She Built Restaurants in Shanghai; Now She’s Bringing Wine to New York

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Camden Hauge, 37, the founder of China Wine Club. Her words have been edited for length and clarity.

I grew up in New Jersey, just outside New York City, poring over my grandmother’s collection of Gourmet magazines instead of storybooks.

I always wanted to have a restaurant, but living between two incredible — and intimidating — food capitals, New York and later London, that dream felt far away.

From 2010 to 2012, I worked in advertising at Saatchi & Saatchi in London. When the company offered me an overseas posting in Shanghai, I said yes, expecting to stay three to six months.

Half a year in, I realized it was the perfect place to pivot my career toward food, and I quit a year later.

Serving up American breakfasts in China

After Expo 2010 had put Shanghai on the global stage, a wave of international residents arrived, and locals were eager for new ideas. There was a beautiful alchemy, an energy that made you feel like you could do anything. I found myself among a vibrant group of entrepreneurs.

At that time, few cafés even had espresso machines, and most offered sad refrigerator cases of melting cake. To test the waters, I launched Shanghai Supperclub, hosting monthly pop-up dinners around the city.

During my first year in Shanghai, I miscalculated currency conversions and thought I had only 20 yuan a day to live on. I accidentally ended up saving a ton. With those savings and a $20,000 loan from my uncle, I opened my first restaurant, Egg, in 2015.

I’d mapped out the kind of neighborhood I wanted: leafy, low-rise with wet markets, parks, and Art Deco villas. I biked the same few blocks every day until I noticed a family-run corner store had closed.

If I were starting today, I probably wouldn’t have made it. The market’s tougher now, but Egg quickly found its following.

We served American-style baked goods like homemade Pop-Tarts and Shanghai’s first avocado toast. The restaurant broke even by its third month.

Building a restaurant group

After Egg, I reinvested my profits. In 2016, I cofounded Social Supply, an events agency with Olivia Mok, creating immersive dining experiences and pop-ups. By 2018, I opened Bird, a natural-wine bar, and Bitter, a café that turned into a cocktail bar at night. Later came Lucky Mart, a Japanese convenience store-inspired café and bar.

It felt like Shanghai’s dining scene was full of possibilities. I’d often overhear regulars offering to bankroll a bartender’s next venture on the spot. What started as one café evolved into a small restaurant group.

By 2020, I was running nine venues and worried about spreading myself too thin. The hardest parts were rent and staffing; attrition can hit 50% a year. In 2021, I sold or transferred five venues as pandemic disruptions and rising rents took their toll. I still run four venues across three brands.

Shifting focus

With China’s borders shut, I felt cut off from the world. I had already started Feast, an annual food festival, in 2015. Inspired by René Redzepi’s MAD Symposium, I launched Feast Con in 2021, a food-and-beverage culture symposium.

While sourcing speakers, friends suggested I contact Lucas Sin, a Hong Kong chef based in New York. He submitted a talk, and we followed each other on Instagram. When I visited the US in 2022, we met for dinner and immediately clicked.

He lived with me in Shanghai for two years before we relocated to New York this April.

My work is still in China

I still split my time between New York and Shanghai. For Egg and Lucky Mart, I have an amazing general manager, and Mok oversees the events agency on the ground.

My latest venture is China Wine Club, which I launched last year through monthly wine parties in Shanghai. In March, I brought 4,000 bottles from six Chinese winemakers to New York, investing $60,000 of my own money.

It’s a delicate cash-flow balance. Unlike restaurants, where revenue comes in daily, wine requires large upfront costs. Upon arrival in the US, I paid a 45% tariff for my first wine shipment.

Halfway through selling one shipment, I already need to order the next. Luckily, my winery partners offer fair pricing and generous allocations.

China’s wine industry reminds me of 1980s California: no rules, just creativity. I’m trying to bring bottles people haven’t seen before: a pét-nat co-fermented with jasmine tea, a smoky field blend from Ningxia, and a Graševina inspired by Central European and Chinese amphora traditions.

Shanghai will always feel like home. It’s where I learned how to build something from nothing, and where so many of my biggest risks turned into defining moments. My story started there, and even as life pulls me between New York and Shanghai, I still carry that same sense of possibility the city gave me.

Do you have a story about moving to Asia that you want to share? Get in touch with the editor: akarplus@businessinsider.com.