainese and Cantonese offerings, includes dishes from neighboring cuisines. The wine list moves farther afield with a world-wide selection of wines that pair well with Asian flavors.

Scallop shu mai, glass noodle dumplings, peeky toe crab wonton: delicious, intriguing dim sum arrive artfully arranged on narrow black-lacquer plates. Appetizers follow. The Ahi Tuna Sashimi is a standout. Rosy-fresh tuna slices drape over daikon shreds with a bright green pea shoot salad, gaily dressed in a citrus-soy vinaigrette. The Peking Duck Salad is in a wonton cup filled with tender baby greens. It’s tossed with an earthy-flavored citrus-truffle vinaigrette and piled with succulent shredded duck and roasted peanuts

Main courses arrive with a two-server flourish. Fortunately, my family’s on its best behavior, thus avoiding fisticuffs over the Five-spiced Duck. With spiced, crispy skin skimming succulent meat infused with a subtle zest, it’s the hands-down favorite. What we know: the five spices are anise seed, fennel, clove, cinnamon and Szechwan pepper. The duck was rubbed with the spices and then set to marinate overnight.

"In what secret broth?" we ask.

An enigmatic smile, our only answer.

Mahi mahi brushed with a miso glaze, tender and slightly sweet is fit for an Emperor with its forbidden rice—a black rice no one outside the Chinese Imperial Household was allowed to eat. Another noble dish, wok-fried flounder has lotus root and garlic chives fused in a delicate ginger sauce.

Next, a procession of tiny sweets parade across our palates. Cool coconut ice cream in a cloud of strawberry foam, jasmine crème brûlée, gold silk (spun with egg yolks and sugar) chocolate moon cakes, sweet red bean cheesecake smothered with sake-soaked mango and blueberries—the procession continues—and so do we until at last we can taste no more.

Utterly content, we sip elegant white tea and decide The Shanghai Terrace is every bit an old Shanghai supper club. 

Except the food—the food may be better.

 By Kate Crawford  December 2005

LINKS WITH ATTITUDE 

The Shanghai Terrace's  web site.