Xie Hui met us outside Ragù, an Italian restaurant along Suzhou Creek. It is housed in Guang'er Warehouse, which served as a Bank of Communications storage facility before 1949. Following its renovation, the space now features Western restaurants, cafes, bars, and boutiques, emerging as a trendy new cultural hub in Shanghai.
Less than a five-minute walk from Guang'er Warehouse is the renowned Sihang Warehouse. In late spring, Shanghai experiences the gentle drizzle typical of April. Yet, despite the drizzle, crowds of visitors gather outside Sihang Warehouse to take photos and view its bullet-riddled walls.
He had heard about this place many times since childhood from his grandfather, Xie Dihua, a radio specialist with the New Fourth Army. When recounting the legend of Xie Jinyuan and the Eight Hundred Heroes, his grandfather told him that anyone who fought bravely against the enemy was one of their own, regardless of affiliation.
Ragù is cozy, reminding him of the small shops he frequented in Europe. "Small shops like this feel welcoming," he said. "They have a way of feeling instantly at home in a city like Shanghai."
The 2026 Global Taste in Shanghai: Americas Flavors Season recently kicked off. We met with long-time resident Xie Hui at Suzhou Creek Bay to discuss food and his vision for Jing'an.
Jing'an is redefining the heart of Shanghai's nightlife
Xie Hui was born and bred in Jing'an District, a place holding his family's history and many of his childhood memories.
His great-grandfather, Xie Yingrui, left for the UK to study. After earning his medical doctorate, he journeyed back to Shanghai with his British bride and settled in the Jing'an area. His great-grandparents raised six children. Although the family later branched out, they all continued to live in Jing'an District. During his early years as a police chief at the police station on what is now Nanjing Road, Xie Hui's grandfather, Xie Dihua, lived in an old lane on Xinzha Road. "My grandfather's house was in the same lane (Qinyuan Village) where movie star Ruan Lingyu lived," he told us.
Born in 1920, Xie Dihua was 13 when Ruan Lingyu moved into the lane. Two years later, in 1935, she ended her life there with sleeping pills. As a child, Xie Hui was taken by his family to see Ruan Lingyu's former residence.
After severely injuring a Japanese soldier, Xie Dihua fled to northern Jiangsu and joined the New Fourth Army as a confidential officer. His experiences partly inspired the character Li Xia in the film The Eternal Wave.
Most of the old houses where the previous generation of the Xie family lived have been demolished. Xie Hui grew up and began his football career in Xuhui District. Years later, however, his parents returned to Jing'an District, purchasing a home near South Wuning Road and Kangding Road. Today, the area's nightlife surpasses even the once-famous Julu Road-Fumin Road-Changle Road area. The grid formed by Wuding, Yanping, Kangding, and Jiaozhou roads has reshaped the heart of Shanghai's nightlife in recent years.
"The Wuding Road area is booming, with many authentic restaurants opened by expats," he said. On a sunny afternoon, he can sometimes be spotted at an outdoor table at Bites & Brews or Must, observing the expats who now call this place home. They sometimes argue without restraint, completely at home.
Just like his great-grandmother, generations of expats have traveled from afar with trepidation, ultimately finding their home in Shanghai. In one way or another, whether through instant connection or a winding path, Shanghai ultimately soothes the souls of those from afar.
The most immediate embodiment of this urban warmth is found in the vibrant life and flavors of its streets.
Food and football share a common ground
Substance far outweighs style
A cod dish shaped like a Magnum ice cream bar was served. Xie Hui, who spent five years studying in Germany, said his favorite remains this Mediterranean cuisine. "First, cooking with olive oil is healthier. Second, it somewhat resembles Chinese food, with seafood as the main ingredients—Shanghai people are particularly fond of fish and shrimp. When I was in Germany, I had more opportunities to eat Italian or Spanish food, including Greek food." He took a bite, and the full fragrance of cod jumped in his mouth.
Shanghai has never lacked Italian restaurants, but unlike 8½ Otto e Mezzo Bombana and DA VITTORIO on the Bund, Ragù takes a people-friendly approach. The dishes are simple, not as fancy as those commonly seen in Western food, but every bite makes people feel genuine. The fried cheese lasagna that was served later also amazed him. It looked simple on the outside, but it contained rich flavor layers inside.
"In fact, Western food puts too much emphasis on presentation—it can feel a bit over-styled. But for us Chinese, the real test is in the ingredients. That's why you can find amazing flavors in the tiniest, most unassuming places here, which is much harder in Europe." He said, "Unless you are very knowledgeable, it is not easy to pick those small shops that cook delicious food."
This reminded him that food and football share common ground. "In football, what ultimately matters is the performance on the pitch, not the flashy peripherals. I think European football is the opposite of Chinese football in this regard. We focus too much on superficial elements, lacking genuine substance. These two cultures complement each other in food and football—that's how I see it."
The cheese filling in the baked lasagna now exudes an irresistible milky aroma. It wove itself seamlessly with a half-remembered scent of butter, conjuring a profound and instant happiness.
Xie Hui was born in 1975. During his youth, the country was still in the early stages of reform and opening-up, with relatively scarce resources. Xie Hui's family was relatively well-off at the time. He recalls having afternoon tea, typically black tea served with butter biscuits or bread. "Butter was scarce back then, unlike today when a large chunk is used for cooking. Back then, after the butter melted, I would take just a little and spread it evenly on the bread. That single piece of butter lasted a long time." He still recalls that butter was rationed and required a coupon to purchase.
"Back then, toast or biscuits tasted wonderful with a bit of butter, as fat of any kind was rare," he said. "So even now, the scent of butter carries a direct line to happiness for me—it holds so many memories."
His first taste of what could be called Western food was at home. He remembers it was a pan-fried steak. His grandfather sat beside him at the table, showing him how to use a knife and fork to cut bite-sized pieces along the grain of the beef. The silverware they used back then was hard to come by, and only a few sets remain in the family.
Xie Hui learned his table manners from his grandfather. "According to my grandfather's family rules, one must not make noise at the table. If you made a sound, he would simply watch you in silence. I remember it vividly because when we had soup, especially noodles, children would inevitably slurp loudly. He would teach me how to bite through noodles silently. Whether it was Chinese or Western noodles, there was a proper way to do it."
The older generation's earnestness toward life often left him quietly amazed. It wasn't until he grew up that he understood his grandfather's almost strict sense of ritual, like buttoning even the top button of his shirt, stemmed from a deep respect for life itself. Such individuals, no matter how deep a ravine fate casts them into or how disheveled they may appear, will never grovel on all fours, becoming a dog at the mercy of destiny.
Secretly saving the price of a cup of coffee from a RMB 78 salary
Memories of Western cuisine in the 1990s around the Hilton Hotel
This ingrained sense of propriety and refinement eventually influenced him subtly. Before turning professional in 1994, he was a regular player on the Shanghai Second Team, earning a monthly salary of RMB 78. But when he received his first paycheck, after handing most of it over to his parents, he secretly set aside a dozen RMB to treat himself to a cup of coffee.
"I felt I deserved a reward, so I decided to go somewhere a bit more proper for a coffee." It might have been at the Hilton—he can't recall exactly—but that first coffee remains unforgettable. "Back then, having a cup of coffee was still considered quite a stylish thing."
His first visit to a Western restaurant, his first taste of Brazilian barbecue—many of his culinary "firsts" took place in Jing'an. Malone's, an American-style bar on the corner of Tongren Road from 1994 until its closure a few years ago, and the Long Bar at the Shanghai Mart, which vanished even earlier, were both trendy spots during his youth. He still recalls the Filipino house band at Malone's and the wooden railing on the second floor. When the bar was crowded, the air would carry a distinct, meaty scent.
"Back then, Western cuisine was definitely a niche choice. We frequented Jing'an District, often visiting the Hilton Hotel and the row of Western restaurants and bars across from it."
Of those establishments from that era, for better or worse, few remain today. Of course, Shanghai is never short of places to go, and the quality of its restaurants and bars only continues to rise. Yet, he sometimes feels a tinge of sadness. Have the times left these places behind, or do they simply no longer meet people's needs? That is the question.
"Perhaps our pace is simply too fast. In some European countries, you can find many historic, age-old establishments. Perhaps, we may also cultivate such a culture in the future. We need to think about how to slow things down and perfect one thing to the extreme. This should be the ultimate goal for the catering industry going forward, shouldn't it?"
The "Shanghai flavor" upheld by countless local families
At this moment, Chef Filippo personally served the restaurant's signature seafood cappuccino. With less than two months until the World Cup, individuals from two disappointed nations crossed paths.
"We are in the same boat now; we have both been knocked out of the World Cup," Xie Hui quipped. "Yes, our current situation is quite dire," the chef lamented, holding his head. "It is absolute hell." Xie Hui piled on, "Missing the World Cup for three consecutive tournaments is just unbelievable."
For Filippo, the most thrilling moment for the Italian national team dates back to the 1982 World Cup. "We actually won it!" "I was seven, which is why I used to wear the number 20," Xie Hui said, his eyes alight. "All because of Rossi (Note: the hero of Italy's 1982 World Cup victory), everything because of him."
"I still remember that final; I was 12 years old. Next to my hometown of Verona, there is a very large lake (Note: Lake Garda), perhaps one of the largest in Europe. Every summer, many Germans come for vacation," the chef recalled. "I remember that year, all the apartments and houses around my home were occupied by Germans. Germany took the lead at the start of the final. The Germans were overjoyed, cheering and shouting, but we eventually came from behind to win. When the match ended, everything around us fell dead silent, but we were so happy." "Yes, 3-1," Xie Hui said, his eyes sparkling as he thought of his idol, Rossi.
Then they both agreed that football today has changed. When people talk about football nowadays, the sparkle in their eyes is gone.
The green potato gnocchi with smoked prosciutto was served. He mentioned that it is his favorite Italian staple. "Mixing potatoes with pasta gives it delightful texture with a pleasant bite," he noted. "It is also healthier; since it is potato-based rather than refined flour, it has a lower glycemic impact than standard pasta."
The final dish was an Italian smoked prosciutto pizza. "Isn't this the legendary 'flavor explosion in a single bite'?" he said. "Besides the toppings, the crust is crucial for a pizza, and this one is exceptionally well-made. When eating pizza, don't use a knife; just roll it up with your hands for the best taste." As someone who strictly controls his carbohydrate intake, this meal maxed out his monthly carb allowance. "But it was definitely worth it," he said.
Right next to Ragù is Fotografiska Shanghai. Watching a diverse mix of expats walk by, he knew they would either head inside Fotografiska for an exhibition or simply sit back and sip a bottle of Tibetan Pale Ale beer, priced at RMB 50. "Jing'an District is truly international," he observed.
"I believe this international character is hard to replicate; it is deeply rooted in the city's culture. Wherever you go, it is the people who matter most, not just the sights. For instance, if you find the landscapes before you appealing, that is something you can easily replicate. But what you cannot copy are the people. Shanghai's integration, inclusivity, and cosmopolitan nature were not built overnight. They are in the city's marrow—an atmosphere cultivated by countless local families, especially in Jing'an."
In his view, this is one of the reasons why so many expats love Shanghai and choose to live here, because the city has soul.