Sections of the famous snack street are already boarded up, but that isn’t stopping the occupants of 75 Wujiang Lu from making spring rolls.

Soon, well-heeled residents will stroll down a renovated modern shopping corridor, with nary an unlicensed vendor in sight. Polished chain restaurants will replace cheap fried dumplings and mutton skewers. But, for now, Shanghai’s famous snack street is still open, and there are fillings to scoop and dough to fold.

This place is very special -- there are so many memories here. We don’t want to leave but the government says we have to.

— Su Guo Qiang, restaurant owner

The street, by some counts, has more than 100 years of history. During Shanghai’s colonial glory, local legends say that the street was called Love Lane and exemplified the era’s vices. In its modern incantation, motley crowds stand in long lines and eagerly wolf down their food, scraps of their napkins sticking like confetti to the pocked street.

A local tale

A Lin (阿临) Restaurant is just one of the many well-worn dives that call Wujiang Lu home. It’s been open for 15 years, but, by Chinese New Year, it is slated to close its doors for good. Inside, occupants are grappling with their next move, and coming to terms with the loss of their livelihood, their entertainment and their home-away-from home.

“We’re all going back to Anhui,” says waitress Zhao Li, 18, pointing to her fellow waitstaff. Above her, last year’s red holiday tinsel hangs limply across the ceiling, bordering the faded brick wallpaper.

Zhao Li says she’ll miss the international vibe of the famous food center: “People from all over the world love coming here because they can try so many of the city’s food specialties in one place.”

Owner Su Guo Qiang, a Shanghai resident, agrees that it’s hard to see the area go. He hasn’t yet selected a new spot for his restaurant. While he’d love to stay in the renao, or lively, Nanjing Xi Lu area, rents are high.

“This place is very special -- there are so many memories here,” he says, pointing outside to the shadows of a once bustling street. “We don’t want to leave but the government says we have to.”

He pauses. “Zenme ban?” What can we do?

The Wujiang Lu community

Over the years, he’s gotten to know the nearby shop owners and neighbors who live in the apartments above -- such as Mr. Wang. Mr. Wang, an elderly man with thick glasses and straggly white hair, often wanders in to say hello and use the water cooler.

Mr. Wang has lived on the street for more than 50 years and still has no idea where he’ll go next. He sips some green tea and considers his home. Many residents say the street is too filthy, too poor.

“Some people are happy to leave,” he says before walking out. “There are different opinions on whether it’s for the best.”

Just outside the restaurant, a woman in a red flannel jacket is stirring stinky tofu into a large wok. The chunks sizzle as they fall into the hot oil. One of her neighbors stands by her side to chat, just outside the crumbling brick entrance to their old lane. The occupants soon will be relocated and the alley demolished.

“Before long, we’ll all be gone,” her neighbor says. “We’re moving from the city center to the far outskirts of Shanghai. There, it will at least be clean and new.”