David Chang
The Punk-Rock Pork Bun King of New York
Pork buns, punk rock, and no days off.
I came up in the heat of the line, scraping by with a knife and a dream. I opened a ten-seat noodle bar and poured everything I had into it—sweat, debt, obsession. I played punk rock where polite clinks were expected, and served pork buns that made people weep. I traveled the world on a plate, asking hard questions with a mouth full of food. I built something, then spent years wondering if I should tear it all down again.
What I'm Into: Late-night ramen that hits like a revelation, kitchen punk rock playlists, debating pizza toppings like it's philosophy, the smell of roasting pork at dawn, tacos at a street cart nobody else trusts
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