Do you want jellyfish? It shivers next to matchsticked cucumbers on the plate, cold and pale with only the barest blush as a server wheels the cart noiselessly past your table. It's OK if you don't want jellyfish. No, really. The servers at Lu Lu Seafood Restaurant understand that the smooth, vinegar-dressed flesh that yields to your teeth with a texture somewhere between squid and clam is Not For Everyone. They will politely offer it to everyone in the restaurant, from Chinese grandmothers who come for family dim sum every week to awkward tyros, pointing shaking fingers at the circling carts and asking meekly if that's some kind of chicken, maybe? The cart pushers will not press you to try the jellyfish if you don't want to; there are half a dozen other offerings on the cart, and none of them used to have tentacles. And the carts keep coming: sweet, fluffy pineapple custard buns; richly sauced greens; tofu stuffed with shrimp and scallions; pork shumai, shimmering through its translucent steamed wrapper. Special moon cake, its filigreed surface cut into four quarters so you can see the shining orb of dry, salty egg yolk inside. Wei wu wei — it translates as "action without action" — is a Taoist principle of finding equilibrium within the world. At Lu Lu it means being at peace with the dumplings and other delicacies that stream your way and at peace with yourself. Because you're not going to be able to move for a few hours if you eat everything that strikes your fancy.
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