The debate outside would continue—between efficiency and tradition, technology and authenticity, packaging and truth. But in this shabby kitchen, there was no debate. Only fire.… On a humid evening in a provincial Chinese city, a salesman in a wrinkled suit pushed aside the curtain of a small restaurant tucked behind a factory. The cloth was greasy to the touch, and inside, the smell of smoke clung to everything. The walls were streaked with oil, the wooden chairs wobbled as if on their last legs, and an ashtray, brimming with cigarette butts, sat like a permanent fixture on the table. The salesman ordered chicken soup and boiled dumplings. He had heard the rumors: this place was one of the last to insist on cooking with open flames. “Is there a manager here?” he called toward the kitchen. A white-haired man appeared, clutching a wok blackened with years of use. “Manager? You mean me?” “I work for a cooking equipment manufacturer...