It was a frigid December evening in Chicago, and I was hungry. Tiptoeing to the kitchen, I found a partially stale Costco croissant tucked away in some dusty plastic Tupperware at the back of our pantry. Balancing it in my palm, I began to reminisce about my days in London, enjoying warm, golden pastries and debating with my tutor about Locke’s interpretation of sovereignty. The previous term, I had similarly invigorating discussions with my peers in Beijing about the One-Child Policy and the Prime Minister of Japan, but over steamy youtiao and perfectly sweet doujiang. Peeling my eyes away from the pitiful croissant, I began to conceptualise my ideal restaurant—one that served all these scrumptious treasures in a friendly, welcoming environment.