Over the summer, someone told me I needed to check out a small counter-service restaurant tucked inside the Asia Food Market in Henrietta.
So I went.
And when I walked in, I was hit with one of the most memorable and intoxicating sights I’ve seen in the ten years I’ve been doing this.
What You See When You Walk Into the Asia Market
Behind plexiglass, whole roasted ducks hung on display — lacquered, deep mahogany skin glistening under fluorescent lights. A man stood over a butcher block with a cleaver, hacking and chopping those ducks into manageable pieces with the kind of rhythm that only comes from doing something a thousand times. Off to the side, another man held an entire pig suspended on hooks, torching the skin to burn off any remaining hair.
There were whole cooked crabs laid out on the counter near the register, waiting to be boxed up and taken home.
It didn’t feel curated. It didn’t feel designed for Instagram.
It felt real.
Why I Didn’t Post the First Time
That day, I ordered the roast duck and the crispy pork. Both came over rice with baby bok choy, packed tightly into plastic takeout containers. I took the food out to the parking lot, set up my phone, and filmed a video.
But when I went back and watched it, something felt off.
I didn’t post it.
Because I didn’t feel like I spoke about the food the way it deserved to be spoken about.
If I could map out the food I eat every single day — and I realize technically I can — I would choose to eat more diverse cuisines far more often. Don’t get me wrong. I love a Cajun cream smashburger. I love a chopped cheese with onion rings, fries, and bacon stuffed inside. I’m not pretending otherwise.
But if I’m being honest, I would rather spend more time experiencing food from different cultures around the world.
One of the downsides to posting content as frequently as I do is the pressure to make every meal “worth it.” If I’m going out to eat, there’s a voice in my head that says I should be getting content from it. That I shouldn’t waste the opportunity.
And it’s easy to talk confidently about a smashburger or an Italian sub. I know those foods. I understand them. I grew up around them.
It’s harder — at least for me — to speak thoughtfully about cuisines rooted in cultures I didn’t grow up in. It requires more listening. More awareness. More humility.
When I filmed that first video inside the market, I realized I didn’t have the headspace to do that properly. So I didn’t post it.
Not because the food wasn’t good — but because I didn’t think I did it justice.
When I went back recently, I was in a better place mentally. Slower. More observant. More willing to just experience it.
Roast Duck Chopped to Order
This time, I ordered a whole roast duck. I believe it was $34. They pulled it down from the rack, chopped it up with that heavy cleaver, and packed it tightly into two containers.
The roast duck was wonderful.
The skin had a slight snap to it, with a juicy layer of rendered fat underneath. Beneath that, the meat was incredibly tender — almost melt-in-your-mouth soft. The skin had that deep caramelized color that practically glows under the light, shimmering and lacquered. It’s the kind of visual temptation that makes you want to bite first and think later.
You do have to be careful. The pieces are bone-in, and you don’t want to come down too hard and crack a tooth. But that’s part of it. It’s not trimmed and polished into neat, boneless bites for convenience. It’s chopped the way it’s meant to be.
And that matters.
I don’t even know if the restaurant inside the market has its own official name. But if you walk into the Asian Food Market in Henrietta and turn to your right, you’ll see it immediately.
Why It’s Worth Returning For
Go early if you want the crispy pork. I was there at 1:30PM on a Thursday and they were already sold out.
And who knows — maybe in the coming months, I’ll find myself spending more time in places like this.
Less time chasing the perfect smashburger.
More time learning.
📍1885 Brighton Henrietta Townline Rd., Rochester, NY
