The Dim Sum Diaries (Part V - Snacks)

Hong Kong has long developed its own snack culture: a blend of East and West, proper and junk food.

Milk tea (nai cha) is the local brew that got us through many a blustery day. Like proper teh, it is made by blending tea leaves and brewing them in a long metal container for hours. The stocking-like cotton bag filters out the leaves before the milk is added. Nai cha is served almost anywhere. At its worst, it tasted like very strong and good teh-si-kosong. At its best at Lan Fong Yuen, who practically invented this drink, it was a magical brew of great strength and smoothness. A hot french toast sandwich oozing with kaya and topped with melting butter was a perfect accompaniment. Lan Fong Yuen also did great pork chop with instant noodles: the pork was so tender I thought it was chicken at first.

Yuan yang at Saint's Alp [sic] Teahouse was an epitome of smoothness as well despite what initially seemed a confused drink of coffe and tea.

Assuring me it was a Hong Kong staple and no food trip would be complete without it, Hong Kong friends practically had to tie me down and feed me the dubiously-named Ginger with Steamed Milk. Spluttering, I could only mumble that it lacked the tea that would transform it into a very good teh halia.

Just off Lan Kwai Fong, almost everything on the menu at Hang Fa Lau is good. They have a cold dessert of pomelo, mango and sago called Yang Zhi Gan Lu (here I revert to Mandarin) to which I was addicted. It's not on the menu.

Tak Seng Hou Egg Rolls were the best I've tasted. Brought a big tin back for my colleagues and I can hear the tin being cracked open throughout the day. Brought some to bible study and it was well-employed for illustrative discussions on predestination, election and human responsibility. It's (the egg rolls, not the bible study) fluffy and crunchy and much more pleasant than our hard splintering love-letters. The coconut flavour's best.

At 10 degrees at night with a steady cold wind sweeping down the streets, there was nothing better than to be able chew at Ben & Jerry's scoop on a cone at leisure, not worrying about it melting into a sodden mess on our shoes if left unattended.

The mango desserts at Hui Lau San are addictive.

Lan Fong Yuen
Gage Street, Central

Saint's Alp Teahouse
almost everywhere

Hang Fa Lau
D'Aguilar Street, Central

Tak Seng Hou
64 Java Road, North Point

Ben & Jerry's
D'Aguilar Street, Central

The Dim Sum Diaries (Part IV - Noodles and Rice and some noodling around)

The carbo dishes in Hong Kong seemed far superior. Perhaps, like the foods of Waverley Root's France, Chinese food can be regionalised not by geography but by the oil/fat used in the cooking. The lard used in so much Singaporean Chinese food is heavy and weighs you down in the hot and muggy air here. Hong Kong Chinese food is more qing. The vegetable oil and crisp air make eating a much less ponderous and tiring affair.

Wonton Noodles

Mak Ngan Kay
Wellington Street
Noodles were thin and smooth. Stock was rich. Wonton skin was velvety, meat was succulent.

The wonton soup at Yung Kee was delicious as well. Cooked in stock made from the geese sold there.

Beef Brisket Noodles
Yuan Kee
18 Granville Road
Slow-stewed beef melted in the mouth.

Fried Rice
Fung Shing Restaurant
62-68 Java Road, North Point; 749 Nathan Road, Mongkok

Wonderful "Rich Boy Fried Rice". Rice fried with chopped spring onion and scallop, tomato, scrambled egg and prawns, flash-wrapped with wok hei. Shiok. It was apparently invented some 50 years ago for rich playboys to tank up for the long energetic night ahead.

Celebrated with this dish after an exhibition of Chao Shao-An's paintings at the Hong Kong Heritage Museum. While alive, he was one of the great propagators of the Ling-Nan school, making trips around Asia, America and Europe with all the fervour of an evangelist. While Tan Kian Por sat in his wife's studio worrying about money and not selling his paintings, yet to be conferred the recognition of the Cultural Medellion, Chao Shao-An's art blazed like the epitome of beauty for me. So I approached the exhibition with the trepidation of one returning to his favourite restaurant back in his hometown after decades abroad, unsure of what he will find, uncertain if his memory has elevated the past to a pedestal that present reality can never fulfil. I feared unnecessarily. The masterworks looked just as good...no, better...than when we last met years ago. Over lunch, I toasted a grubby cup to Chao Shao-An, and wondered, sadly, for all his kindness and humility, if we would ever meet under the new heaven, on the new earth.

The Manets, Monets and Renoirs cobbled together from the Musee d'Orsay and put on show at the Hong Kong Museum of Art were nice but too politely bland after that.

The Dim Sum Diaries (Part II - Dim Sum)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part III - Birds and Pigs)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part V - Snacks)

The Dim Sum Diaries (Part III - Birds and Pigs)

Being hearty healthy ravenous people, just the thing after a long cold face-numbing hike in the hills or along the dark city streets was the beckoning fragrance of a freshly roasted bird or pig, just off the spit.

Due to pollution control regulations, very few places are now allowed to roast their meat over charcoal fires. Wing Yup Lung is one of the few remaining restaurants with a permit to do so. They are well-known among locals for their roast pork and goose. The pork was crispy and moist and the skin of the goose came off easily from the tender flesh. (Detractors say this is achieved by the insertion of a bicycle pump just under the skin before the goose is carved up. But the meat is delish regardless.)

The fast turnover ensures that the meat is always fresh and hot from the spit. While we were there, a whole pig was brought in, still steaming from his restful sizzling over the fire. He was hung on a hook, almost reaching the oily floor tiles, and sliced open immediately still dripping with his own delicious fat and served to ogling customers.

We could not miss an expedition to Yung Kee of course. Trooped into the restaurant after a long nippy hike up to the Peak and a chilly stroll some way round it. The goose came when our numbed faces had thawed in the warmth of the boisterous chatter of families around us and small cups of hot tea. Preserved egg and ginger were served as appetisers.

Yung Kee apparently started as a roadside stall catering to seamen in the 1940s. But good roast geese can't be kept down and people started flocking to this institution. Yung Kee is another place with a permit to continue roasting their lovely geese over charcoal fires; fresh geese tender from their diet of maize from the family farm on the mainland. Flew some home.

They were flavourful and roasted to just the right crisp without dryness. Moist and succulent with a hint of gamey aftertaste.

When we moved our field HQ to the New Territories, we set up camp in Sha Tin, minutes away from the famous roast pigeon of Lung Wah Hotel Restaurant. Red lanterns led the way past cockatoos, pigeons and a peacock (hmmm...wonder how he would taste...) to a crowded restaurant lit by flourescent lights. The roast pigeon was wonderful and juicy. Too little meat though. Maybe the peacock would have done the trick...

The salt-baked chicken at Chuen Cheung Kui Restaurant was mind-blowing. Mostly reluctant to venture beyond the suppleness of the mid-wing joint (never understood the chicken breast phenomena), I couldn't comprehend how so much white meat could be so tender and soaked with taste. Walloped about half the plate before anyone had the presence of mind to take a photo.

Yet somehow, all these birds can't seem to compare in my memory, to the roast duck from Four Seasons in Queensway, London. Almost cried when I ate that one starving student winter. Have never tasted anything like that since. Remembrance of Things Past would have been far thicker if Proust had dined on roast bird instead of nibbling at an insipid madeleine.

PS: It is often suggested that birds be poached/steamed before roasting to ensure tender flesh and crisp skin. Like Nigella Lawson's mother, I'm fairly confident of a lemon and an onion up the butt. Lawson quotes Kafka's (Barbara that is) suggestion of high-heat blitzing. Does anyone in Singapore even own an Aga?

The Dim Sum Diaries (Part II - Dim Sum)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part IV - Noodles and Rice and some noodling around)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part V - Snacks)

Wing Yup Lung
392 Portland Street, Mongkok

Yung Kee
32-40 Wellington Street, Central

Lung Wah Hotel Restaurant
22 Ha Wo Che, Sha Tin

Chuen Cheung Kui Restaurant
108-120 Percival Street, Causeway Bay

The Dim Sum Diaries (Part II - Dim Sum)

Have been tasked to write a report on our Good Eats Exercise in Hong Kong. Here it is. Like the Gospels (though not nearly as interesting or important), it's not in chronological order.

Dim Sum
The advance party of our jolly contingent landed at Hong Kong International Airport at 1029 hours and was promptly shot at by a pale-faced member of the airport staff...with a thermometer gun. Well-trained to withstand such psychological warfare from the locals, the advance party proceeded unfazed to identify a suitable dim sum feeding ground for the main contingent: a branch of Maxim's in the Departure Hall. The ladies still toddled around with little metal carts, touting their wares at each table; like yum cha back in the old days in Singapore when Mayflower was still in business and Red Star was known by all. The char siew bao had just the right bite, solid juicy char siew (not burnt, not too sweet, not stained too red, not too much fat, not barbequed too long) nestled in firm fluffy white clouds.

A similar offering at Luk Yu, that grand dowager of Hong Kong teahouses, was a bit too solidly built, probably able to withstand being hurled by a gentleman at his philandering spendthrift son without soiling their respective tailored cloths. But they were still a world away from that soggy oversteamed overly-sweetened mess we get from the glass-cases in Singapore coffeeshops. Even the baos from shops along the street, where you can rest your weary feet and soak in some tea after a long browse in the night markets, were quite good. No glimpse of dodgy red-stained mince but thick slices of barbequed pork sitting in heavy meat liquor with a hint of pork belly.

The bamboo trays in which the baos were steamed imparted a finishing fragrance to the superior ingredients and preparation; perfume that enveloped like a cloud when the lids were lifted.

Of all exotic things that always seem to taste like chicken, the chicken feet (ordered by the main contingent) tasted like...feet... My comrades informed me that they were luscious.

The egg tarts I could appreciate, were heavenly: a flaky crust with the right crunch that melted in the mouth and a custard that did not taste overwhelmingly like the horrible steamed egg that children used to be force-fed in the questionable belief that such muck was nourishing.

Didn't like the egg tarts at Tai Cheong Bakery though. Chris Patten's favourite, we're told. But what kind of taste did the good man have? A public schoolboy's it seems. Nice enough crust (not flaky but firm and buttery) on the tarts (ignoring the burnt bits) but the custard was steamed to a jiggly death and whiffed of puke. Just what a proper Englishman, who likes his veggies boiled into submission, would adore.

Luk Yu's siew mai was quite alright. Thin tight skin and juicy filling. Not too salty.

Even the Maxim's Fast Food one was lovely (though can't say the same for the rest of the "Happy Meal"). The skin was even more thinly stretched over the silky pork within. The best chee cheong fun we had was at Maxim's. Buoyed by a modest sea of soya sauce with a touch of fried shallot oil, they practically slithered down our throats. The XO chee cheong fun at Hang Fa Lau was interestingly spicy (too la for the Hong Kongers though).

Unfortunately, the experiment with a hole-in-the-wall at Stanley failed miserably. The skin was too floury and thick. Accompanying sauces were interesting though: the usual black sweet sauce, fried shallot oil and toasted sesame seed sprinkles and peanut butter!

For an authentic old Hong Kong yum cha experience, Luk Yu beat all for old world atmosphere: Sikh doormen, booths out of a Wong Kar Wai movie, ancient worn wood-panelling and antique glass, regulars known by name, their personal teapots prepared in anticipation of their arrival, leisurely reading the morning papers…

Dim sum has certainly come along way from the time when imperial physicians in the 3rd century considered it anathema to combine tea with food, warning that such practice would lead to excessive weight gain. In Hong Kong, dim sum, though universally enjoyed, is not quite a great social leveller. In fact, its place and pace of consumption implies class-differentiation: at dirty street corners, wearily, by tired manual labourers looking for a quick bite before heading home, and unhurriedly, with the morning papers, in poshy stiff teahouses by the leisure classes.

Yum cha which was apparently conceived by weary travellers along the Silk Route, soon found its home in the dainty nibbles of the imperial courts and finally came to Hong Kong in the postwar period when Hong Kong experienced an influx of refugees from mainland China. Then yum cha was largely an activity of single males, who met over their breakfast tea to socialize or exchange tips about jobs. As these first-generation immigrants settled down, got married, raised families, and became grandparents, yum cha transformed into a family activity. It served to draw together family members who now lived and worked in different parts of the territory, and reinforce the institution of the family. Food anthropologists probably typify yum cha as a ritual to fortify cultural identity, like the Japanese tea ceremony. Not sure we felt more Chinese after all that dim sum, but even as unreal-Chinese, we seemed privy enough to certain cultural nuances to appreciate the experience more than the neighbouring real-gwei-lo.

There is talk of course, that Hong Kong dim sum is past it's prime: that Hong Kong chefs and dim sum masters have all migrated to London, Singapore and Canada, leaving the substandards behind to hold the fort. Haven't had a free weekend to yum cha in Singapore all these years to test this theory.

The Dim Sum Diaries (Part III - Birds and Pigs)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part IV - Noodles and Rice and some noodling around)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part V - Snacks)

Photos courtesy of LMG and KMD. No dim sum were harmed or photoshopped in the writing of this post. All were eaten.

Maxim's
Hong Kong International Airport
Departure Hall

Maxim's Fast Food
everywhere!

Luk Yu
26 Stanley Street, Central

Tai Cheong Bakery
Lynhurst Terrace, Central

Hang Fa Lau
D'Aguilar Street, Central

The Dim Sum Diaries (Part I)

Feeling disembodied.

Or rather, as Freud might be made to say in pop-psychology, it seems as if my Unconscious is still in Hong Kong and my Conscious has wandering around Singapore, going about daily life, talking to people, cooking, routinely churning out work. It's as if, in pop-Christianity, my body took off for Singapore and left my soul back in SAR.

Life in Singapore seems a dream that I will surely wake from, and on that day, I will rouse from under my duvet to the chill of a Hong Kong spring, look out the window to see old folk doing tai-chi in the clear crisp sunlight under delicate pink cherry blossoms, I will dress with the heater on, pick up a paper at a corner stall and board an old green-and-white ferry to Central, standing on the top deck in the salty sea breeze, sharpening my appetite for steaming hot dim sum in bamboo baskets and a pot of hot tea. At night, after a vigorous long hike in the chilly hills with good friends, we will descend onto the welcoming warm lights of a bustling restaurant, take off our coats and refuel with sizzling roast goose, crispy roast pork, fragrant fried rice and freshly stir-fried leafy veg.

Every time I close my eyes on the MRT, the murmur of Singaporean English around me seems foreign. My ears have happily settled on rapid-fire Cantonese and refuse to acclimatise. Can't snap out of it. I've never been to Hong Kong though I'm Hongkie on my mother's side. Not subscribing to generational memory theories, can't quite put a finger on what so beholds my Unconscious. It could be the wonderful food which gives much joy to a necessary task. It could be the lovely weather that allows you to walk and chat for miles and miles without breaking into a sweat. It could be the vibrant nightlife of classical and jazz offerings. It could be the marvellous treasures in their exciting musuems and free entry on Wednesdays. It could be the innate energy of the locals on the move and the smooth efficiency of the transportation system. It could be the fascinating specimens and amazing fashion sense of both sexes that would make a designer swoon with joy and make people-watching worthwhile. It could be all of the above. Or it could be none of them.

Headhunters had come knocking just before the trip and one of the destinations proffered was Hong Kong. And the questions hovering over the span of the trip were, "I think I could live here. I think I could be happy here. But how easy would it be to be Christian here? Would I delight too much in the materialism of the here-and-now? And ultimately, would I really be happy here without a relationship with God in the here-and-now and for all eternity?"

Might consider if there was a good bible-teaching church there and a chance of accountability partners. However, didn't get to check due to oversleeping issues (not mine for once!).

Now if I were the type to attempt to read God's will in the shape of my 蛋塔, it could seem that God is calling me to missions in Hong Kong. How convenient for my itchy butt.

The Dim Sum Diaries (Part II - Dim Sum)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part III - Birds and Pigs)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part IV - Noodles and Rice and some noodling around)
The Dim Sum Diaries (Part V -Snacks)

Introduction to the Dim Sum Diaries

Crumbs. The Dim Sum Diaries shall begin "inauspiciously" with an announcement that I've missed my flight by 10 minutes. Let this be a warning to all taking Jetstar Asia that they really mean it when they say "THE CHECK-IN COUNTER WILL CLOSE 40 MINUTES BEFORE TAKE-OFF". There wasn't even a soul at the counter to sweet-talk or offer my Yung Kee roast goose to in exchange for a blind-eye or two. They'd packed up and gone off.

Soggy siew-mais! Now stuck on a Chinese browser in Dim Sum Land waiting for my replacement flight to be confirmed. Security really sucks on this terminal. Very tempted to give my wimpy CEH skills a bit of a run. But shall resist and keep them on a tight leash. Put on new man etc.

Fortunately, all my Hong Kong kakis are extremely thrilled at the thought of this unexpected extension and up for more chong-ing . Akan datang then.

PS: Yes, it's true. We all become more Singaporean and slang alot more when we're out of the Lion City. I arso dunno y. :-)