LJ Shanghai — Restaurant in Cleveland

3/22/25 dinner:

There are restaurants, and then there are institutions. There are places where one eats, and there are places where one experiences food as a grand symphony, a transcendental journey, a portal to something greater than mere sustenance. LJ Shanghai is not just a restaurant. It is a shrine to the ancient and the modern, to tradition and innovation, to the alchemy of ingredients and the boundless power of human connection.

From the moment one steps through the doors of LJ Shanghai, there is a sense—palpable, electric—that something extraordinary is about to unfold. The air carries an intoxicating mix of fragrances: the gentle embrace of freshly steamed dumplings, the seductive whispers of meticulously braised meats, and the crisp, tantalizing bite of wok-seared vegetables. Each scent is an invitation, a promise of what is to come, a foreshadowing of a meal that will linger in the mind long after the last bite.

But before the feast even begins, before the first xiao long bao is lifted reverently to one’s lips, there is something even more remarkable, even more unforgettable than the food itself: a spirit of deep and unwavering respect for all who enter.

In a world that so often seeks to divide, to categorize, to impose boundaries upon the boundless, LJ Shanghai stands as a beacon of inclusivity. Here, it does not matter who you are, where you come from, what language you speak, or how you navigate the intricate dance of life—you are welcome. You are honored. You are seen. You are embraced not as a mere customer but as a guest, a cherished soul, a fellow traveler in this vast, mysterious universe.

And then, there is the food.

Oh, the food.

To call the xiao long bao at LJ Shanghai exquisite would be an insult to their perfection. These are not mere dumplings; they are delicate pouches of liquid gold, each bite an explosion of flavor so divine it could bring a tear to the eye of even the most stoic diner. The thin, supple wrappers give way to an ambrosial broth—savory, rich, impossibly refined—before revealing the tender, masterfully seasoned pork within. One cannot simply eat an LJ Shanghai xiao long bao. One must experience it. One must surrender to it.

The scallion pancakes arrive, their crisp exteriors gleaming like golden sunbursts, shattering with an ethereal crunch before dissolving into layers of buttery, flaky perfection. The beef noodle soup is a revelation, the broth so profoundly deep in flavor that it seems to whisper secrets of generations past, the hand-pulled noodles possessing a chew so satisfying it borders on the transcendent. Every dish—every single, painstakingly crafted dish—tells a story, a saga of technique, of patience, of devotion to a craft perfected over centuries.

And yet, LJ Shanghai is more than just the sum of its dishes.

It is a place where one can arrive alone and leave feeling as though they have dined among family. It is a place where kindness is served just as generously as the soup dumplings, where every interaction is infused with warmth, where respect is not merely a practice but a way of life.

It is a place where all walks of life are not merely tolerated but celebrated.

This is the rare kind of restaurant that reminds us why food is so much more than sustenance. It is memory. It is culture. It is art. It is a bridge between past and future, between tradition and reinvention, between people from all corners of the earth who, for a moment, sit together and share something truly profound.

To dine at LJ Shanghai is not just to eat. It is to witness mastery. It is to feel welcomed, honored, and understood. It is to experience, for a fleeting moment, the kind of world we all dream of—one where respect, kindness, and the universal language of food reign supreme.

LJ Shanghai is not just a restaurant.

It is a love letter...

My best friend and I were really excited to try a new Chinese restaurant — we’d been looking forward to it all day. But unfortunately, the experience turned out to be uncomfortable and disappointing.

As soon as we walked in, the very first thing the owner said to us was, “Cash only.” Now, that in itself isn’t a problem we understand some places prefer that. But it wasn’t what she said, it was how she said it. Her tone came across as cold, almost condescending, like we weren’t welcome from the moment we stepped inside. It caught us off guard, but we chose to overlook it and sat down.

While looking at the menu, I asked about the difference between a couple of the soups. Before the owner could respond, my friend jumped in to help explain but when the owner did chime in, her response was laced with sarcasm, almost like a “duh” moment. She even made a dismissive hand gesture, which made me feel stupid for even asking. I started to feel really uncomfortable, like I was being judged for not knowing something.

When the food came, it was just okay not bad, but nothing amazing. But at that point, it was hard to enjoy because the whole atmosphere felt tense. We were still waiting for the soup we ordered, but noticed the staff kept glancing over at us in a way that felt more like watching than checking in. That made it even harder to relax.

Then something even more upsetting happened. A man and his daughter sat down at a nearby table. After looking at the menu, they kindly explained that the daughter had an allergy and they wouldn’t be able to stay. They left politely, but once they were gone, the owner began talking about them negatively to another table loud enough that we could hear it. That moment truly solidified how unprofessional and disrespectful the environment felt.

By the time we were still waiting on our soup, my friend and I had already made up our minds. We told the owner we didn’t want the soup anymore. Instead of handling it professionally, the staff member snapped that it was already made. I tried to respond calmly and explain our decision, but she cut me off said “never mind,” and walked away abruptly.

I had intended to let her know politely that as someone who works in customer service myself, I truly believe she could benefit from treating customers with more kindness and respect. But I never got the chance. Her attitude shut down any room for communication.

We paid the bill and noticed that a 15% gratuity had been written in by hand not printed on the receipt. It’s unclear whether that’s something they do for every customer or if she assumed we wouldn’t leave a tip ourselves. Either way it felt presumptive, especially considering the service we received. We still paid it and left quietly, but it left a lasting impression and not a good one.

Even as I’m writing this, I honestly don’t think the owner or staff would care about a review like this she didn’t seem like someone who values customer service or feedback. But this isn’t really for them. It’s for anyone thinking about trying this place. Your experience might be different, but this was mine and it left me feeling uncomfortable, disrespected, and really...

If I could give LJ Shanghai ten stars, I would. Five simply does not do justice to the unparalleled experience that awaits you at this hidden gem of a restaurant. From the moment you step through the doors, you are transported into a world where culinary artistry meets the warmest hospitality, and every bite tells a story of tradition, passion, and an uncompromising commitment to excellence.

I have traveled far and wide, indulging in the finest dining experiences across the country, but nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for the transcendent journey that LJ Shanghai took me on. Let me paint the picture for you.

As I entered, the aroma of freshly steamed dumplings, rich broths, and perfectly seasoned wok-fried delights filled the air, an intoxicating invitation that immediately set the tone for what would be a night to remember. The staff, with their genuine smiles and an almost supernatural ability to anticipate your every need, welcomed me like an old friend, making me feel less like a customer and more like an honored guest.

And then, the food arrived.

Let’s start with the soup dumplings—Xiao Long Bao, the crown jewel of Shanghai cuisine. These were not just dumplings; they were delicate purses of liquid gold, handcrafted with the precision of a master artist. The moment my chopsticks lifted one from the bamboo steamer, I knew I was about to taste something extraordinary. I gently placed it on my spoon, pierced the delicate skin, and watched as the rich, fragrant broth pooled around the luscious pork filling. One bite, and I was undone. The balance of flavors, the warmth of the soup, the slight chew of the wrapper—perfection.

And that was just the beginning.

The scallion pancakes? Crisp on the outside, impossibly flaky and layered within, infused with a depth of flavor that defies logic. The Sheng Jian Bao, their pan-fried dumpling counterpart, had the most exquisite crispy bottoms, giving way to a juicy, savory filling that sent my taste buds into overdrive.

The braised pork belly? A work of art. Imagine the most tender, melt-in-your-mouth meat, bathed in a sauce so rich, so umami-packed, that you find yourself involuntarily closing your eyes with every bite, savoring the symphony of flavors playing on your tongue.

Even the simplest dishes—garlic green beans, silky tofu, a humble bowl of perfectly steamed rice—were executed with a level of care and expertise that turned them into stars in their own right.

But what truly sets LJ Shanghai apart isn’t just the food (though, my god, the food)—it’s the experience. It’s the way they make you feel like you belong. It’s the way every dish is served with love, every ingredient chosen with purpose, and every meal becomes not just sustenance but a memory, a story, an event.

I left that night not just satisfied, but transformed. LJ Shanghai is not just a restaurant. It is a destination, a temple of flavor, a place where the love of food is tangible in every bite. If you have not yet been, go. Go now. Bring your friends, bring your family, bring a sense of wonder—because what awaits you at LJ Shanghai is nothing short of magic.

Five stars. A thousand stars. The best...