There is a magical place nestled between a hip club and an Indian specialties foods store off of a main drag in a small (medium-ish-sized) town in northern Utah.
Named after the noble Rooster (the Chinese year I always think we're in. I mean really.) said magical place is akin to nirvana for the starving, nay, even remotely hungry wanderer.
Yes my friends, a restaurant. A restaurant where dreams come true.
So it was an obvious first stop when my mom came up for a reunion.
The order was short and simple, the results divine.
The best potstickers, rice and boba (!) in the state. I'm assuming since they're also the only potstickers, rice and boba I've had in the state, but that's beside the point.
It was a fantastic start to an amazing weekend.
My stomach thoroughly and whole-heartedly concurs.
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